CHAPTER II.
The Provincial Moose. A Battle for Supremacy. Luck and Ill-luck. The Judge and the Banker.
One of the greatest moose regions in the world is that portion of land drained by the tributaries of the St. John, Miramichi, and Restigouche rivers. It is true that portions of Nova Scotia, Quebec, and Labrador are roamed over by herds of these magnificent animals, but the best specimens of the race are found within the compass of Eastern New Brunswick.
It is a country of hill and dale, cedar swamps, hardwood ridges, and barrens, where the blueberry, the hackmatack, and here and there stunted tamaracks break the general sweep of waste country. Along these barrens the moose loves to roam. Here he finds the moss of which he is so fond, and here, too, he gets the young shoots of various shrubs on which he feeds. He can also keep a weather eye on the approach of danger, and as he feeds, he occasionally throws his massive head in the air, and takes a sudden and piercing glance around the landscape. If satisfied, he gives a short grunt of evident pleasure and proceeds with his feeding.
The best horns are secured in the months of late October, November, and early December. In January the horn begins to get soft, and soon falls off. It is said by hunters that the largest animals lose their antlers weeks earlier than the younger bulls. It is also claimed that the natural color of the moose-horn is white; that this is the color when the velvet comes off, but that contact with the trees, and rubbing against the bark—something which the moose apparently delights in—causes the horn to take that pretty shade of antique oak. There is all the difference in the world in horns. Some have a multitude of points; some have wider webs; some have stouter horn stems; some set more gracefully on the skull; some lie more horizontally than others; so that when the term a "choice head" is used it means that nature has given the bull all the beauty of antlers in profusion.
With far greater agility and cunning than any other animal of its weight, the moose is a formidable opponent when attacked. Some narrow escapes have been made by hunters using the old cap gun, but now with the breech-loader the speed that guarantees security is given.
I have seen a great curiosity in the form of the horns of two moose inextricably interlocked. The story these horns tell is that a duel to the death had taken place in a forest glade between a bull moose of eight hundred pounds weight and a younger one of perhaps four hundred pounds. The larger had an antler spread of three feet eight inches, the smaller, that of three feet. In the shock of the conflict, the horns of the younger had fitted snugly into the many branches of the other set of antlers, and the heads were as solidly and as perfectly fastened together as if bolted with iron.
COW MOOSE, WITH CALVES, SWIMMING MUD POND.
(West Branch Waters.)
That the fight had been long and stubborn the horns showed. Where they had come together they had been rubbed and worn to the depth of half an inch.
The younger had died first, whether from exhaustion, or a broken neck, or starvation, is not apparent, but the condition of the flesh when found showed that he had lost the fight; and the victor did not long survive. Fastened to his dead competitor he could not feed with this weight of four hundred pounds attached to him, and must have succumbed to starvation. A similar case is reported, and is thus described:—
"No mortal eye witnessed what must have been a prolonged and fearful contest; but when their bodies were found in the lake the story of what had taken place was easily understood. The ground for some distance from the lake was torn and trampled where the ferocious animals had charged upon each other, and when the bodies were examined the antlers were found to be so firmly interlocked that it was impossible to separate them. In order to secure one good pair the finder sawed the other pair away, it not occurring to him at the time that the interlocked antlers would be of considerably more value than many pairs in the ordinary condition. In this instance it was evident that the stronger had gone to his death because of his strength. One of the two was much stronger than the other, and under ordinary circumstances this would have secured him the victory. As it was, the advantage was fatal. In rushing at each other, the antlers of the two locked together, and it was then that the larger moose thought he had the smaller one at his mercy. So he had, as far as the ability to push him about and force him back was concerned, but when the larger animal forced the smaller into the lake, both were indeed in a common peril and shared a common fate."
Moose are not secured in a day. In fact, the greater majority of sportsmen require several trips to the woods to assure them success. There are exceptions to this rule, however.
