No fight was ever managed with such courage or in such a surprising manner as the one between Friday and the bear. Although we were initially frightened for him, the event provided us with the greatest entertainment imaginable.
The bear is a heavy, clumsy creature and does not gallop like the swift, light wolf. Generally, two qualities govern his actions. First, regarding humans—who are not his natural prey—he does not usually attack unless he is provoked, or perhaps if he is excessively hungry, which was likely the case now as the ground was buried under snow. If you do not interfere with him, he will not interfere with you. However, you must be polite and give him the road, for he is a very proud gentleman; he will not step aside for a prince. Indeed, if you are afraid, your best course of action is to look away and keep walking; if you stop and stare, he may take it as an insult. But if you throw even a tiny stick at him, he considers himself abused. He will set aside all other business to seek revenge and satisfy his honor. This is his first quality. The second is that once he has been offended, he will never leave you alone, pursuing you night and day until he has overtaken you.
My man Friday had just rescued our guide, who was both injured and terrified. As Friday helped him down from his horse, we suddenly spotted an enormous bear emerging from the woods—by far the largest I had ever seen. While the rest of us were startled, Friday’s face lit up with joy and courage.
"O! O! O!" Friday cried, pointing at the beast. "Master, if you give me leave, I will shake hands with him. I will give you a good laugh!"
I was astonished to see him so pleased. "You fool," I said, "he will eat you up!"
"Eat me up! Eat me up!" Friday repeated. "I will eat him up! I will give you a good laugh. You all stay here, and I will show you."
He sat down, pulled off his heavy boots, and put on a pair of flat shoes called pumps, which he had in his pocket. He handed his horse to another servant and, clutching his gun, he flew away as swift as the wind.
The bear was walking slowly, minding its own business, until Friday approached and called out as if the animal could understand him. "Hark ye, hark ye," Friday shouted, "I must speak with you!"
We followed at a distance. Having descended toward the Gascony side of the mountains, we had entered a vast, open forest. Friday, who was much faster than the bear, quickly caught up. He picked up a large stone and hurled it, hitting the bear squarely on the head. It did no more physical harm than if he had thrown it against a stone wall, but it served Friday’s purpose perfectly. The fellow was so fearless that he did it purely to make the bear chase him.
As soon as the bear felt the blow, he turned around and pursued Friday with long, shuffling strides that would have forced a horse into a gallop. Friday ran toward us as if seeking help, and we prepared to fire our guns to save him. I was angry that he was leading the bear toward us when the creature had been going its own way.
"You dog!" I shouted. "Is this how you make us laugh? Come here and take your horse so we can shoot the creature!"
"No shoot! No shoot!" Friday cried. "Stand still, and you will have much laugh!"
Being far more nimble, Friday suddenly turned aside and ran toward a great oak tree. He signaled for us to follow, then nimbly climbed the tree, leaving his gun on the ground a few yards from the trunk. The bear reached the tree, stopped to sniff the gun, but ignored it and began to scramble up after Friday, climbing as efficiently as a cat despite his massive weight. I was amazed at what I thought was Friday’s folly, and I could see nothing to laugh at until we rode closer.
Friday had moved to the very end of a long, thin branch, and the bear had followed him halfway out. As the bear reached the point where the branch began to bend under the weight, Friday called out to us, "Now you see me teach the bear to dance!"
He began jumping and shaking the bough. The bear started to totter and looked back to see how he might retreat. At this, we laughed heartily. But Friday was not finished. Seeing the bear stop, he teased him: "What, you come no farther? Please, come farther!"
As if the bear understood, he moved a little closer. Friday started jumping again, and the bear stopped once more. We thought this was the perfect time to shoot, but Friday pleaded, "Oh, please! No shoot! I will shoot by-and-by!"
Friday danced so much and the bear looked so unsteady that we had plenty of laughter, yet we couldn’t imagine how it would end. The bear was too cunning to be shaken off; he clung fast with his great claws. Finally, Friday put our doubts to rest. Seeing that the bear would not move further, Friday said, "Well, if you won’t come to me, I will go to you."
He moved to the very tip of the branch until it bent low under his weight, then gently slid down and jumped safely to the ground. He ran to his gun and stood waiting.
"Friday," I called, "what will you do now? Why don't you shoot him?"
"No shoot yet," he replied. "If I shoot now, I might not kill. I will give you one more laugh."
