210 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 5, 1910. 
ling waters. And who knows but that back 
among the higher ranges Morgan and his crew 
of plunderers may have stored a weight of bul¬ 
lion for safe keeping, and having returned again 
to the coast and made sail in quest of fresh 
booty, been scuttled and sent to Davy Jones’ 
locker before they could re-visit their moun¬ 
tain-locked treasury. Such may have been the 
case, but let us hope that if a cargo of gold and 
silver is destined to be discovered in the rocky 
jowl of Cacarrajicara, that the lucky man will 
corral the ghost who led him thither and reap 
some tales of the old pirate days of Cuba. I 
have a notion it is the phantom of this uncap¬ 
tured rascal who brings one sea memories in 
the mountains of San Diego; who pulls Nep¬ 
tune from his “oozy woods” and ocean caves to 
sit in the slumbrous shadow of a palm grove. 
Tarpon’s Grizzly 
By KELPIE 
S OME years ago I was talking with your 
old correspondent “Tarpon” (Capt. S. D. 
Kendall), and being in a reminiscent 
mood, he chanced to mention this bear. 
Now, the captain is one of the most interest¬ 
ing of men if you can only get him started on 
the right tack, although he might not otherwise 
have much to say. It was quite by accident that 
I chanced to learn that Whittier’s “Tent on the 
Beach” was pitched on Plum Island, off the 
mouth of the Merrimack River, near Newbury- 
port. Mass., and that it was in Tarpon’s boat 
that Whittier’s party was transported to the 
island. The party consisted of John G. Whit¬ 
tier, Bayard Taylor, Ben. Perley Poore and 
George H. Hepworth, and they happened to se¬ 
cure Tarpon’s services for the trip. 
Then again, he knew the historian, William H. 
Prescott, at his old home in Pepperell, Mass., 
and has told me that Mr. Prescott, whose eyes 
were defective, used a wire machine to assist 
him in writing. 
Tarpon has been in Siberia and at the equator 
and picked up a doubloon on Cocos Island. He 
has visited the tower of London and the British 
Museum and has wandered among the ruins of 
bygone civilization in the Pacific; in fact, he 
has been nearly everywhere, and C. B. Reynolds 
told him long ago that he ought to write a book 
and give some of his adventures to the world. 
So I thought, and so he thought, but he put it 
off too long. 
It was years ago at a time when we were hav¬ 
ing a quiet talk that he was led to speak of the 
different sorts of game he had killed in his 
time, and among these he chanced to mention 
a grizzly bear. 
“Why,” said I, “I did not know that you had 
ever shot one of those varmints!” 
“Well, I did,” he replied, “and it happened in 
this way:”* 
*It may be best for me to state just here that it is for 
the most part given to the reader in my own language, 
as I cannot at this time presume to relate it in the 
graphic words of the narrator. From his description, I 
am led to the opinion that the rifle which saved his life, 
and perhaps that of others on this occasion, was of the 
sort known to the French as the carabine a tige. It 
was quite a favorite in Europe about the middle of the 
last century, and I have myself seen them on sale in the 
early fifties. The “tige” was a steel pin screwed into 
the breech, and projecting upward into the barrel, so 
that the charge of powder, when poured into the gun, 
lay around the base of this “tige,” which expanded the 
ball when it was driven down by the blows of a heavy 
ramrod. It will be evident that as the missile thus re¬ 
ceived the whole force of the powder, these rifles were 
very strong shooting grins. 
“It was a good many years ago that I one 
day found myself prospecting for mineral in 
company with two other men. Just where we 
were would be difficult to say, but it was not 
far from the line between Oregon and Cali¬ 
fornia. 
“The men with me were brisk young fellows 
and full of new notions and plans about our 
expedition; still, I was sometimes led to think 
that a little more experience of wild life wouldn’t 
hurt them much. Each of them was gotten up 
without much regard to expense, and the new 
hardware which they packed along looked as if 
it ought, if properly handled, to be able to clean 
out the most of the larger game of Del Norte 
county. 
