BEARS, BIBLE AND A BOY
Memories of the Adirondacks
By Jesse David Roberts
1. BEARS IN THE FAMILY
Early one morning in the spring of 1886, there was a loud knocking on the back door of our Adirondack home. A neighbor, in great excitement, explained that during the night bears had killed several of his sheep. The man had come to our house because Father made it a part of his business to keep black bears thinned down to a point where sheep-raising could be made profitable.
We lived near the head of Brant Lake and close to the northern boundary of Warren County, New York. Ours was a small valley, hemmed in by mountains and inhabited by a half-dozen families who made their living by farming, lumbering, and keeping a few cattle and sheep. To the north of us lay a wilderness from which bears frequently came forth for an easy living.
Urgent as our neighbor’s appeal for help seemed to be, I recall that Father did not go to investigate the slaughter of the sheep until, in unhurried manner, he had finished the morning devotion of Bible-reading and prayer. He knew that the marauders were by then digesting their food in the remote recesses of the forest, and felt that the most important business before the house was that of turning our hearts and minds toward God. If the chapter for the day was the one that lists the names of all the fathers who begat and all the children who were begotten from Adam to Moses, I am sure that it was carefully read through to the end. The prayer that followed the reading was likewise of no brief duration.
After completing the family worship, Father put a leash on our husky dog, Lion, and went off to find the tracks of the bears and the uneaten portions of the mangled sheep. A few days later I was afraid to venture into our woodshed, because two large black bears were hanging up out there. Being a small boy, I was not quite sure that the sheep-killing monsters would remain dead.
While the pursuit of these particular bears was a matter of routine for Father, some of the bears that were caught during the period from 1865 to 1895 provided lively experiences. To any hunter the successful tracking and killing of these big bears would seem great sport, and there is no doubt that Father enjoyed the challenge of a good hunt. However, to the people of our region bear hunting and trapping was part of the very serious business of survival. It was vital that the small flocks of sheep and cattle in our valley be protected, and Father knew this well.
Father came naturally to bear-trapping; you might say that encounters with bears ran in the family. My Grandfather Roberts was one of old Vermont’s famous trappers. Having acquired the hunter’s zeal from his ancestors, he found exciting satisfaction in tracking bears and others wild animals to their lairs. He knew how to smoke bears out of their dens, and at times when they were slow in moving, he went in after them. On one occasion he even got up from what people thought would be his deathbed to pursue a big bear.
It was unusual for a man as hardy as Grandfather was to take to his bed, but at this time he had good reason. Night and day for two weeks he had been caring for two elderly people who had been stricken with a malady known in those days as “black diphtheria.” Because the disease was so feared, it had been impossible to find anyone to go to the aid of these unfortunate men. On hearing of their plight, Grandfather, who had never been afraid of anything except the wrath and scorn of his wife, had volunteered as nurse and attendant. Taking with him a few home remedies consisting of oils and herbs, he had gone boldly to the quarantined house and offered his services.
All efforts to save the lives of the sufferers were in vain. The men’s throats became so swollen that they could not take nourishment, and medicine did not give any relief. When the men died, Grandfather prepared their bodies for the undertaker, assisted in their burial, and started for home. On the way, he realized that he was not feeling well. Chills were causing him to tremble, his heart seemed to flutter at times, his throat was getting sore, and he felt dizzy. He thought that these symptoms were due to his lack of sleep and his exposure to the cold wind in the cemetery. As he turned down the last stretch of road which led to his gate, Grandmother, who was at the window, noticed his unsteady walk and went out to meet him. She helped him into the house and put him to bed.
Until long past midnight Grandmother tended her patient. She kept his feet warm with her hot bricks, and administered potions of steeped herbs and barks. Finally, after thrashing about with alternate chills and burning fever, Grandfather dozed off from exhaustion. Grandmother also lay down to rest but had hardly gone to sleep before she was awakened by an impatient pounding at the door. A man’s voice shouted, “I’ve found the tracks of a big bear, and need your bear dog.”
Grandfather had now been aroused from his slumber, and when he heard what the neighbor wanted, he called out, “Wait a minute, and I’ll go with you.” Suiting his actions to his words, he got up and began to put on his clothes. Grandmother rushed into the bedroom, but in spite of her entreaties and the uncomplimentary words that she used to try and beat him down, Grandfather persisted in dressing.
In behalf of Grandmother, I should state that she was no weakling in the art of persuasion. Father often spoke about her great strength. He said that she could pick up a full barrel of cider and drink out of the bung hole. When an ugly ram came at her in a sheep pasture, she caught him by the horns, threw him to the ground, and pounded his head with a stone until he was ready to behave more like a gentleman. Disgusted with a braggart who called himself the champion of Ireland, she took him by his coat collar and the seat of his trousers and threw him over a six-rail fence, humiliating him to such an extent that he left town. It is an Indian saying that one should never disturb a bear in a berry patch, but when Grandmother found a bear eating blackberries in a patch where she intended to fill her pail, she drove the animal away and then picked the berries. Father claimed that she could take two ordinary men by their collars and bang their heads together. But Grandfather was no ordinary man, at least now when he was bent on a bear hunt. All that Grandmother could do, as he pulled on his cap and took his gun from the wall, was say, “If you are determined to to be stupid and stubborn, one of the boys should follow you, just as you do the bear, and bring your body home when you fall dead in your tracks.”
