Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 May 1882 — A CIVILIZED BEAR. [ARTICLE]

A CIVILIZED BEAR.

"Why was he called Ben? Because that was his name. You wonder why that name was given to him? Well, that may have been for various reasons. This, for instance. When Ben was a vert- small cub he hadn’t much in this world, not even a nan* ; nothing but an old she-bear mother and a little cub brother like himself—no more. There was a party of hunters or trappers camped upon the bank of a Western river, and among them a half-grown boy, who, having finished his breakfast one morning before the others, boy-like wandered off in his restlessness to see what he could find. And what he did find were these two little cubs. They were too young for him to haye any fear of them, and so, without a thought of any other bear in the world, ho picked them up by the napes of the necks, one in each hand, and started back for the camp. Though the little cubs were unable to defend themselves, or resent this liberty with their persons, they could still invoke help, which they did by squealing lustily, and aroused the sleeping mother near by. Rendered desperate by the danger of losing her cubs, she gave chase right into the enemy’s camp, with a set of great white teeth fully exposed in the open mouth, ears laid back and eyes glaring with rage. She was a formidable looking object, and the boy lost his presence of mind altogether. With desperate instinct he clutched the cubs as if his life depended upon his retaining his hold upon them. As he approached the camp at flying speed he made himself the subject of much future merriment by bawling out to the party, still seated at their breakfast, right in his path, “C-l-e-a-r the track! H-e-re we come ! Me and the b’ars ! ” Just at this /critical moment—for the old bear was right at his heels—he stumbled and dropped one of the cubs as he fell headlong to the ground, terribly frightened. The bear, glad to recover one of her lost darlings, stopped for a moment to caress him, while the boy regained his feet and escaped to the camp with the other. As soon as the me a could snatch their rifles they hurried off in search of the old l>ear and the remaining cnb, but the bereaved mother, who had retreated to the rocks and secreted herself and her baby in mme fissure, could not be found. In telling his adventures afterward at the camp the n cited boy remarked: “If I hadn’t dropped that cub I would have been—would have l>een—” He didn’t quite know what he would have been, so he didn’t tell; but one of the hunters intermpted him by saying: “You would liave Ben, and so you bung on to him. I reckon that the cub’s name’s Ben.” That is probably the reason he was so called.

At all events his name was Ben, and by that name I introduce him to you. Pen soon forgot his poor old mother ns well as his little brother, adapted himself to his new surroundings and was metamorphosed into a “ tame bear,” that is. knew no associations but human, was not afraid of man nor were men afraid of him as a rule. More’s the pity, for this fearless intimacy with man was the ultimate ruin of poor heedless Ben. When the camp broke up, little Ben was placed in a wicker cage improvised by the boy, and thrown rather roughly into the wagon with the skins, traps, salt venison, etc., and carried off to the settlement, where he was petted through the fall, and slept through the greater part of the winter, as is the nature of his family. In the spring, when the journey had to be made to the trading post for ammunition and other supplies, Ben was furnished with a more substantial and necessarily much larger cage—for he was now quite half grown—and placed on the wagon with which his master was to make the tedious journey of three or four days’ duration. It ended just at night of the fourth day, and Ben saw by the fading light an old block house formerly bu : lt for safety against the Indians, and a tavern which seemed mostly bar-rooih, though Ben knew nothing of that as yet. He only saw one large room more brilliantly lighted than the rest, full of boisterous men, and a large log building used as a store, and containing everything needed in a new country. This was also brightly lighted, and a coi siderable number of men were lounging about the door or seated upon the broad stoop. All this was strange and curious to unsophisticated Ben, and he wondered what it could mean, as he sat in his cage on top of the load, and noted lights suddenly flashing upon the- sight from the cabin windows scattei-ed about here and there, now half obscured by the trunk of some huge tree left standing, now silhouetting the dark form of a woman in the open door as she peered with shaded eyes into the gathering gloom for loitering husband or son sent long enough ago to the store for a quarter of a pound of tea. The wagon was driven into the stableyard, and left standing with its load unremoved, Ben’s cage and all, while the horses were takeu off and put into the stable. Ben was given his supper of dainties he had never tasted before, and left for the night. In the morning he excited considerable curiosity among the loungers when his cage was taken down and placed up-

