With the World's Great Travellers, Volume 1

by Unknown

A few seconds later the canoe was in the water, the captain in the bow, and George Ross in the stern, each on their knees with a paddle in their hands. The little birch bark was rushing rapidly forward, propelled by the power of four strong muscular arms. The sight was a grand one, and called to mind the impetuous charge of a squadron of cavalry in war times. The captain is most determined and energetic when in the pursuit of game; like the grandest charger in the squadron, he is bound to take the lead, while the others can only follow.

I had seated myself on a rock, soon after the departure of the guides, to watch the deer, whose head was visible to me in my position, although fully a mile away. I could not, however, at so great a distance determine whether the animal possessed antlers or not; but the leisurely manner in which it was swimming satisfied me its pursuers were undiscovered until they had made at least three-fourths of the whole distance. The animal, when first discovered, was nearly opposite to our camp and within a few rods of the farther shore. The guides, in order to succeed in the accomplishment of their purpose, were compelled to make a considerable detour to the rear of the animal, and finally come up between it and the shore. Fortunately for us, they had remained for a considerable time undiscovered, and the animal, in the mean time, was gradually leaving the shore while swimming down the lake.

The moment came, however, when the pursuers were discovered, and the deer then made the most frantic efforts. I could see it spring forward with all its power, raising its head high in the air with each grand effort, but the guides are pulling stronger than before on their paddles. They seem, when viewed from my position, to be only a few rods in the rear of the animal, but the deer is heading for the shore, and seems about ready to bound into the forest. It is now evident to me that the chase can only last a few seconds.

I sprang from my seat; I recalled the fact that the guides had no gun in the boat; I realized that if they had one they could now easily kill the animal; they were almost on it. An instant later and the canoe is seen between the deer and the shore. A loud shout is heard from the guides; they wave their hats; they are victorious, and the disappointed deer now turns and swims towards the middle of the lake. Its grandest effort has been made; fatigue and disappointment slow down its movements.

It was now an easy task for the guides to direct the animal to any point on the lake. The canoe was kept in the rear, and when it was brought forward towards the right of the deer it would cause the animal to oblique to the left, and vice versa. In this manner they proceeded to cross the lake, bringing the doe in front of the rock on which I was seated; but while she was still about six hundred yards away they called on me to take a shot. I demurred against their request, inasmuch as the portion of the animal now visible did not much exceed the dimensions of a pint cup. The first ball fired fell short about fifty yards, and then ricochetted nearly across the lake. Another shot was fired with no better result, and thus I continued for several minutes, but not without making some improvement. The shots were pronounced by the guides to be accurate, so far as the line of the target was concerned, but the balls still fell short of the mark.

The photographer, who was absent in the woods when I commenced firing, now made his appearance, and, seizing the Winchester rifle, began to compete with me. He was able to fire two shots with the repeater while I could fire one from the breech-loading Ballard. The contest between us was now very lively, and we succeeded in persuading the guides to bring the game nearer to us, so that the animal was not more than one hundred yards from the muzzles of our rifles. The bullets now fell in very close proximity to the doe’s head; none were more than four or five inches from its centre. Six or eight shots have been fired with this degree of accuracy, when I send in one that breaks the skin over the base of the animal’s skull. She dodges her head downward, but quickly brings it up again, when a shot from Mildenberger ends this trial of skill. The guides shout aloud and lustily cheer the photographer, who proudly puts down his rifle and wipes the perspiration from his brow.

[The author proceeds to give a series of interesting accounts of moose-hunts, somewhat too extended for the space we can give him. We shall therefore close with an amusing incident, in which “Jim,” one of the guides, and his dog were the acting characters.]

The clouds have begun to disappear, the bright rays of sunshine are now lighting up our pathway, while the gentle zephyrs are moving the foliage of the forest-trees. The prospects of a fine day’s sport are brightening at this moment. “Jim” exclaims, “We will have a good day of it yet!” while at the same time a partridge rises at the roadside, an event which is announced to us by the barking of the cocker-spaniel. This dog had taken his position at the foot of a small tree, the branches of which even overhung the roadway, and here continued to bark lustily, thus keeping the attention of the bird until the lad sent up his compliments, which she promptly acknowledged by tumbling to the ground.

The killing of this bird gave rise to a highly ludicrous scene, which I fully appreciated at the time, and which I can never readily forget. Jim had previously told me that the old cocker-spaniel had a very bad habit, and would “mouth” the birds whenever he could get hold of them, while he entirely disregarded the order to “bring dead bird.” The owner of this dog had, likewise, informed me that the animal had never received any training, but naturally hunted very well, and was a good “treer.” The instant the lad fired at this bird, Jim sprang into the woods with the alacrity of a hound, in order to grab the falling partridge before the old cocker could get hold of him.

The cocker, however, succeeded in getting the best of Jim, grabbed the bird in his mouth, and started off at full speed, while the guide followed him on the jump, as a fox-hound might follow a hare, shouting, with every bound, “Stop! stop! drop it! drop it!” until the woods became fairly resonant with these sounds. A few seconds later the dog emerged from the woods, still clinging to the bird, closely followed by the irate guide, who still yelled as though his life depended on this effort.