Striving to overtake a bear was always such an absorbing venture for Grandfather that he forgot all other interests; and in this case, when he saw how large the tracks were, he seemed to tap a reservoir of reserve strength that carried him forward so rapidly that his companion had considerable difficulty keeping up with him. Racing through the woods, descending into deep ravines, and circling mountains, they trailed the bear all day. When darkness overtook them, they made their way to a barn, crawled into the hay, and waited for the morning.
As the light of dawn enabled them to detect the bear’s footprints, the two men pressed on. They knew that the bear was looking for winter quarters, and that he would soon find a place to his liking. By keeping old dog Ring on a leash and having him smell out the trail in the places where there was no snow, their progress was rapid. The freshness of the over-sized tracks, moreover, indicated that their quarry could not be far ahead. In the middle of the afternoon of that second day, as they made their way around an overhanging cliff, they came upon the rocky cavity for which they were looking. The excitement of the hunters was intense. Having located their game, the next step was to build a fire and smoke the bear out; if this method worked they both could fire at the bear as his head came into view. In case this strategy did not produce the desired results, Grandfather would light a torch, crawl into the den, and drive the occupant out. The second way would be a last resort, for one man with only one bullet to fire would give the bear a better chance to escape.
However, the smoke proved effective. The direction of the wind, or a draft under the rocks, carried the smoke far into the hidden recesses of the cave, and the bear had to come out for air. As the men saw the outline of his huge head they took quick aim and fired. Both bullets found their mark, and the men had a four-hundred pound bear on their hands in a place far from their homes. Fortunately, however, they had not dragged the bear very far when they came to the cabin of a wood chopper. In return for some bear steak, the woodsman gladly hitched up his hoses and took the hunters and their kill back to Grandfather’s house.
It was after dark when Grandmother heard the voices of the men out in the yard. She rushed out to see if someone had brought her sick husband to her, and she would hardly believe her eyes as she saw him carrying one end of the bear, while two men carried the other end. Mixing rebuke with affection, she exclaimed, “You dear old bear-crazy fool, if you every seem to be dead, I won’t call the undertaker until someone first pounds on our door and shouts, ‘Bears!’ Then if you don’t wake up and grab your gun, I’ll order a coffin.”
When Grandfather had finished carving out some large chunks of bear steak for the woodcutter and had returned to the kitchen to wash his hands, he turned to Grandmother and remarked philosophically, “Hannah, more people die in bed that dies out of ‘em. Diseases and undertakers have a hard time overtaking a man when he’s on the trail of a bear; but I’m half-starved right now, and your pork-and-beans smell mighty good.”
Grandfather, having outdistanced the dread disease which had invaded the community, continued his exciting life as a hunter and trapper. When, because of the accidental discharge of a gun, he lost a leg, he hewed out a wooden one and kept on chasing bears.
***
Over in the Green Mountains, Father’s two uncles, Solomon and Ichabod, also wise in the ways of bears, once had an unexpected encounter. It happened when they were on a mountain, gathering balsam pitch. Ichabod had an ailment which was then known as lingering consumption, and the sticky liquid from balsam blisters was mixed with powdered alum and honey to form a cough syrup for him. The uncles had taken their dog Major with them, and, hearing him barking furiously, found him greatly agitated at the mouth of a cave on the mountainside. Thinking that raccoon might be denning there, Uncle Solomon suggested trying to get one or more of them for Thanksgiving dinner. He volunteered to crawl into the opening, while his brother was to remain on guard to shoot the animals if they attempted to escape. Both men were armed with ancient flintlock shotguns which were loaded for partridge and other small game.
Proceeding cautiously into the deepening gloom, Uncle Solomon was startled to see two eyes which apparently belonged to some huge animal. He leveled his gun and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening roar and a sudden collision which temporarily stunned both Uncle Solomon and Major, who had been following him. The occupant of the sleeping quarters was making for the exit fullspeed. Uncle Ichabod hearing the noise, was stooping down to peer into the gloomy cavern when a large, rapidly moving, out-coming animal knocked him sprawling.
When Uncle Solomon came out of the den, he was alarmed to find his brother in the embrace of a huge bear. Seizing Uncle Ichabod’s gun from the ground, he aimed to shoot the beast through the head, but the flint, wet with snow, failed to give the necessary spark. Taking the gun by the barrel and using it as a club, he struck the bear with such force that the breech of the gun was smashed; however, the blow did little damage to the bear. In desperation, fearing that the commotion and pressure might cause his brother to have another hemorrhage, Uncle Sol grabbed the bear by the ears and endeavored to pull him away from his victim. At this point, good old Major, emerging from the den and sensing the predicament of his masters, attacked the bear. The bear released the man he had been hugging and grappled with his new antagonist.
