16 
FOREST AND STREAM 
MY FIRST BEAR HUNT 
A NOVICE AT THE GAME HAS ALL 
THE THRILLS AND MOST OF THE BAG 
By Col. James L. Goodloe. 
winter of i860 there was 
ing of any importance on 
LTHOUGH I have 
grown old enough 
to shrink from the 
taking of most of 
God’s creatures, my 
thoughts often revert to 
the exciting times in 'the 
M i s sissippi 
Valley when 
I was a lad. 
In those 
days the 
woods were 
full of game, 
and the 
streams with 
fish. In the 
only one land- 
the Big Sun¬ 
flower River from its mouth on the Yazoo 
to its headwaters in North Mississippi. 
This was at Holland’s Landing three 
miles from Deer Creek, and a very rough 
wagon road led to the creek, touching it 
eight miles north from Rolling Fork. The 
cane brake on the east side of Deer Creek 
extended from the Yazoo nearly to Green¬ 
ville, broken only by an occasional planta¬ 
tion. This brake was from one to three 
or four miles wide, and here and on the 
streams was a hunter’s paradise. The 
game consisted of bear, deer, panther, 
wolves, foxes, wildcat, turkeys, swans, 
duck, geese, but no quails. 
In the autumn of i860, Winter Goodloe, 
my eldest brother, had cut a trail from the 
Holland Landing road for six miles, north¬ 
wardly, through the center of the cane 
brake, and another beginning three miles 
north of that road, and running east for 
two miles through the brake. This was 
preparatory for the last meeting of four 
brothers of us for a hunting frolic at our 
place, Greatland, on Deer Creek. Charles 
Shackleford, Jr., of Canton, and John Cam¬ 
eron, of Deer Creek, were there. 
We met before daybreak in December, 
i860. Our negro boy, King, who was mas¬ 
ter of the hounds, had taken fifteen hounds 
and halfbreeds to the south end of the long 
trail, beginning at the road above men¬ 
tioned, and was to put the pack in at day¬ 
break. Meantime we rode to the northern 
cross trail. Winter placed me near the 
clearing, and strung the other boys out 
upon it at intervals of about two hundred 
yards, so that we might intercept the bear 
when pursued by King and his pack. 
We were posted at daylight, and the sun 
was just rising when I heard the distant 
hornlike note of Old Rip, who with Rob, 
Bettie, and Callie were of the famous Har¬ 
ry Hill strain of deer or bear hounds, and 
were almost infallible on the scent. The 
two first were tall, strong, heavy jointed 
dogs, strong breasted, and reliable. Usu¬ 
ally they were the leaders, in whom the 
pack had entire confidence. They were 
slow but sure. There were four or five 
other thoroughbred hounds, and a lot of 
halfbreeds, used for overhauling and stop¬ 
ping the game. Of these old Sut Lovin- 
good was the most famous. He bayed 
like the halloo of a strong lunged giant, 
and was fearless and expert in nipping the 
legs of the game. 
I had never seen a wild bear, and that is 
why Winter had posted me at a point 
where a bear had never been known to run 
when chased by the hounds. They invari¬ 
ably seek the dense cane when pursued, al¬ 
though they usually tack and come back, 
but keep within the heavy cane. 
Old Rip’s bugle call came from a point 
half a mile south from me, and sounded 
as if he was on a cold trail, but it was al¬ 
most enough to make my hair knock my 
cap from my head. For a while there was 
no repetition. I heard an occasional yelp 
from the halfbreeds as they seemed to 
move nearer to the clearing. Then I 
moved as fast as I could over the cane 
Hunting in the Mississippi Bayous. 
stubble where it had been cut off, toward 
the field. As I hurried around an im¬ 
mense gum tree which obstructed the trail, 
a THING seemingly as large as an ox, 
rose up within a few feet of me, standing 
on its hind legs, with mouth open. We 
had loaned other guns to our guests, and 
I had only a ten-bore single-barrelled shot 
gun, muzzle loader, charged with a heavy 
load of Dupont black powder, an ounce 
ball and three buckshot. In a real “Buck 
Ague,” and in terror, I fired full in the 
face of the beast, which fell dead as I 
turned to get out of the way. 
At the crack of my gun the pack came 
tearing through the cane, and opening in 
full cry as they found a hot trail. What 
a holiday racket they made as they cov¬ 
ered the fearful animal which had fallen 
to my aim! 
While I stood by, admiring my game, and 
priding myself with success, the little six- 
month’s old, Crowd, who was, like myself, 
on his first legs, sounded his bugle note 
several hundred yards to the north. The 
older and experienced dogs pricked up 
their ears, but appeared not to credit the 
young son of Rip and Bettie. I urged 
them out, however, and followed in the 
wake. Little Crowd had not lied. The 
uproar was fearful to my unaccustomed 
ears, but, enthused on my first chase, and 
sustained by success, I followed as fast 
as the cane would permit, yelling like “a 
painter.” Soon I heard the struggle, and 
came up to the whole pack covering a two 
hundred pounder, a two year old bear. 
Now, here was my opportunity for more 
glory! I hauled out my heavy knife, about 
a foot long and sharp on both edges, made 
by our blacksmith, pushed the dogs aside, 
and kneeled to stick the struggling bear 
to the heart, which, you know, and I had 
been told, lies low down in the left side, 
below the ribs. When I got in, the dogs 
evidently thought I had him, and loosed 
their holds. The powerful youngster im¬ 
mediately raised up and made at me. I 
fell back on him and gave him my boot 
heel, which he seized and began to rip my 
kip boot legs with his hind claws, but the 
dogs immediately seized him as I did more 
yelling than ever. I finished the young 
fellow while they held on, and I feel sorry 
for it to this day. 
Tying the cord, which we always had 
around our waists, under his lower front 
teeth, I dragged him slowly to where his 
mother was lying. It was a hard job, 
and, before I got there, the beautiful and 
now famous little Crowd again broke the 
welkin with the sweetest note that hunter 
ever heard. The pack had now learned to 
respect the call of this young Napoleon, 
and soon had another two year old on his 
back—and I ruthlessly committed another 
murder—but it was not in cold blood. 
Hauling this one also to where the others 
lay dead, I sounded the “death call” on 
my big horn, over nine hundred pounds of 
prime bear meat. 
It was a long time before I heard my 
companions answering my notes. The sun 
was well up, and so was the “jig” of a 
further hunt. 
I had moved away from the battlefield, 
toward the east, and sat down on a log. 
If I had then used tobacco I suppose I 
would have lighted a pipe. Then Winter 
came along at the head of the train. He 
was smoking, and 
glum, and thus ad¬ 
dressed me: “Well, 
I guess you have 
spoiled this hunt, kill¬ 
ing bobcats!” I did 
not disabuse his mind 
of its error as he 
passed by me, on the 
way to our horses and 
home. All at once he 
halted, threw up his 
arms, and shouted 
like a Stentor—“JE- 
RU-SA-LEM 1 !” Af¬ 
ter that he assigned 
me to better stands in 
the chase. We had a 
gala time of it 
during that sea¬ 
son, but parted 
to go to war, 
and never met 
together again. 