“I suppose that I looked, perhaps, a little more 
on the rough and ready style than they thought 
just the thing, for they occasionally made a little 
quiet fun of some article of my equipment, and 
in particular, they could not help expressing their 
opinion of my rifle. Such a gun as that just 
about took the rag off the bush. ‘Where did you 
pick her up ? Can you hit anything with her ?’ 
and the like, which was really rather annoying, 
though spoken in perfectly good humor. The 
worst of it was that the gun apparently merited 
all they said, and perhaps a little more. It was 
certainly an outlandish affair—looked as if it 
might have come over with Henry Hudson and 
carried a ball somewhat smaller than the aver¬ 
age doughnut. I took it all in good part and 
said little about the rifle, though I knew well 
enough what I was about when I brought it 
along, and I trusted to time for further develop¬ 
ments. 
“We made camp one night on the border of 
a stream, perhaps twenty feet wide. The ground 
was level where we were, but rose sharply on 
the opposite side of the brook and formed quite 
a hill, which was covered by a growth of chapar¬ 
ral. We were wearied by the exertions of the 
day, and after a hearty supper and a smoke we 
rolled ourselves in our blankets and turned in 
early. 
“Next morning it was my turn to get break¬ 
fast and ‘redd up’ the camp, so after our meal 
the other fellows shouldered their new, shiny 
rifles, belted on their six-shooters and bowie 
knives, took their picks, waded the brook and 
started up the hill, while I soon became en¬ 
grossed in the more prosaic task of washing 
the dishes. While engaged in this and similar 
operations, I was startled by a rifle shot and a 
wild shout, followed immediately by more shout¬ 
ing and shooting. Dropping all else, I caught 
up my rifle and gazed anxiously toward the 
summit of the hill across the creek from where 
the racket proceeded. I had not long to wait, 
for I soon saw through a break in the chaparral 
that my two camp mates were coming down the 
hill on a dead run, just ‘hitting the high places’ 
as it were; and that wasn’t the worst of it, for 
there was a big grizzly behind them. 
“I sized up the situation at once and I re¬ 
alized that it was a mighty good thing for them 
that the bear had to chase them down hill, for 
had it been the other way he would have caught 
up with them at once. Instead of giving him 
a wide berth, they had foolishly fired at him on 
sight, and this was the result. 
“They had emptied their firearms, but very 
unnecessarily, as I thought at the time, they 
headed right for camp, now and then letting out 
an extra screech, as they distinctly heard the 
savage ‘woof” of the beast behind them. Right 
through the camp they sped after clearing the 
stream in about two jumps and shouting to me, 
‘Run, run ! Bear, bear!’ they were promptly out 
of sight in the brush. 
“Close on their heels came the fierce old bear, 
his great teeth showing plainly as he crashed 
down to the creek, when, just as he was about 
to plunge in, he saw me standing, rifle in hand, 
upon the other side. 
“In order the more definitely to ascertain the 
nature of this new antagonist, he stopped, and 
rising upon his haunches, proceeded to take a 
good look at me. Just about that time I drew 
a fine bead between his eyes and pressed the 
trigger. If Providence permits—which, however, 
is not invariably the case—the first thing that an 
old hunter will do after shooting is to reload 
his gun, and I did not waste much time until I 
had seated the ball firmly and seen the cap in 
proper position on my rifle. Then I took a good 
look at the bear. He was lying without motion 
where he had fallen near the margin of the 
stream, so I sat down and contemplated his car¬ 
cass for a short time, when I happened to re¬ 
member that the other two fellows were out 
somewhere in the brush, and I uplifted my voice 
and hailed them, telling them that the bear was 
dead, and that they would better come back. 
This they did after a while, and being rather 
warm and pretty well winded, they sat down on 
a rock and looked at the bear. 
“When they had gotten their wind they began 
to talk. They did not seem to regret the death 
of the bear, but regarded that as a mere matter 
of course, considering the number of bullets 
they had planted in his body before they lost 
sight of him. It was only a question of a little 
time, anyhow. Then somebody proposed that 
we cross the creek and take a look at the critter, 
and accordingly we went. There was no ques¬ 
tion as to what had become of my ball. A 
man might have run his thumb into the hole be¬ 
tween the eyes of the bear, and the ponderous 
missile, fired at close range, had almost lifted 
off the top of the skull. It thus became fairly 
evident that the death of this particular creature 
had been somewhat sudden, not to say unex¬ 
pected. 
“Not much was said just then and we pro¬ 
ceeded to look for more wounds. Carefully and 
methodically we examined every inch of exposed 
surface, but without result. Then, with con- 