Fortunately, except for being quite out of breath, Uncle Ichabod had suffered no harm. The bear had neither mauled him with his powerful jaws nor ripped him with his claws. Both men were, therefore, able to go to the rescue of their dog. The bear, not wishing to risk a fight against three, decided to retreat. But Major was not finished. Catching up with the bear and biting him in the hinder parts, he caused him to turn about.
At this point, so the story goes, the thought occurred to one of the uncles, that they might be able to drive the bear down the mountain. Providing themselves with long-pointed sticks, somewhat like spears, they prodded the bear in the direction in which they wanted him to go. They were making considerable progress in the art of bear-driving when, as they came to a spring of water, the bear wallowed in, lay down, and refused to move.
Realizing that two men and a dog could not induce Mr. Bruin to leave his refreshing bath, Uncle Solomon decided to go after help. He made his way to the district schoolhouse, rushed in as if on most urgent business, and requested assistance. He explained that his brother was in danger of being killed by a big bear. The teacher thereupon dismissed the older boys who, following the suggestion of Uncle Solomon, ran to their homes for guns and ropes.
When the recruited force got back to the spring and found the bear still soaking himself in the water and mud, they fashioned their ropes into slip nooses, attached them to the ends of stout poles, and proceeded to prod and pull the reluctant animal down the slope of the mountain. It seemed that the men and boys were to have the distinction of escorting a wild bear about the neighborhood, but such humiliation was more than bruin could bear. He moved along with them, until they reached an open field, but here he balked, and displayed an unconquerable sprit of passive resistance. When it finally became clear that all the king’s oxen and all the king’s men could not get the bear going again, a well-aimed bullet, fired at close range, brought to an end the day’s excitement.
Many years later, when Father had finished telling the above story to an aged Vermonter, the man replied, “I was one of boys who helped to get that bear down the mountain.” As is so often the case with stories that have been passed on by word of mouth, variations are bound to occur. According to one version, Uncle Ichabod, having become exhausted by his strenuous exertion, rode the bear part of the way down from the spring to the clearing.
Father’s own first encounter with a bear occurred under somewhat different conditions. He had not gone hunting on that particular day, but, with ax in hand, was looking for an ash tree with just the right crook in it to serve as a runner for a sled. Suddenly, as he scrutinized various trees along his path, his attention was drawn toward a large dark form behind some bushes a few rods away. Before Father could climb a tree and seek safety, an angry she-bear was coming toward him at a rush.
Father had heard from experienced guides and hunters that under such circumstances the safest procedure for a man is to stand his ground. So he raised his ax to defend himself, and awaited the oncoming charge. The bear came straight toward the object of her wrath, and when it seemed as though one more leap would bring man and beast together, she stopped dead in a threatening crouch. As they looked each other in the eyes, Father dared not blink. He stared steadily at the bear and finally in this test of nerves the human eyes prevailed. The big bluffer turned and ran off just as rapidly as she had charged. Thus Father saved the seat of his trousers—or more—by standing firm.
2. THE LURE OF THE ADIRONDACKS
According to the family record, Father was born in Danby, Vermont on January 6, 1831. This was during the administration of Andrew Jackson, and was the year that Abraham Lincoln went by boat down to New Orleans where he saw slavery in operation and began to hate it.
Father was a twin, and was given the name Edwin, while his brother was called Edward. His early life was spent in the beautiful valley of the Green Mountains, between Rutland and Bennington. Like the typical people of Vermont at that time, he attended school long enough to learn the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic, although his love for hunting and fishing, together with the necessary work on the farm, seriously interfered with his education. One thing that he remembered from his frequently interrupted schooling was how to compute interest; and later on when his own children were in school, he told them of his success in working out a very long problem in compound interest.
Perhaps his knowledge of how money could increase through interest helped to instill in him the habit of thrift, for, as Father assisted various neighboring farmers with their haying and wood chopping, he saved his earnings and deposited them in the Bennington Bank. Hence when the California gold rush occurred in 1849, he was not tempted—as others around him were—to disturb his steady habits. A bird in the hand, he thought, was worth two in the bush. In addition, he found plenty of adventure among his own mountains.
From the mountain peaks of Vermont, Father had often looked toward the north and northwest where the rugged, forest-covered Adirondacks extended as far as he could see. His observation, together with reports which he had heard, indicated that trapping, hunting, and fishing were much better up that way than in his own state. Moreover, at the age of twenty-eight he was not married and was therefore free to go and come as he pleased. In the fall of 1859, he put his personal belongings into a pack basket, hung his powder horn at his side, shouldered his flintlock gun, and headed for the new country. Traveling by way of Fort Edward and Glens Falls, he proceeded north to the ruins of Fort William Henry near Lake George, where some of his ancestors had fought in earlier years. After a brief inspection of the old rifle pits, stone breastworks, and remains of the fortress, he hastened on to Warrensburg and then along the Schroon River to South Horicon, where he stopped for the night.