When the bear saw his enemy was gone, he began to climb down the tree backward, moving very cautiously and looking over his shoulder at every step. Just as the bear was about to set his hind foot on the ground, Friday stepped up close, pressed the muzzle of his gun against the bear's ear, and shot him dead. The rogue then turned to see if we were laughing, and seeing our pleased expressions, he broke into a loud laugh himself.
"This is how we kill bears in my country," Friday said.
"But you have no guns there," I remarked.
"No," he said, "no guns, but we shoot with very long arrows."
This was a pleasant diversion, but we were still in a wild place with an injured guide and the terrifying sound of wolves howling in the distance. The noise filled me with a horror I had not felt since my days on the African coast. The approaching night forced us to move on. Friday wanted to skin the bear, as the fur was valuable, but we had three leagues still to travel and our guide urged us to hurry.
The ground was still covered in snow, and we later learned that ravenous wolves, driven by hunger, had come down from the mountains into the plains, killing sheep, horses, and even some villagers.
As we entered a small plain surrounded by woods, our guide—who was quite fainthearted—warned us to stay alert. We soon saw the evidence of the wolves’ hunger: the remains of a dead horse being picked clean by a dozen wolves. Friday wanted to shoot, but I forbade it, sensing that we would soon have more serious business to attend to.
Suddenly, a terrifying howl erupted from the forest on our left. About a hundred wolves appeared, moving toward us in a disciplined line, like an army. I ordered my men to form a close line. To ensure a continuous defense, I instructed that only every other man should fire, while the rest stood ready with a second volley.
When we fired the first volley, the wolves stopped, terrified by the noise and the flash. Several were killed or wounded. However, they did not retreat immediately. Remembering that fierce creatures are often terrified by the human voice, I ordered everyone to shout as loud as possible. This worked; the wolves began to retire. A second volley in their rear sent them galloping back to the woods.
This gave us time to reload, but the danger was far from over. As night fell, we were surrounded by three separate packs of wolves. We kept moving at a hard trot until we reached the entrance of another wood. There, we found a horrific sight: the carcasses of two men and another horse, partially devoured. One of the men had clearly tried to defend himself, as an empty gun lay beside him.
Nearly three hundred wolves now gathered around us. Fortunately, some large timber trees had been left near the entrance of the wood. I drew my troop among these logs, using one long tree as a breastwork and placing the horses in the center. The wolves charged with furious growls, driven mad by the sight of the horses. We maintained a steady fire, but the creatures kept coming, the ones behind pushing the ones in front forward.
I decided to try a stratagem. I had my servant lay a thick train of gunpowder along the timber log. Just as the wolves reached it, I ignited the powder with an uncharged pistol. The resulting flash and fire scorched those on the log and terrified the rest. In their confusion, we fired one last volley and gave a great shout. The wolves finally turned and fled.
We arrived at our destination an hour later to find the townspeople in a state of alarm, having been attacked by wolves and bears the previous night. The next morning, our guide was too ill to continue, so we hired a new one to take us to Toulouse. There, the climate was warm and the country pleasant. When we told the locals of our journey, they were shocked we hadn't been devoured. They informed us that the sight of our horses had made the wolves exceptionally bold, and that if we had not used the gunpowder trick, we would likely have been torn to pieces.
For my part, I have never felt such a sense of danger. I decided then that I would rather travel a thousand leagues by sea, even through weekly storms, than cross those mountains again.
I traveled from Toulouse to Paris and finally reached Dover on the 14th of January. I was finally back in England, and my finances were in excellent order. My old friend, the widow, had managed my affairs with such integrity that I was now a wealthy man.
I decided to sell my plantation in Brazil. My old friend in Lisbon arranged the sale for thirty-three thousand pieces of eight. I ensured that a yearly income was reserved for my old friend and his son, as they had been so loyal to me.
One might think that, with such good fortune, I would be finished with adventures. However, I was accustomed to a wandering life. I had no family besides two nephews, whom I took under my care. I raised the eldest as a gentleman and sent the younger to sea. In time, I married and had three children—two sons and a daughter. But after my wife passed away, my old inclination to travel returned. In 1694, I joined my nephew on a voyage to the East Indies.
During this journey, I revisited my island. I found that the Spaniards and the Englishmen I had left there had experienced many struggles but had eventually learned to live together. They had defended the island against Caribbean invaders and had even brought women from the mainland to start families. I stayed for twenty days, leaving them with supplies, tools, and two workmen—a carpenter and a smith. I later sent more supplies and livestock from Brazil to ensure their prosperity.
The full account of these new adventures, including the great battles they fought to keep their colony, I shall share in the second part of my story.