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ROYAL, ARTILLERY.
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CAMPBELL * HARDY,

‘AUTHOR OF “‘SPORTING ADVENTURES IN THE NEW WORLD.”

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View on Gold River, N.S.

LONDON:
1869. +.
|The Right of Translation is Reserved, ]
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-- » CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.

_

FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

-

SKETCHES OF SPORT AND NATURAL HISTORY

:
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PREFACK.

a canes

THe Author having brought out several years since
a work on sporting in Atlantic America, which was
favourably received, is induced to present the present
volume of more recent experiences, especially as the
interval since elapsed has been unmarked by the produc-
tion of any English publication of a similar kind.

Many inquiries concerning the sports and physical
features of the British Provinces bordering on the
Atlantic, evidently made by those who meditate seeking
a transatlantic home, appear from time to time in the
columns of sporting periodicals, and elicit various and
uncertain replies.

The Author’s sojourn in the Acadian Provinces having
extended over a period of fifteen years, he trusts that the
information here afforded will prove useful to such querists.

It will appear evident that he has formed a strong
attachment to the country, its scenery and wild sports,
and by some it will probably be said that the pleasures
of forest life are exaggerated in his descriptions of a
country possessing neither grandeur of landscape nor
inducements to the “sensational” sportsman. ‘There is,
however, a quiet, ever-growing charm to be found in the

vil PREFACE.

woodlands or on the waters of Acadie, which those who
have resided there will readily admit. Many who have
touched at its shores as visitors within the Author’s
recollection, have made it their home; whilst those of his
vocation who have been called away, have almost invari-
ably expressed a hope of speedy return.

Several of the descriptive sporting scenes found in this
work will be recognised as having appeared in “The
Field,” and the Author begs to express his appreciation
of the Editor’s courtesy in permitting their republication.
The notices on the natural history of the Elk and Beaver
are reproduced, with slight alterations, from the pages _
of “Land and Water,’ with the kind consent of the |

managers, the articles having appeared therein over the
~ signature of “ Alces.”

The acknowledgments of the Author are also due to
several old friends across the Atlantic—to “The Old
Hunter,” for anecdotes of camp life, and to Dr. Ber-
nard Gilpin for his valuable assistance in describing
the game fish, and in preparing the illustration of the
American Brook Trout.

‘CONTENTS.

—- 4 -—-

: CHAPTER I.
oy PAGE
THE MARITIME PROVINCES . . 0s sw we
er CHAPTER II.
PEE FORESTS OF ACADIN. 2-0} se eB

a CHAPTER III.

E ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND THE NEW WORLDS ele =

ie

-
ca
oie

= CHAPTER IV.

-« OHAPTER VI.
OAR eG as SOIR ee

a ‘CHAPTER VIL
TAKE pwames: .- 5. iy Re aS eat i Vf ee

vill CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VIII.

CAVE LODGERS

CHAPTER IX.
ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING .

CHAPTER X.
NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND

CHAPTER XI.
CAMPING OUT.

CHAPTER XII.
_ THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS

APPENDIX.

NOCTURNAL LIFE OF ANIMALS IN THE FOREST

ACCLIMATISATION IN ACADIE

PAGE

194

211

261

. =

307

336

344

MISCELLANEOUS NOTES AND ANECDOTES ON NATURAL HISTORY . 355

er ee >

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

a ee

: SALMO FONTINALIS (COLOURED). Frontispiece.
VIEW on GOLD RIVER, N.S. Vignette for Title Page.
THE LUMBERER’S CAMP IN WINTER . ; . To face Page 28
ELMS IN AN INTERVALE ane eC Rae Sat at onny Te 44.
MOOSE RIDING-DOWN A TREE. ; ‘ ; % 72
MOOSE-CALLING BY NIGHT . ; : Ae m 105
HORNS OF THE CARIBOO. : . : : fs 128
‘on THE BARRENS .° . ‘ : : eee P 155
BEAVER-DAM ON THE TOBIADUC . : ; : a! 173
MUSQUODOBOIT HARBOUR : : : Ses 5 227
THE PABINEAU FALLS, RIVER NEPISIGUIT . ; * 244

THE GRAND FALLS, NEPISIGUIT . ; Ameer - 254

» Pa? cy. x¢

~ Ms @

FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

CHAPTER I.