Having learned at a trading post that a lumber company at the head of Brant Lake was cutting off the primeval pine, spruce, and hemlock trees and selling quarter sections of the rough land for $300.00, Father eagerly pushed on ten miles farther, where he bought the second farm beyond the head of the lake. This quiet valley, bordered on three sides by seven mountains in horseshoe shape, and opening at beautiful Brant Lake, was the land of his dreams. His one hundred and sixty acres of woodland contained scores of old and young sugar maples, a trout stream, a waterfall, and a never-failing spring of pure water. Here he could build his cabin and enjoy the peace and riches of the wilderness.
A half-mile up the trail James Leach, who was operating a logging job, lived with his family. It seemed natural that Father, in order to add to his income from trapping and to have a place to live while building his own house, should take a job with Mr. Leach.
Until this time Father had never seriously considered the advantages of married life. He had not held with Socrates that, whether a man marries or remains a bachelor, he will live to regret it. He had obviously not met the right young lady. But when he became acquainted with Ann Eliza, the oldest of the Leach girls, and saw how helpful she was to her mother and how kind and patient she was with her younger brothers and sisters, he began to understand how much richer life could be if he had a wife like her. He even confided to Ann Eliza that her tender and tasty baking reminded him of his mother’s bread and cakes.
There was no hasty courtship and marriage, for Ann Eliza was then only fifteen, but it generally became clear that wooing, as well as lumbering, was going on in that camp. When Father came in from the hills with his knapsack bulging with partridges and other wild game, his pockets also contained wintergreen berries and clear nuggets of spruce gum which he gave to the favored one for such sharing as she saw fit. He was thoughtful, too, in bringing wood to fill the box by the stove. For her part, she took pains to repeat bits of conversation which his defective hearing had missed (Father’s hearing had been severely impaired in his childhood by scarlet fever), and she mended his clothes and darned his socks.
When Ann Eliza Leach reached the age of eighteen and Edwin Roberts was thirty-two, they were married on May 10, 1863. They took a brief wedding trip by horse and buggy to visit the groom’s relatives in Vermont, where the charming bride was received as a most worthy member of the family.
Returning from their honeymoon, and wishing to impress his b ride with the importance of cooperation, the young husband threw one end of a rope over the roof of their house and instructed her to go around and pull the rope to the ground. Since they both pulled in opposite directions, nothing was accomplished. Calling a halt, Father made his way to his young wife’s side, and showed her how easy it was for them to get the rope by pulling together.
“What a good illustration!” she said. “And it will be just perfect if you always come around to pull on my side as you now did.”
Soon the young couple had to face a problem more serious than learning cooperation. The Civil War had been going on for two years, and many people were so dissatisfied with its conduct that Draft Riots had occurred in New York City. Forgetting that in time of war, it is necessary to sacrifice some things in order to avoid the loss of other more important things, they claimed that the draft was interfering with their liberty. Finally, however, it became clear that Lincoln’s call for men must be answered, and the men of New York State responded. Father went to the Draft Board for his examination, expecting that because of his deafness he would be rejected; but the examiners, having waxed very zealous, and anticipating that Father might mortgage his farm and raise the $300.00 required to engage a substitute, held him for the Draft.
It was not an easy task for Father to return home and break the news. Plans to enlarge and improve their small house had to be abandoned, while every effort had to be made to raise that $300.00. There was on their farm some medium-size pine and spruce which they intended to use for their own building needs. However, the young couple concluded that it would be better to sacrifice this lumber than to mortgage the farm. Even with this sale, and adding the few dollars they had in hand, they would not equal half their required payment to the government.
Fortunately, another source of income would be from trapping. The prices offered for some kinds of raw furs had doubled and tripled, since many of the men who had previously supplied the market were now in the Army. It was now the fall of the year, when pelts began to grow prime, and Father turned to his trapping. From the tracks he had seen along the brooks and around the lake, it was evident that mink were unusually plentiful. To escape the deeper snows of the north, or in quest of more abundant food, they had moved into this sunny valley. It seemed as if the game was seeking the trapper, for as Father tended his trap line he frequently found a catch in every trap. By the end of the trapping season, he had sold enough of the soft, silky pelts to meet his draft payment.
At the end of the Civil War, more people began to move into the Brant Lake region, making it a neighborhood of ten hardy families. Four families actually lived just outside the valley, but were considered part of the neighborhood. The honest-sounding names in themselves reflected the pioneer spirit of America: Bolton (Thomas, Joe and Valentine), Arthur Smith, Steward Purvee, Albert Griffin, Thomas Bentley, Eleazor Davis, and Ross (Austin and Cassius).
As each family owned a quarter-section of land, the houses were situated approximately one-half mile apart. A tiny schoolhouse, conveniently located to care for the educational needs of the children, was built on a connecting crossroad near the lake. The nearest store was seven miles south at the outlet of the lake, while the area back of the surrounding mountains consisted of some fifty thousand acres of wilderness.
The four families on our rocky road, though not blessed with so much of the morning sunshine, were more prolific. As though controlled by a mystic rhyme, like “Thrice to mine, and thrice to thine, and thrice again to make up nine,” there were nine children born in our tiny house, and nine in each of the next two houses up the road. The other settlers, perhaps considering the raising of a family a mere sideline, did not do so well.