I recall the case of a sportsman who went into the wilderness for a two-weeks stay with his wife, and brought down a moose the first day out. He had no thought of getting one when he started, but it being his wife's birthday, he indulged in a dream and told her that she would be presented with a pair of moose antlers by him for a birthday present. This naturally pleased her ladyship, and her liege lord took his gun, his guide and canoe, and started out to try to fulfil his promise.
SPIKE-HORN BULL SWIMMING MUD POND.
(West Branch Waters.)
Photographed from Life.
When the canoe emerged from the stream into the pond the hunter and guide were surprised enough to see, at the edge, in shallow water, a large bull moose. The animal was up to his back feeding on the lily roots, splashing his great head about, and having no fear, in his lonely retreat, of being interrupted by hunters. The wind, being in the right direction, gave the men an advantage, as the moose could not scent them. The guide approached cautiously, never taking his paddle from the water as he propelled the light craft along.
Suddenly the moose heard something, perhaps the gentle splash of water against the canoe, that made him look around. For a second he gazed silently at the two men sitting in the little craft, now scarcely a hundred yards away. Then he swung his great body slowly around (as there was soft mud on the pond bottom, and he could not make way swiftly in it) and started for the bank. The hunter held his fire, fingering his gun-lock nervously, until the moose had reached firm ground. It would not have done to shoot him in the mire, for, the water being shallow, half a dozen men could not have extracted the body; but with the first step the great beast (with mud and water dripping from his body) took upon the shore, a bullet pierced him in the neck. Then there was a succession of shots, and little jets of blood spurted out on the dark brown coat of the forest giant, who by this time was making rapid way along the rocky shore of the pond. A dense cedar swamp lay inland from the shore, and into it the wounded moose did not dare to plunge. He must retreat under fire, like a general with the enemy on one side and a river on the other.
At last he disappeared in a thicket. The hunters had gone ashore and were after him, coming up just as he sank to earth. A bullet behind the ear discharged his debt to nature.
That night a noble head adorned the camp of the hunter, who had unexpectedly made good a promise his wife never expected him to fulfil.
Contrast this experience with another I have in mind, and the two sides of moose hunting will be illustrated. For three seasons a good hunter from a Massachusetts town had gone into Maine to get a moose, and three times he had returned home empty handed. He scorned to shoot deer. He hardly would have brought down a bear had one presented himself to be shot. He wanted moose. It was a hard country for hunting, a place of boulders and blowdowns and stumps,—a desolate waste. He saw moose tracks, and he was there to follow them, which he did long and wearily, for a day, and at night he slept in an abandoned camp. Again on the next day he followed them, seeing them sometimes on the soft, green moss, again at the side of a stream, or in some boggy place. At times they were lost on a rocky slope, or in a region of hard ground. There was no snow to aid the hunter, and the tracking of moose in such a country without it called for the best traits of the seasoned sportsman,—patience and endurance.
BULL MOOSE IN DEEP SNOW.
Taken during January, near Eagle Lake.
Photographed from Life.
The trail led uphill at last, and after following it up the base of a mountain, amid scrub growth and blowdowns, the hunter was rewarded by seeing at long range a large bull. The moose scented the hunter almost as soon as sighted, and stood not upon the order of his going but sought a lower level. It was at this juncture that the resource of the experienced hunter came in. He did not stand and watch the animal disappear. Not he! Sending along a lead missile to announce his intentions, he set out in hot pursuit. There began such a chase as hunters seldom engage in. The moose had an advantage over the man, for he could take long leaps over depressions in the ground, and over fallen trees and big rocks. The hunter had to jump, run, slide, and bound along as best he could. He saw nothing but the moose, and he saw him only as one sees an express train disappearing in a fog. Whenever, by some change in the course of the animal, or a favorable turn in the ground, a shot was offered, the hunter fired; then he would pump another cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and resume the pace.