THE MARITIME PROVINCES.

Pappiine down a picturesque Nova-Scotian stream
called the Shubenacadie some ten years since in an
Indian canoe, it occurred to me to ask the steersman .
the proper Micmac pronunciation of the name. He re-
plied, “We call ’em ‘Segéebenacadie.’ Plenty wild
potatoes—segéeben—once grew here.” “ Well, ‘ acadie,’
Paul, what does that mean?” I inquired. ‘“ Means—
where you find ’em,” said the Indian. 3

The termination, therefore, of acadie, signifying a
place where this or that is found, being of frequent
occurrence in the old Indian names of places, seems
to have been readily adopted by the first permanent
settlers in Nova Scotia to designate an extensive dis-
trict, though one with uncertain limits—the Acadie
of the followers of Mons. De Monts in the first
decade of the seventeenth century comprising the pre-
sent provinces of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and
Prince Edward Island, with a portion of the State of

2 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Maine.* The peninsula of Nova Scotia was, however,
Acadie proper, and herein was laid the scene of the
expulsion of the French neutrals from their settlements
by the shores of Minas Basin and elsewhere—an event
round which has centred so much misconceived sym-
pathy of authors and poets, but which has since been
shown to have been a most justifiable and necessary

* Having had access since these lines were written to Dr. Dawson’s
second edition of “Acadian Geology,” recently published by Macmillan
and Co., I was at once struck with the author’s account of the derivation
of the term “ Acadie,” which he has given in language so similar to my
own (even to instancing the Indian name of the same river), that I think
it but just to notice this fact—his work being produced some time prior to —
my own. From this standard work on the Geology of the British Pro-.
vinces, I will also quote a few passages in further exemplification of the
subject.

The author is informed by the Rev. Mr. Rand, the zealous Indian Mis-
sionary of the Acadian Indians, who has made their ways and language his
whole study for a long period of years, and translated into their tongue the
greater portion of Scripture, that “the word in its original form is Kady
or Cadie, and that it is equivalent to region, field, ground, land, or place,
but that when joined to an adjective, or to a noun with the force of an
adjective, it denotes that the place referred to is the appropriate or special
place of the object expressed by the noun or noun-adjective. Now in
Micmac, adjectives of this kind are formed by suffixing ‘a’ or ‘wa’ to
the noun. Thus Segubbun is a ground-nut ; Segubbuna, of or relating to
ground-nuts ;. and Segubbuna-Kaddy is the place or region of ground-nuts,
or the place in which these are to be found in abundance,”

As further examples of this common termination of the old Indian
names of places, Dr. Dawson gives the following :—

Soona-Kaddy (Sunacadie). Place of cranberries.

Kata-Kaddy. Eel-ground.

Tulluk-Kaddy (Tracadie). Probably place of residence ; dwelling place.

Buna-Kaddy (Bunacadie, or Benacadie). Is the place of bringing forth ;
a place resorted to by the moose at the calving-time.

Segoonuma-Kaddy. Place of Gaspereaux ; Gaspereaux or Alewife river.

Again, “Quodiah or Codiah is merely a modification of Kaddy in the
language of the Maliceets” (a neighbouring tribe dwelling in New Bruns-
wick, principally on the banks of the St. John), “and replacing the other
form in certain compounds. Thus Nooda-Kwoddy (Noodiquoddy or
Winchelsea Harbour) is a place of seals, or, more literally, place of
seal-hunting. Pestumoo-Kwoddy (Passamaquoddy), Pollock-ground, &c.
&e.”

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 3

step, from their unceasing plottings with the Indians
against British dominancy, receiving, of course, strong
support from the French, who still held Louisburg and
Quebec.