Memories of the Adirondacks
By Jesse David Roberts
1. BEARS IN THE FAMILY
Early one morning in the spring of 1886, there was a loud knocking on the back door of our Adirondack home. A neighbor, in great excitement, explained that during the night bears had killed several of his sheep. The man had come to our house because Father made it a part of his business to keep black bears thinned down to a point where sheep-raising could be made profitable.
We lived near the head of Brant Lake and close to the northern boundary of Warren County, New York. Ours was a small valley, hemmed in by mountains and inhabited by a half-dozen families who made their living by farming, lumbering, and keeping a few cattle and sheep. To the north of us lay a wilderness from which bears frequently came forth for an easy living.
Urgent as our neighbor’s appeal for help seemed to be, I recall that Father did not go to investigate the slaughter of the sheep until, in unhurried manner, he had finished the morning devotion of Bible-reading and prayer. He knew that the marauders were by then digesting their food in the remote recesses of the forest, and felt that the most important business before the house was that of turning our hearts and minds toward God. If the chapter for the day was the one that lists the names of all the fathers who begat and all the children who were begotten from Adam to Moses, I am sure that it was carefully read through to the end. The prayer that followed the reading was likewise of no brief duration.
After completing the family worship, Father put a leash on our husky dog, Lion, and went off to find the tracks of the bears and the uneaten portions of the mangled sheep. A few days later I was afraid to venture into our woodshed, because two large black bears were hanging up out there. Being a small boy, I was not quite sure that the sheep-killing monsters would remain dead.
While the pursuit of these particular bears was a matter of routine for Father, some of the bears that were caught during the period from 1865 to 1895 provided lively experiences. To any hunter the successful tracking and killing of these big bears would seem great sport, and there is no doubt that Father enjoyed the challenge of a good hunt. However, to the people of our region bear hunting and trapping was part of the very serious business of survival. It was vital that the small flocks of sheep and cattle in our valley be protected, and Father knew this well.
Father came naturally to bear-trapping; you might say that encounters with bears ran in the family. My Grandfather Roberts was one of old Vermont’s famous trappers. Having acquired the hunter’s zeal from his ancestors, he found exciting satisfaction in tracking bears and others wild animals to their lairs. He knew how to smoke bears out of their dens, and at times when they were slow in moving, he went in after them. On one occasion he even got up from what people thought would be his deathbed to pursue a big bear.
It was unusual for a man as hardy as Grandfather was to take to his bed, but at this time he had good reason. Night and day for two weeks he had been caring for two elderly people who had been stricken with a malady known in those days as “black diphtheria.” Because the disease was so feared, it had been impossible to find anyone to go to the aid of these unfortunate men. On hearing of their plight, Grandfather, who had never been afraid of anything except the wrath and scorn of his wife, had volunteered as nurse and attendant. Taking with him a few home remedies consisting of oils and herbs, he had gone boldly to the quarantined house and offered his services.
All efforts to save the lives of the sufferers were in vain. The men’s throats became so swollen that they could not take nourishment, and medicine did not give any relief. When the men died, Grandfather prepared their bodies for the undertaker, assisted in their burial, and started for home. On the way, he realized that he was not feeling well. Chills were causing him to tremble, his heart seemed to flutter at times, his throat was getting sore, and he felt dizzy. He thought that these symptoms were due to his lack of sleep and his exposure to the cold wind in the cemetery. As he turned down the last stretch of road which led to his gate, Grandmother, who was at the window, noticed his unsteady walk and went out to meet him. She helped him into the house and put him to bed.
Until long past midnight Grandmother tended her patient. She kept his feet warm with her hot bricks, and administered potions of steeped herbs and barks. Finally, after thrashing about with alternate chills and burning fever, Grandfather dozed off from exhaustion. Grandmother also lay down to rest but had hardly gone to sleep before she was awakened by an impatient pounding at the door. A man’s voice shouted, “I’ve found the tracks of a big bear, and need your bear dog.”
Grandfather had now been aroused from his slumber, and when he heard what the neighbor wanted, he called out, “Wait a minute, and I’ll go with you.” Suiting his actions to his words, he got up and began to put on his clothes. Grandmother rushed into the bedroom, but in spite of her entreaties and the uncomplimentary words that she used to try and beat him down, Grandfather persisted in dressing.
In behalf of Grandmother, I should state that she was no weakling in the art of persuasion. Father often spoke about her great strength. He said that she could pick up a full barrel of cider and drink out of the bung hole. When an ugly ram came at her in a sheep pasture, she caught him by the horns, threw him to the ground, and pounded his head with a stone until he was ready to behave more like a gentleman. Disgusted with a braggart who called himself the champion of Ireland, she took him by his coat collar and the seat of his trousers and threw him over a six-rail fence, humiliating him to such an extent that he left town. It is an Indian saying that one should never disturb a bear in a berry patch, but when Grandmother found a bear eating blackberries in a patch where she intended to fill her pail, she drove the animal away and then picked the berries. Father claimed that she could take two ordinary men by their collars and bang their heads together. But Grandfather was no ordinary man, at least now when he was bent on a bear hunt. All that Grandmother could do, as he pulled on his cap and took his gun from the wall, was say, “If you are determined to to be stupid and stubborn, one of the boys should follow you, just as you do the bear, and bring your body home when you fall dead in your tracks.”
