The Turnbo Manuscripts
by Silas Claiborne Turnbo
1844-1925
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STORIES OF BEAR AND A SCRIMMAGE WITH A DEER
By S. C. Turnbo
Not many hunters tramped the woods more for game than Calvin Clark, son
of William and Mary (Arthur) Clark. He was born in Laurel County, Kentucky,
in 1828 and came from his native state with his parents to Taney County,
Mo., in 1841. In 1843 his father located at the mouth of Shoal Creek in
what is now Boone County, Ark. He lived here until the autumn of 1849 when
he moved elsewhere and lived in various localities in Marion County, Ark.,
until his death in 1861. His mother died in 1854. Both are resting in the
graveyard on the Abe Perkins farm ½ mile below the mouth of Music
Creek. In referring to this burial ground Calvin Clark says that his mother
selected this spot for a graveyard just before her death. The old couple
are buried on a mound near the river bank. Uncle Calvin says that he has
26 relatives buried here including his parents and his brother Lige and
the famed hunter Bill Clark. Uncle Billy Clark brought a fine set of hand
mill rocks with him from Kentucky that was quarried in the famous Laurel
Hill, sometimes called the Dug Hill. This quarry is situated in Laurel County.
The writer’s father bought them from Mr. Clark. John Clark, son of
Uncle Billy, pushed them up in a canoe from mouth of Shoal Creek to Elbow
Shoals and delivered them to my father for five dollars. This was in the
late fall of 1849. Mr. Calvin Clark says he is acquainted with the graveyard
on Little Creek four miles above Thornfield, Mo., known as the Tommy Norris
graveyard, where Tommy Norris and his wife are buried. John Piland’s
body was the first interment here which occurred during the war. The old
settlers, Goodman Daves, Elijah Newberry and Sanders Thompson, are buried
here.
"Well," says Uncle Calvin, "as you cannot put all my hunting
stories in one chapter you will have to divide them into several parts.
I will proceed now to give you two more bear stories. I well recollect that
in 1845 while we were living at the mouth of Shoal Creek I and father went
on a camp hunt on the head of Big Creek and were out two days and one night.
On the first day father lost part of his bullets out of his shot pouch which
made his supply of rifle balls very limited. Early on the following day
while we were separated father met three bears, a mother and two cubs. He
shot and killed the old one, then reloaded his rifle and shot one of the
cubs. This exhausted his bullets. The other cub went up a tall tree and
did not stop climbing until it had reached the topmost limb. Father wanted
the little bear and he pondered a moment and then cut a piece off of his
gun stick ½ inch long and rapped some tow (fiber of flax) around
it and then poured a heavy charge of powder down his gun and pushed the
slug of wood down on it and shot and killed the young bear. The slug had
passed through the cub’s body, lacerating the flesh worse than the
effects of a bullet. The little bruises weighed about 60 lbs. each after
they were dressed. Now for the other story," said Mr. Clark. "Did
you ever see a bear feed grapes to her young?" In answering him in
the negative, he said, "Well, I had the pleasure of witnessing that
once which is very vivid in my memory. It was in the fall of 1844. I and
father and my brother Bill Clark had rode to head of Trimble Creek one day
to hunt. We had four dogs with us. I was 17 years old and how I enjoyed
myself in the hills among the game. It was a delightful day and we killed
a few deer for their hides. While riding along near the base of Short Mountain
on the north side we spied a bear on a log about 200 yards from us. The
log lay across a narrow ravine. We also discovered two yearling cubs under
the log. The mother bear was sitting on her haunches and pulling off bunches
of grapes which hung in clusters on the vines that entwined a small sapling
that stood against the log, the top of which reached just above old bruin’s
head. The scene of the bear feeding grapes to her young was interesting
to us and we sat on our horses and kept the dogs quiet and watched her actions
several minutes. Bruin was busy gathering the wild fruit and dropping it
down to the cubs, the latter of which was busy picking up the grapes and
devouring them. The old bear would reach out with her paws and pull the
vines to her mouth and bite off the bunches of grapes and spit them out
or merely open her mouth and let them drop. The sight was worth something
for study regarding bear nature. Whether she observed us watching her or
not we did not know. If she did she never let on. After we had satisfied
our curiosity my brother Bill dismounted and shot her. The poor beast uttered
a peculiar cry similar to a human when attacked with severe pain, and cried
out, "Oh. Lordy", as plain and as distinct as a human could utter
It. Then she tottered and fell off the log dead where the cubs were feasting
on the grapes she had thrown to them. Though it was only a bear, yet that
strange noise from her rung in my ears for days afterward. I felt almost
like we had murdered some person. When the old bear fell father turned the
dogs loose and the young bears retreated and the dogs chased them until
they sought safety in a tree. When we had advanced up near the tree where
the cubs had taken refuge another scene met our vision for both animals
fell from the tree as if dead, which greatly astonished us. When they hit
the ground the dogs dashed at them for a fight but the young bruins were
all grit and instantly rose on their hind feet and knocked the four dogs
away and then lowered themselves and started off on a run. The dogs after
recovering from the shock of being tapped over gave pursuit and the cubs
climbed another tree, but when we rode up near the tree they released their
holds and tumbled to the ground as before, followed by another spell of
knocking the dogs down, then a short chase and up another tree the bears
went. But before we could shoot them they dropped to the ground the third
time. This time the dogs refused to attack the cubs. The latter had taught
them a lesson. The dogs were too prudent and we could not induce them to
venture near them again and the bears went on. At this moment my brother
Bill’s horse broke loose and we had much trouble before we captured
him again. By this time the cubs were gone and made good their escape."
"The worst trouble I ever had with a deer," said Uncle Calvin,
"was one day while I and my brother John Clark were hunting on the
head of Music Creek, where I shot a small doe which fell apparently dead.
Going up to where it lay I bent over the deer to cut its throat. Just as
I placed the sharp edge of the knife against its throat, the deer flounced
and kicked the knife out of my hand then jumped to its feet. But in rising
up it struck against me and knocked me down. Without thinking what I was
doing I caught it by the foreleg as I fell. Real live fun began now in earnest.
The little deer kicked and surged to free itself. Of course I could have
turned it loose but I had caught it and as long as I had done so I thought
I would hold it. The little animals was fully revived now and it struggled
terrible and bruised my body and limbs with its feet and tore my clothes
into tatters. John stood off a few yards tantalizing and laughing at me.
I begged him to help me but he only laughed the louder and said he would
not show foul play for he wanted it to be a fair fight. The dog was standing
a few feet away and I called him but John took hold of the dog and would
not allow him to come to my aid thought I did not want to turn the deer
loose, but I was discouraged, bruised all over and nearly nude. The deer
kept on kicking and surging to free itself but I held on until at last John
walked up and stabbed the deer behind the shoulder with his knife but the
blade was short and did not penetrate to a vital part. But I let go the
deer. Whether it was a judgement sent on John or not I do not know, but
anyway as the deer turned to run it kicked him a severe blow on the shin
bone cutting a gash two inches long. John’s legs hurt him so that he
fairly danced around for awhile and groaned awful. It was wrong for me to
laugh at his suffering but I did for I thought the deer did right in kicking
him for treating me so unkindly. We were afoot and John could hardly walk
home and it was three or four weeks before the sore healed over. John repented
of his ill treatment shown me and asked my forgiveness which as a matter
of course I did. He said he enjoyed seeing the deer get the best of me and
hear me beg for help. My legs and body was sore several days, but I recovered
sooner than John did. My clothes, though, were torn into fragments."
May 26, 1902
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