Most interesting, and indeed romantic, as is the early
history of Acadie during her constant change of rulers
until the English obtained a lasting possession of Nova
Scotia in 1713, and finally in 1763 were ridded of their
troublesome rivals in Cape Breton by the cession on the
part of the French of all their possessions in Canada and
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, a history political and statis-
tical of the Lower Provinces would be quite irrelevant to
the general contents of a work like the present. The
subject has been ably and exhaustively treated by the
great historian of Nova Scotia, Judge Haliburton, and
more recently, and in greater bulk, by Mr. Murdoch.
Of their works the colonists are justly proud, and when
one reads the abundant events of interest with which the
whole history of Nova Scotia is chequered, of its steady
progress and loyalty as a colony, and of the men it has
produced, one cannot wonder at the present distaste
evinced by its population on being compelled to merge
their compact history and individuality in that of the
New Dominion.

An outline sketch of the physical geography of
Acadie is what is here attempted, and a description
of some of the striking features of this interesting
locale.

Nova Scotia is a peninsula 256 miles in length, and
about 100 in breadth ; a low plateau, sixteen miles wide,
connects it with the continental province of New Bruns-

wick. The greatest extension of the peninsula, like that
B 2

4 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

of similar geographical conformations in all parts of the
earth, is towards the south. The actual trend of its At-
lantic coast is from north-east to south-west—a direction
in which are extended its principal geological formations
agreeing with the course of the St. Lawrence and of the
Apellachian chain of mountains which terminate at Cape
Gaspé. Its dependency, Cape Breton, is an island, 100
miles long, and eighty broad, separated from Nova Scotia
by the narrow, canal-like Gut of Canseau, in places but
half a mile in width—“ a narrow transverse valley,” says
the author of “ Acadian Geology,” “excavated by the

currents of the drift period.” The largest and the greater —

proportion of the rivers flow across the province, through
often parallel basins, into the Atlantic, indicating a
general slope at right angles to the longer axis. The
Shubenacadie is, however, a singular exception, rising
close to Halifax harbour on the Atlantic side of the pro-
vince, and crossing with a sluggish and even current
through a fertile intervale country to the Bay of Fundy.
The Atlantic coasts of Nova Scotia are indented to a
wonderful extent by creeks and arms of the sea, often
running far inland—miniature representations of the
Scandinavian fiords. As might be expected, as accom-
paniments to such a jagged coast-line, there are numerous

islands, shoals, and reefs, which render navigation dan-

gerous, and necessitate frequent light-houses. The
outlines of the western shores are much more regular,
with steep cliffs and few inlets, somewhat similar on
comparison with the same features of the continent itself
as displayed on its Atlantic and Pacific coasts. To these
harbours and to the fisheries may be attributed the
position of the capital of Halifax on the Atlantic side.

-

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 5

All, or nearly all, the best portion of the country, in an
agricultural point of view, lies in the interior and to the
westward. The old capital, Port Royal, afterwards named
by the English Annapolis Royal, has a most picturesque
position at the head of a beautiful bay, termed Anna-
polis Basin, on the western side of the province, and is
backed by the garden of Nova Scotia, the Annapolis
Valley, which extends in a direction parallel to the
coast, sheltered on both sides by steep hills crowned with
maple forests for more than sixty miles, when it termi-
nates on the shores of Minas Basin in the Grand Pré of
the French Acadians.

The whole surface of the country is dotted with count-
less lakes. Often occurring in chains, these give rise to
the larger rivers which flow into the Atlantic. In fact,
all the rivers issue directly from lakes as their head
waters ; these latter, again, being supplied by forest
brooks rising in elevated swamps. In the hollows of the
high lands are likewise embosomed lakes of every variety
of form, and often quite isolated. Deep and intensely
blue, their shores fringed with rock boulders, and gene-
rally containing several islands, they do much to diversify
the monotony of the forest by their frequency and pic-
turesque scenery. In a paper read before the Nova-
Scotian Institute in 1865, the writer, Mr. Belt, believes
that the conformation of the larger lake basins of Nova-
Scotia is due to glaciation, evidenced by the deep fur-
rows and scratchings on their exposed rocks, the rounding
of protuberant bosses, and the transportation of huge
boulders—the Grand Lake of the Shubenacadie chain
being a notable instance.