Striving to overtake a bear was always such an absorbing venture for Grandfather that he forgot all other interests; and in this case, when he saw how large the tracks were, he seemed to tap a reservoir of reserve strength that carried him forward so rapidly that his companion had considerable difficulty keeping up with him. Racing through the woods, descending into deep ravines, and circling mountains, they trailed the bear all day. When darkness overtook them, they made their way to a barn, crawled into the hay, and waited for the morning.
As the light of dawn enabled them to detect the bear’s footprints, the two men pressed on. They knew that the bear was looking for winter quarters, and that he would soon find a place to his liking. By keeping old dog Ring on a leash and having him smell out the trail in the places where there was no snow, their progress was rapid. The freshness of the over-sized tracks, moreover, indicated that their quarry could not be far ahead. In the middle of the afternoon of that second day, as they made their way around an overhanging cliff, they came upon the rocky cavity for which they were looking. The excitement of the hunters was intense. Having located their game, the next step was to build a fire and smoke the bear out; if this method worked they both could fire at the bear as his head came into view. In case this strategy did not produce the desired results, Grandfather would light a torch, crawl into the den, and drive the occupant out. The second way would be a last resort, for one man with only one bullet to fire would give the bear a better chance to escape.
However, the smoke proved effective. The direction of the wind, or a draft under the rocks, carried the smoke far into the hidden recesses of the cave, and the bear had to come out for air. As the men saw the outline of his huge head they took quick aim and fired. Both bullets found their mark, and the men had a four-hundred pound bear on their hands in a place far from their homes. Fortunately, however, they had not dragged the bear very far when they came to the cabin of a wood chopper. In return for some bear steak, the woodsman gladly hitched up his hoses and took the hunters and their kill back to Grandfather’s house.
It was after dark when Grandmother heard the voices of the men out in the yard. She rushed out to see if someone had brought her sick husband to her, and she would hardly believe her eyes as she saw him carrying one end of the bear, while two men carried the other end. Mixing rebuke with affection, she exclaimed, “You dear old bear-crazy fool, if you every seem to be dead, I won’t call the undertaker until someone first pounds on our door and shouts, ‘Bears!’ Then if you don’t wake up and grab your gun, I’ll order a coffin.”
When Grandfather had finished carving out some large chunks of bear steak for the woodcutter and had returned to the kitchen to wash his hands, he turned to Grandmother and remarked philosophically, “Hannah, more people die in bed that dies out of ‘em. Diseases and undertakers have a hard time overtaking a man when he’s on the trail of a bear; but I’m half-starved right now, and your pork-and-beans smell mighty good.”
Grandfather, having outdistanced the dread disease which had invaded the community, continued his exciting life as a hunter and trapper. When, because of the accidental discharge of a gun, he lost a leg, he hewed out a wooden one and kept on chasing bears.
***
Over in the Green Mountains, Father’s two uncles, Solomon and Ichabod, also wise in the ways of bears, once had an unexpected encounter. It happened when they were on a mountain, gathering balsam pitch. Ichabod had an ailment which was then known as lingering consumption, and the sticky liquid from balsam blisters was mixed with powdered alum and honey to form a cough syrup for him. The uncles had taken their dog Major with them, and, hearing him barking furiously, found him greatly agitated at the mouth of a cave on the mountainside. Thinking that raccoon might be denning there, Uncle Solomon suggested trying to get one or more of them for Thanksgiving dinner. He volunteered to crawl into the opening, while his brother was to remain on guard to shoot the animals if they attempted to escape. Both men were armed with ancient flintlock shotguns which were loaded for partridge and other small game.
Proceeding cautiously into the deepening gloom, Uncle Solomon was startled to see two eyes which apparently belonged to some huge animal. He leveled his gun and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening roar and a sudden collision which temporarily stunned both Uncle Solomon and Major, who had been following him. The occupant of the sleeping quarters was making for the exit fullspeed. Uncle Ichabod hearing the noise, was stooping down to peer into the gloomy cavern when a large, rapidly moving, out-coming animal knocked him sprawling.
When Uncle Solomon came out of the den, he was alarmed to find his brother in the embrace of a huge bear. Seizing Uncle Ichabod’s gun from the ground, he aimed to shoot the beast through the head, but the flint, wet with snow, failed to give the necessary spark. Taking the gun by the barrel and using it as a club, he struck the bear with such force that the breech of the gun was smashed; however, the blow did little damage to the bear. In desperation, fearing that the commotion and pressure might cause his brother to have another hemorrhage, Uncle Sol grabbed the bear by the ears and endeavored to pull him away from his victim. At this point, good old Major, emerging from the den and sensing the predicament of his masters, attacked the bear. The bear released the man he had been hugging and grappled with his new antagonist.