Thus tearing at break-neck speed down a rough mountain side, the sportsman, followed by his puffing guide, gradually came up to the moose. The bullets had taken effect, though not in a vital part, and the animal was weakening. But moose and hunter plunged on, through woods and under brush that grew at the bottom of the mountain, and at last, after what seemed a chase of a dozen miles, but which in reality might have been three, the hunter came into full sight of his anticipated prize in a clearing. This time the animal was in a position for a telling shot, which was sped with good aim, and brought the great beast to his knees. Another ended his career, and the hunter, out of breath, sat down to wipe his brow. He had lost his hat and mittens in the chase, his clothing was torn, and he was battered and bruised. This counted for nothing. He had brought down his moose after four seasons' work. It was necessary to "swamp" a road, that is, cut one through the woods, for a mile to get the carcass to a logging road over which it could be hauled to the river. As the first snow of the season fell that night the moose was brought out and it was comparatively easy work to get him to the railroad station on the next day.
One more moose story may not be amiss. It has to do with a party of sportsmen, consisting of a judge and a banker, who went into a famous moose country to try their luck. They fired but one round during their stay in the woods, and with a guide brought down in that one volley three large bull moose. The story is fully vouched for and the heads of two of the bulls may now be seen in an Aroostook town.
BULL MOOSE ON BLACK POND. (West Branch Waters.)
Photographed from Life.
These two hunters, like the first one mentioned, did not expect to find moose. They thought luck might take a turn in their favor, but were ready to sustain themselves in hope deferred if it did not.
The judge and the banker went into the woods from a little settlement on the Aroostook River. They travelled a good sixty miles by horse-sled in the snow before reaching the place where they were to engage guides. It was another twenty-five miles to the camp where they put up on their first night out, a "depot" camp, where lumber crews going in and out stopped to rest and sleep.
On the morning after their arrival the two hunters set out in the snow with their guide to look for moose signs. They walked half a dozen miles without finding any, and, getting tired, went back to camp, leaving the guide to pursue the quest, and let them know when he came up to a moose. This was not thoroughly sportsmanlike, they knew, but they were a pair of worthy men, past the meridian of life, and they did not stand on the ethics of the hunt.
That night the guide returned and told them he knew where there was a yard of moose. Next morning, in the sharp air of a snappy-cold dawn, they set out to find the moose, and had walked but a few miles when tracks were found in the snow. Then, with the guide leading them, stopping as he went to avoid low branches laden with snow that hung across their way, or bending aside some twig to avoid noise, they half walked, half crawled for upwards of a mile.
They saw moose signs that seemed to them good. At last the guide held up a warning hand, and proceeded more slowly than formerly.
After many cranings of his neck and changes of position, he drew aside a branch and told his followers by signs to look in the direction he indicated with his snow-covered mitten. They looked, but could see nothing special at first. The guide patiently pointed out to them a clump of bushes against which he could see the heads of two moose. The animals were lying down, with their heads to the wind, as is always their custom. The hunters were for firing precipitately, but their ardor, so quickly aroused, was dampened by the guide, who motioned them to wait. There was a good wind blowing, and it came from the moose to the men. Moreover, it made a noise in the trees, and whispering was therefore safe among the hunters crouched in the snow. The guide informed them that there were three moose in the bunch. The judge and the banker could see but two, and these presented as fair a mark as ever man found for rifle.
When the word was given the two men fired, also the guide. There was a movement among the moose, and the hunters rushed forward to see the execution they had wrought. It was startling. There in the snow, still kicking and quivering, lay three large moose. To the worthy judge and banker they looked as big as oxen. All three were in the throes of death.
COW AND CALF MOOSE LEAVING THE WATER. (Lobster Lake.)
Photographed from Life.
There was great rejoicing in the depot camp that night. The two friends thought themselves favored by the gods of the chase beyond their deserts. The story of the great hunt was soon current in the community in which the hunters lived. The version of it given here, with slight variations, is that of one of the principals in the episode.
COW MOOSE AND CALVES SWIMMING MUD POND.
(West Branch Waters.)
Photographed from Life.