Although the country is most uneven, sometimes

6 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

boldly undulating, at others broken up in extremely
irregular forms, the only absolute levels being marginal
on the alluvial rivers, there are no lofty mountains in
Nova Scotia. The Cobequid Hills, skirting Minas Basin
towards the junction of the province with New Bruns-
wick, are the most elevated, rising to 1200 feet above
the sea. This chain runs for more than 100 miles nearly
due east and west. No bare peaks protrude; it is
everywhere clothed with a tall luxuriant forest, with
a predominance of beech and sugar-maple.

Very similar in its general physical features to Nova
Scotia, New Brunswick is distinguished by bolder
scenery, larger rivers, and greater dimensions of the
more important conifers. From the forests in its northern
part arise sugar-loaf mountains with naked summits—
outlying peaks of the Allechanies—which occur also in
Maine, more frequently, and on a still larger scale. The
mountain scenery where the Restigonche divides the
Gaspé chain from the high lands of northern New Bruns-
wick is magnificent ; and the aspects of Sussex Vale, and
of the long valley of the Miramichi, are as charming as
those of the intervales of Nova Scotia. |

The little red sandstone island of Prince Edward, lying
in a erescent-shape, in accordance with the coast lines of
New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, in a deep southern bay
of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, is the most fertile of the
three provinces, and possesses the attractive scenery of
high cultivation pleasantly alternating with wood and
water.

The area of the Acadian provinces is as follows :—Of
Nova Scotia, with Cape Breton, 18,600 square miles ; of
New Brunswick, 27,100 square miles; and of Prince

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 7

Edward Island, 2137 square miles. Their population,
respectively, being nearly 332,000, 252,000, and
81,000.

To the Geologist, the most interesting feature of modern
discovery in a country long famous for its mineral wealth,
is the wide dissemination of gold in the quartz veins of
the metamorphic rocks, which occur on the Atlantic
shore of Nova Scotia, stretching from Cape Sable to the
Gut of Canseau, and extending to a great distance across
the province. Its first discovery is currently supposed to
have been made in 1861 in a brook near Tangier har-
bour, about sixty miles from Halifax, and to have been
brought about by a man, stopping to drink, perceiving a
particle of the precious metal shining amongst the pebbles.
This led to an extended research, soon rewarded by dis-
covery of the matrix, and general operations accompanied
by fresh discoveries in widely distant points, and thus,
perhaps, was fairly started gold mining in Nova Scotia.
I believe, however, that I am right in attributing the
honour of being the first gold finder in the province to
my friend and quondam companion in the woods, Captain
C. L’Estrange of the Royal Artillery, and understand
that his claim to priority in this matter has been recently
fully recognised by the Provincial Government ; it being
satisfactorily shown that he found and brought in
specimens of gold in quartz from surface rocks, when
moose-hunting in the eastern districts, some time before
the discoveries at Tangier. The Oven’s Head diggings,
near Lunenburg, were discovered during the summer of
the same year; and the sea-beach below the cliffs at this
locality afforded for a short time a golden harvest by
washing the sand and pounded shale which had been