Fortunately, except for being quite out of breath, Uncle Ichabod had suffered no harm. The bear had neither mauled him with his powerful jaws nor ripped him with his claws. Both men were, therefore, able to go to the rescue of their dog. The bear, not wishing to risk a fight against three, decided to retreat. But Major was not finished. Catching up with the bear and biting him in the hinder parts, he caused him to turn about.
At this point, so the story goes, the thought occurred to one of the uncles, that they might be able to drive the bear down the mountain. Providing themselves with long-pointed sticks, somewhat like spears, they prodded the bear in the direction in which they wanted him to go. They were making considerable progress in the art of bear-driving when, as they came to a spring of water, the bear wallowed in, lay down, and refused to move.
Realizing that two men and a dog could not induce Mr. Bruin to leave his refreshing bath, Uncle Solomon decided to go after help. He made his way to the district schoolhouse, rushed in as if on most urgent business, and requested assistance. He explained that his brother was in danger of being killed by a big bear. The teacher thereupon dismissed the older boys who, following the suggestion of Uncle Solomon, ran to their homes for guns and ropes.
When the recruited force got back to the spring and found the bear still soaking himself in the water and mud, they fashioned their ropes into slip nooses, attached them to the ends of stout poles, and proceeded to prod and pull the reluctant animal down the slope of the mountain. It seemed that the men and boys were to have the distinction of escorting a wild bear about the neighborhood, but such humiliation was more than bruin could bear. He moved along with them, until they reached an open field, but here he balked, and displayed an unconquerable sprit of passive resistance. When it finally became clear that all the king’s oxen and all the king’s men could not get the bear going again, a well-aimed bullet, fired at close range, brought to an end the day’s excitement.
Many years later, when Father had finished telling the above story to an aged Vermonter, the man replied, “I was one of boys who helped to get that bear down the mountain.” As is so often the case with stories that have been passed on by word of mouth, variations are bound to occur. According to one version, Uncle Ichabod, having become exhausted by his strenuous exertion, rode the bear part of the way down from the spring to the clearing.
Father’s own first encounter with a bear occurred under somewhat different conditions. He had not gone hunting on that particular day, but, with ax in hand, was looking for an ash tree with just the right crook in it to serve as a runner for a sled. Suddenly, as he scrutinized various trees along his path, his attention was drawn toward a large dark form behind some bushes a few rods away. Before Father could climb a tree and seek safety, an angry she-bear was coming toward him at a rush.
Father had heard from experienced guides and hunters that under such circumstances the safest procedure for a man is to stand his ground. So he raised his ax to defend himself, and awaited the oncoming charge. The bear came straight toward the object of her wrath, and when it seemed as though one more leap would bring man and beast together, she stopped dead in a threatening crouch. As they looked each other in the eyes, Father dared not blink. He stared steadily at the bear and finally in this test of nerves the human eyes prevailed. The big bluffer turned and ran off just as rapidly as she had charged. Thus Father saved the seat of his trousers—or more—by standing firm.
2. THE LURE OF THE ADIRONDACKS
According to the family record, Father was born in Danby, Vermont on January 6, 1831. This was during the administration of Andrew Jackson, and was the year that Abraham Lincoln went by boat down to New Orleans where he saw slavery in operation and began to hate it.
Father was a twin, and was given the name Edwin, while his brother was called Edward. His early life was spent in the beautiful valley of the Green Mountains, between Rutland and Bennington. Like the typical people of Vermont at that time, he attended school long enough to learn the rudiments of reading, writing, and arithmetic, although his love for hunting and fishing, together with the necessary work on the farm, seriously interfered with his education. One thing that he remembered from his frequently interrupted schooling was how to compute interest; and later on when his own children were in school, he told them of his success in working out a very long problem in compound interest.
Perhaps his knowledge of how money could increase through interest helped to instill in him the habit of thrift, for, as Father assisted various neighboring farmers with their haying and wood chopping, he saved his earnings and deposited them in the Bennington Bank. Hence when the California gold rush occurred in 1849, he was not tempted—as others around him were—to disturb his steady habits. A bird in the hand, he thought, was worth two in the bush. In addition, he found plenty of adventure among his own mountains.
From the mountain peaks of Vermont, Father had often looked toward the north and northwest where the rugged, forest-covered Adirondacks extended as far as he could see. His observation, together with reports which he had heard, indicated that trapping, hunting, and fishing were much better up that way than in his own state. Moreover, at the age of twenty-eight he was not married and was therefore free to go and come as he pleased. In the fall of 1859, he put his personal belongings into a pack basket, hung his powder horn at his side, shouldered his flintlock gun, and headed for the new country. Traveling by way of Fort Edward and Glens Falls, he proceeded north to the ruins of Fort William Henry near Lake George, where some of his ancestors had fought in earlier years. After a brief inspection of the old rifle pits, stone breastworks, and remains of the fortress, he hastened on to Warrensburg and then along the Schroon River to South Horicon, where he stopped for the night.
