FROM THE JAWS OF DEATH: A Rejected Suitor Saves her from a...

HN NOTE: My goodness, in today’s paranoid world, especially in matters between the sexes, it’s hard to imagine a rejected suitor would be legally able to get within 100 yards of a woman… and furthermore, it is even far more doubtful such a rejected suitor would still have access to firearms.

But according to the Illustrated Police News, this selfless rescue actually happened right here in New England, about 140 years ago, in 1876.

From the Jaws of Death…

Smith is a common name, and John Smith is a very common one, but sometimes this very common appellation belongs to a very uncommon man. Of such a one we chronicle the following, sent [to] us by a correspondent from the northern portion of the Granite State:

John Smith is the name of gentleman living in the northern part of this State (New Hampshire) who for several years past has been very attentive to a young lady living in the same neighborhood, with an ultimate view to matrimony; but up to the commencement of the last snow-storm, which occurred a few days since, the lady declined to reciprocate, and John Smith’s case was, by every one except himself, considered hopeless.

John was not wealthy – in fact he was poor.

John was not handsome, in fact he was plain. But John was honest, manly and healthy, and that is saying a great deal for one of the present generation.

For three years John persevered only to be snubbed by his lady love, who held the position of district school teacher. He even went so far as to attend her school in the winter when the weather was such that no work could be done. But in this respect he was not singular; two rival suitors to the handsome young teacher’s hand did the same, and on these two she smiled alternatively, but never on great straight-limbed, powerful, bearded, plain John Smith.

The school in which this coquettish [or flirtatious] young teacher taught the young […] was situated about a mile from the village, and she boarded at a house in the village, the same as did John Smith, and about one-half of the road from the school to the house was through a dense pine and fir wood. No work doing (as he was a carpenter), one day last week John thought he would attend school and let his muscles rest to improve his mind. Before the first session was over, a blinding, furious snow storm sprang up, and everyone remained in the school house till late in the afternoon waiting for it to hold up.

But hold up it wouldn’t, and when darkness appeared the pupils and teacher prepared to depart. Smith offered his escort to the teacher, but his two rivals had been beforehand with their services, and she accepted an arm from each, and homely John plunged out into the whirling snow and strode home ahead of them in no very amiable mood, though he was well used to such rebuffs.

He arrived home and waited for her coming before he would sit down and partake of the dinner which had been kept hot for them.

He waited fifteen minutes, then half an hour, until it became quite dark. He then became quite uneasy as the storm still howled without.

At last, being unable to stand the suspense any longer, he put on his overcoat and cap and was about starting out, when in came his two rivals, breathless and frightened. There first inquiry was for the teacher, and on being told that she had not arrived home in a very few words they explained all.

While facing the storm through the wooded part of the road they had suddenly been brought to a standstill by a huge bear standing directly in the middle of the pathway. In a moment their courage forsook [or abandoned] them, and leaving the helpless woman alone in the road they took to their heels, and after making considerable of a detour to avoid Bruin [the bear] they had got safely to the village. With an imprecation [or spoken curse words] against them on his lips, plain John Smith grabbed the farmer’s rifle and hunting knife from the [brackets] on the wall, and as fast as he could run, alone and unattended, made back over the trail to the school-house.

In fifteen minutes he had come up to the place where they described meeting the bear, and there he discovered a trail leading directly into the woods. This he followed, and as the snow had by this time stopped falling [the trail] was not quite obliterated.

For half an hour he followed [the trail], until at last he came to a small clearing at the side of a little knoll, and there, at the foot of the decline, in the uncertain light of the glimmering moon which was trying to show itself through the clouds, a sight met his eyes which for a moment unnerved him.
The woman he loved lay extended, motionless and apparently dead, on the surface of the snow, while the huge denizen [or inhabitant, in this case the bear] of the forest stood over her licking her face with his rough tongue, as if to recall her to life. The intrusion startled [the bear], and he turned toward the intruder and growled.

This brought the lover to his senses, and taking deliberate aim he fired. Bruin advanced a step or two toward his assailant and then fell dead in his tracks.
In another moment the lover had dropped his gun and was raising the inanimate form of the one he loved in his arms. He perceived at once that there was some life left, but that fright and the cold had rendered her senseless.

Taking off his overcoat and wrapping it around her he started with his fair burden for the village.

When about half way home he met an armed mob with lanterns coming in search of the them. He hurriedly explained all that had happened, and some of them turned back and accompanied him home, while others kept on and brought the body of the slaughtered brute into the village.

A few simple restoratives brought the almost victim to consciousness, and then on being questioned she told her story. As soon as she was left alone she turned and fled into the woods, pursued by the bear. How long she ran, or where she was going she could not tell, but she kept on until she fell down in the clearing insensible from the exhaustion and fright.

To this fact she probably owed her life, as it is well known that a bear will not hurt an inanimate body, and to all appearances she was lifeless.
This was all she could remember until she came to consciousness in the house, surrounded by her friends. From these she soon learned the circumstances of her rescue, and she at once sent for John Smith, but John had left the house to escape the congratulations of the assembled neighbors. However, the next morning at breakfast they met, and he was the most bashful of the two.

When that meal was over she asked John to accompany her to school; he assented [or agreed], and they started on the road. After proceeding a little way she asked him to take her to the place where he had rescued her, and he piloted her safely to the clearing where she had so nearly become a sacrifice. The form of her body and the bear’s tracks and where he struggled in death were still imprinted in the snow.

Looking at them for a moment, then turning her eyes full upon John, she said, in a clear, solemn voice, “John Smith, do you love me?”
John eagerly replied in the affirmative.

“Will you forgive everything and let me be your wife?”

John in his own way declared that nothing would suit him better.

“Then take me for better or worse,” said she, whereupon he proceeded to hug her in a manner that would have done credit to the deceased bear.

The next day, by special license, the coquettish school-teacher was married to plain John Smith, who had saved her from the jaws of death.

[The above Illustrated Police News archive and drawing where obtained for republication with permission from the University of Minnesota’s literature research collection. HN made some minor updates by adding some notes here and there, which are inserted in brackets, and intended to make the account more readable to a modern audience of varying reading levels. Updates were also made in some slight instances of punctuation, but for the most part the copy was retyped almost word for word, as it was initially published by the Illustrated Police News Company; Boston, Massachusetts, 1876 – although its paragraphs were often deconstructed by HN, and often set apart by single sentences, etc…]

11/7/2016

Robert Bastille

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