8 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

silted into the fissures of the rocks below high water
mark. The gold thus obtained had of course come from
the cliff detritus—the result of the incessant dash of
Atlantic waves over a long period of time—and was soon
exhausted: the claims on the cliff, however have proved
valuable. Then followed the discovery of the highly-
prolific barrel-shaped quartz at Allen’s farm, afterwards
known as the Waverley diggings, of the Indian Harbour
and Wine Harbour gold-fields on the Eastern Coast
beyond Tangier, and of others to the westward, at Gold
River and La Have. Farther back from the coast, and
towards the edge of the slate formation, the precious —
metal has been found at Mount Uniacke, and in the most
northern extension of the granitic metamorphic strata
_ towards the Bay of Fundy, at a place called Little
Chester.
_ Though no small excitement naturally attended the
simultaneous and hitherto unexpected discovery of such
extensive gold areas, the development of the Nova-
Scotian gold mines has been conducted with astonishing
decorum and order: the robberies and bloodshed incident
on such a pursuit in wilder parts of America, or at the —
Antipodes, have been here totally unknown. The indi-
viduals who prospected and took up claims, soon finding
the difficulty of remunerating themselves by their own
unaided labour, disposed of them for often very con-
siderable sums to the companies of Nova-Scotians,
Germans, and Americans, which had been formed to
work the business methodically. Though constantly seen
glistening as specks in the quartz, close to the surface,
the metal was seldom disclosed in nuggets of great value,
and the operation of crushing alone (extracting the gold

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 9

by amalgamation with quicksilver) proved remunerative
in the long run and when carried out extensively.

At the commencement of this important era in the
economical history of Nova Scotia, the interest attached
to the pursuit of gold-digging may be well imagined.
Farm labourers, and farmers themselves, deserted their
summer’s occupation and hastened to the localities pro-
claimed as gold-fields. Shanties, camps, and stores
appeared amongst the rough rocks which strewed the
wilderness in the depths of the forest. At Tangier, when
I visited it (the same summer in which gold was first
discovered there), a street had risen, with some three |
hundred inhabitants, composed of rude frame houses,
bark camps, and tents. Flags flaunted over the stores
and groggeries, and the characteristic American “store ”
displayed its motley merchandise as in the settlements.
Anything could be here purchased, from a pickaxe to a
erinoline. A similar scene was shortly afterwards pre-
sented at the Oven’s Head; whilst at the Waverley
diggings, only ten miles distant from the capital of Nova
Scotia, a perfect town has sprung up. This latter locality
is famous for the singular formation of its gold-bearing
quartz lodes, termed “The Barrels.” These barrels were
discovered on the hill-side at a small distance below the
surface, and consisted of long trunk-like shafts of quartz
enclosed in quartzite. They were arranged in parallel
lines, and looked very like the tops of drains exposed for
repair. At first they were found to be exceedingly rich
in gold, some really fine nuggets having been displayed ;
but subsequent research has proved them a failure, and
the barrel formation has been abandoned for quartz
occurring in veins of ordinary position, A German com-

10 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

pany established here has succeeded in obtaining large
profits, working the quartz veins by shafts sunk to a great
depth. Their crushing mill, when I visited it, contained
sixteen ponderous “stampers” moved by water power.
Every three or four weeks an ingot was forwarded by
them to Halifax, weighing four or five hundred ounces.
Some beautiful specimens of gold in quartz of the
purest white, from this locality, were exhibited by
the Commissioners at the last great International Exhi-
bition.

Even at the present time it is impossible to form any
just estimation of the value of the Nova-Scotian gold-
fields. Scientific men have given it as their opinion that
the main seat of the treasure has not yet been touched,
and that the present workings are but surface pickings.
_ Then, again, we may refer to the immense extent of the
Lower Silurian rocks on the Atlantic coast. At one end
of the province, stretching back for some fifty miles, the
whole area of the formation has been stated to comprise
‘about 7000 square miles. ‘The wide dispersion over this
tract of casual gold discoveries and of the centres of
actual operations naturally lead to the belief that gold —
mining is still in its infancy in Nova Scotia.

The yield of gold from the quartz veins is exceedingly
variable : some will scarcely produce half an ounce, others
as much as eight ounces to the ton. I have seen a large
quartz pebble picked up on the road side between Halifax
and the Waverley diggings, rather larger than a man’s
head, which was spangled and streaked with gold in every
direction, estimated in value at nearly one hundred
pounds. It is curious to reflect for how many years that
valuable stone had been unwittingly passed by by the

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 11

needy settler returning from market to his distant farm
on the Eastern Road. Now frequent roadside chippings
strewed about attest the curiosity of the modern traveller
through the gold districts.