on the ground. Hia master wanted to dispose of him, and would be obliged to remain at the post several days at any rate, and it was proposed to the landlord, and acceded to, that Ben, being perfectly tame and harmless, should have a chain Mid collar, and be given greater liberty in one comer of the yard, where a post was planted, to which he was fastened. Here Ben received his motley visitors,, who fed him on all sorts of choice things —candies, cakes, raisins, etc.—which tickled his inexperienced palate, while his vanity was gratified by his being the object of so much attention. Poor, vain Ben ! He was scarcely ever, alone during the day, but constantly in the presence of a greater or less number of persons. Ben was delighted with the new order of things, and, being a natural wag, and kept in good humor by gratified appetite and vanity, he grew to be very popular. The landlord, seeing what an attraction he was, bargained for him with the boy, and Ben, to his entire satisfaction, was fixed in his new quarters, and, without a sigh, allowed his old master to return to his forest home. . . In liis new situation Ben was as indifferent to the feelings of his recent master as he had been before to those of his poor mother and little cnb brother. Sweet cake and such things instead of his former plain fare-corn dodgers and the like—with plenty of good fellows to feed them to him and langh at his antics, were ample recompense for the loss of his young master’s tender care. Like most pleasures, however, an over or unwise indulgence brought its penalty for the bear. The rich food he now enjoyed, though pleasant to the taste, was uot conducive to health, as was manifest in his altered disposition. He soon became cross, morose, freaky, or, as his enemies would have it. treacherous. He lost much in popularity in consequence, of which he was aware, and that made him all the more irritable. About this time the hostler, a very decent, well-meaning fellow, whose duty it was to take care of Ben, was promoted to the box—in other words, made a stage driver—and another found to fill his place, who proved to be quite a diflerent character, much more disposed to attend to that which did not concern him than to perform faithfully his legitimate duties, one of which was to look after the bear, attend to his wants, eto., though not to teach him tricks to render him still worse than he had already power to be. At first he took no particular interest in his charge, and fed him regularly enough ; but, after a few days’ acquaintance, seeing Ben in his better moods, he discovered his true character, and told the stable-boys and loungers that there was fun in the brute and he was going to get it out of him. Accordingly, when his duties were done, he procured some molasses in which he poured a quantity of whisky, and set it before the unsuspecting Ben, who, innocently enough, lapped it up with great delight. This was only for the sweet, however, for as yet his civilization was not so complete as it afterward became. The result of the experiment was just as great, notwithstanding, and Ben, to use a vulgar but most appropriate expression, “got as drunk as a fool.” Of course Ben was not this time responsible for his condition, or many ridiculous capers he cut; nor could it be justly said that he was ever responsible, for what did the poor, ignorant 'bear know of the world outside of the stableyard or of its morality ? His teachers and examples were human. Could a mere brute ask any higher authority ? Ben was but a beast without human intelligence to guide him or human incentives to sobriety, so he allowed himself to be led on to the daily degradation even of his brute nature.