Having learned at a trading post that a lumber company at the head of Brant Lake was cutting off the primeval pine, spruce, and hemlock trees and selling quarter sections of the rough land for $300.00, Father eagerly pushed on ten miles farther, where he bought the second farm beyond the head of the lake. This quiet valley, bordered on three sides by seven mountains in horseshoe shape, and opening at beautiful Brant Lake, was the land of his dreams. His one hundred and sixty acres of woodland contained scores of old and young sugar maples, a trout stream, a waterfall, and a never-failing spring of pure water. Here he could build his cabin and enjoy the peace and riches of the wilderness.
A half-mile up the trail James Leach, who was operating a logging job, lived with his family. It seemed natural that Father, in order to add to his income from trapping and to have a place to live while building his own house, should take a job with Mr. Leach.
Until this time Father had never seriously considered the advantages of married life. He had not held with Socrates that, whether a man marries or remains a bachelor, he will live to regret it. He had obviously not met the right young lady. But when he became acquainted with Ann Eliza, the oldest of the Leach girls, and saw how helpful she was to her mother and how kind and patient she was with her younger brothers and sisters, he began to understand how much richer life could be if he had a wife like her. He even confided to Ann Eliza that her tender and tasty baking reminded him of his mother’s bread and cakes.
There was no hasty courtship and marriage, for Ann Eliza was then only fifteen, but it generally became clear that wooing, as well as lumbering, was going on in that camp. When Father came in from the hills with his knapsack bulging with partridges and other wild game, his pockets also contained wintergreen berries and clear nuggets of spruce gum which he gave to the favored one for such sharing as she saw fit. He was thoughtful, too, in bringing wood to fill the box by the stove. For her part, she took pains to repeat bits of conversation which his defective hearing had missed (Father’s hearing had been severely impaired in his childhood by scarlet fever), and she mended his clothes and darned his socks.
When Ann Eliza Leach reached the age of eighteen and Edwin Roberts was thirty-two, they were married on May 10, 1863. They took a brief wedding trip by horse and buggy to visit the groom’s relatives in Vermont, where the charming bride was received as a most worthy member of the family.
Returning from their honeymoon, and wishing to impress his b ride with the importance of cooperation, the young husband threw one end of a rope over the roof of their house and instructed her to go around and pull the rope to the ground. Since they both pulled in opposite directions, nothing was accomplished. Calling a halt, Father made his way to his young wife’s side, and showed her how easy it was for them to get the rope by pulling together.
“What a good illustration!” she said. “And it will be just perfect if you always come around to pull on my side as you now did.”
Soon the young couple had to face a problem more serious than learning cooperation. The Civil War had been going on for two years, and many people were so dissatisfied with its conduct that Draft Riots had occurred in New York City. Forgetting that in time of war, it is necessary to sacrifice some things in order to avoid the loss of other more important things, they claimed that the draft was interfering with their liberty. Finally, however, it became clear that Lincoln’s call for men must be answered, and the men of New York State responded. Father went to the Draft Board for his examination, expecting that because of his deafness he would be rejected; but the examiners, having waxed very zealous, and anticipating that Father might mortgage his farm and raise the $300.00 required to engage a substitute, held him for the Draft.
It was not an easy task for Father to return home and break the news. Plans to enlarge and improve their small house had to be abandoned, while every effort had to be made to raise that $300.00. There was on their farm some medium-size pine and spruce which they intended to use for their own building needs. However, the young couple concluded that it would be better to sacrifice this lumber than to mortgage the farm. Even with this sale, and adding the few dollars they had in hand, they would not equal half their required payment to the government.
Fortunately, another source of income would be from trapping. The prices offered for some kinds of raw furs had doubled and tripled, since many of the men who had previously supplied the market were now in the Army. It was now the fall of the year, when pelts began to grow prime, and Father turned to his trapping. From the tracks he had seen along the brooks and around the lake, it was evident that mink were unusually plentiful. To escape the deeper snows of the north, or in quest of more abundant food, they had moved into this sunny valley. It seemed as if the game was seeking the trapper, for as Father tended his trap line he frequently found a catch in every trap. By the end of the trapping season, he had sold enough of the soft, silky pelts to meet his draft payment.
At the end of the Civil War, more people began to move into the Brant Lake region, making it a neighborhood of ten hardy families. Four families actually lived just outside the valley, but were considered part of the neighborhood. The honest-sounding names in themselves reflected the pioneer spirit of America: Bolton (Thomas, Joe and Valentine), Arthur Smith, Steward Purvee, Albert Griffin, Thomas Bentley, Eleazor Davis, and Ross (Austin and Cassius).
As each family owned a quarter-section of land, the houses were situated approximately one-half mile apart. A tiny schoolhouse, conveniently located to care for the educational needs of the children, was built on a connecting crossroad near the lake. The nearest store was seven miles south at the outlet of the lake, while the area back of the surrounding mountains consisted of some fifty thousand acres of wilderness.
The four families on our rocky road, though not blessed with so much of the morning sunshine, were more prolific. As though controlled by a mystic rhyme, like “Thrice to mine, and thrice to thine, and thrice again to make up nine,” there were nine children born in our tiny house, and nine in each of the next two houses up the road. The other settlers, perhaps considering the raising of a family a mere sideline, did not do so well.