As Ben’s example seemed popular, and was pretty generally followed by the men, the landlord permitted this to go on, if he did not abet it, seeing, of course, that all the liquor was purchased at his bar, including that for Ben, who meanwhile was rapidly perfecting himself in the art of drinking whisky Ho could already dispense with the sweet inducement, and take it. clear, solely for the “fuddle.” Even the brilliant young man, with his superior education, who had now become Ben’s frequent companion, could do no more, when whisky was furnished both, “ just for the fun of seeing them together.” Let me here digress a moment to repeat the old story briefly But eight years back this young man had come to the post, fresh from an Eastern law school, in the bright morning of his life, so full of promise, lie had twice ably represented the Territory in Congress, where, to gain political friends, he had too oftep yielded to political temptation. Now, like Ben, he needed no persuasion. The once proud, ambitious aspirant for political honors was not above playing his part with a dissolute bear for free whisky. He would seat himself upon the ground, take the helpless creatm’e by the ear, rudely thrust his head down among the straw, regardless of the bear’s feebly squealed protest, calling him a drunken brute, and lecture him upon the disgracefulness of his course amid the uproarious merriment of the vulgar throng, who in their secret hearts rejoiced to see one far above them by nature so degrade himself. Even in this mock elocution there were frequent scintillations of genius from his besotted brain. When both became so stupefied as no longer to furnish amusement, they were left to sleep off the stupor, sometimes side by side, though usually the man retired to the hay-loft, where, after a half hour or so, he awoke with a raging thirst for more whisky. He would make the best of bis way bock to the bear’s corner (whose stupor lasted longer than his companion’s), and purloin the whisky that still remained in the bottle ; for Ben always drank from the bottle now, and to see him draw the cork was part of the entertainment. The bear did not altogether like this enforced companionship, not from any sonso of degradation at the association with the human brnte, but when lie awoke from n, drunken stupor he also wanted a little more whisky to quiet his throbbing netves, and as this last drop of solace was always gone when the inau was around he naturally concluded tliat he was the thief, and resolved to rid himself of the nuisance. Bears are cunning, and Ben, in pursuance of a plan, one night stopped a little short, rolled over before he needed to, and feigned sleep until the thirsty ex-Oongressman again appeared on the scene. There was more in the bottle than usual this night, which made the wary politician a little suspicious of the bear ; so procuring a long stick, he tried to poke the bottle out of reach, but in doing so, it tipped, and spilled some whisky. Ben seemed so perfeotly stupefied, he ventured boldly in. As he stooped to pick up the bottle Ben struck him a powerful blow on the head, which settled the poor inebriate forever. Then, swallowing the whisky himself, Ben fell over; this time in a real stupor.

The murderer and his victim were found, an hour or so after, side by side. The news spread rapidly, and the horrified citizens flocked to the scene. When Ben opened his eyes, all unconscious of the magnitude of his crime, he was astonished at the multitude, and, greatly E leased, began playing with the body of is victim. A murmur of horror arose, which awed the bewildered brute, and the body of the murdered man was dragged, without further notice, from his destroyer. Ben’s doom was fixed from the first; no trial was required, no more evidence was necessary. There was no friend to offer a plea of ineanity, or to prove an alibi, or offer by way of extenuation the fact that he was stupefied by drink, that he had been led

astray by bad example and companionship. Ben had not a friend in all the world, and deserved none, for he was not a friend to any living creature, and yet he was doomed to expiate a crime not wholly his. Bat he was a dangerous brnte; lie had killed a man; and retribution was in his ease sure and swift. The landlord was seen to speak to a famous hunter present, dressed in a suit of buckskin with fringed seams. The hunter nodded assent, and immediately left the yard. He made bis way direct to the river, stepped into a canoe, and, talring up the paddle with the air of one accustomed to it, shot across the stream, ascended the opposite bank, and disappeared in his cabin at the edge of the woods. _ _ _ _ _ Meanwhile the crowd remained silent and expectant in the yard, conversing in an undertone. Ben stood snuffing the air in stupid wonder at the unwonted qniet of his audience. Boon the hunter returned with his trusty rifle. Every eye watched his movements as he scanned the bear. Every ear caught a doable click of the hammer as he raised it and brought the gun to his cheek. A sharp report broke the stillness; there was a murmur from the throng; a last groan. The multitude slowly dispersed, and the ourtain of night hid the lifeless form of poor dissolute Ben.— W. H Beard , in Harper** Weekly.