Of much greater importance, however, to these colonics
than the recently discovered gold-fields are their bound-
less resources as coal-producing countries, paralysed
though their works may be at present by the pertinacious
refusal on the part of the United States to renew the
Reciprocity Treaty. To this temporary prostration an
end must soon be put by the opening up of intercolonial
commerce, to be brought about by the speedy completion
of an uninterrupted railway communication between the
Canadas and the Lower Provinces, and well-established
commercial relations throughout the whole of the New
Dominion.

The coal-fields of Acadie are numerous and of large
area, the carboniferous system extending throughout the
province of Nova Scotia, including Cape Breton, bounding
the metamorphic belt of the Atlantic coast, and passing
through the isthmus, which joins the two provinces, into
New Brunswick, where it attains its broadest development.
In the latter province, however, the actual coal seams are
unimportant ; and it is in certain localities in Nova
Scotia and Cape Breton where the magnificent collieries
of British North America are found, and from which it
has been. said the whole steam navy of Great Britain
might be supplied for centuries to come, as well as the
demands of the neighbouring colonies. It is impossible
to over-estimate the political importance accruing from
so vast a transatlantic storehouse of this precious mineral
both to England and the colonists themselves, whilst

12 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

singularly enough, on the Pacific side of the continent,
and in British possession, occur the prolific coal-fields of
Vancouver's Island. “That the eastern and western
portals of British America,” says Mr. R. G. Haliburton,*
“should be so favoured by nature, augurs well for the
New Dominion, which, possessing a vast tract of magni-
ficent agricultural country between these extreme limits,
only requires an energetic, self-reliant people, worthy of
such a home, to raise it to a high position amongst
nations.”

The grand coal column from the main seam of the
Albion mines at Pictou, exhibited at the last Great Exhi-_
bition in London, will be long remembered. ‘This seam.
is 37 feet in vertical thickness. With iron of excellent
- quality found abundantly and in the neighbourhood of
her great coal-fields, and fresh discoveries of various other
minerals of economic value being constantly made, Acadie
has all the elements wherewith to forge for herself the
armour-plated bulwark of great commercial prosperity.
And yet the shrewd capitalists of the Great Republic are
rapidly becoming possessed of the mineral wealth of the
country, almost unchallenged by provincial rivalry.

Considerably removed from the mainland, with a coast
line for some distance conforming to the direction of the
Gulf Stream, the northern edge of which closely approaches
its shores, the climate of Nova Scotia is necessarily most
uncertain; south-westerly winds are continually struggling
for mastery with the cold blasts which blow over the
continent from the north-west. In comparatively fine
weather in summer, the sea fog, which marks the mingling

* On the Coal Trade of the New Dominion, by R. G. Haliburton, F.S.A.,
F.R.S.N.A. : from “ Proceedings of the N.S. Institute of Nat. Science.”

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 13

of the warm waters of the great Atlantic current with
the colder stream which courses down the eastern coast
of Newfoundland from the Polar regions, carrying with
it troops of icebergs, is almost always hovering off the
land, from which it is barely repelled by the gentle west
winds from the continent. The funnel-shaped Bay of
Fundy, and the bight in the Nova-Scotian coast which
merges into the long harbour of Halifax are the strong-
holds of this obnoxious pall of vapour. A few miles
inland the west wind generally prevails; indeed it is
often astonishing with what suddenness one emerges
from the fog on leaving the coast. A point or two of
change in the direction of the wind makes all the diffe-
rence. I have often made the voyage from Halifax to
Cape Race—the exact course of the northern fog line—
alternating rapidly between sunshine and dismal and
dangerous obscurity as the wind veered in the least
degree on either side of our course. Past this, the south-
easternmost point of Newfoundland, the fog holds on its
way till the great banks are cleared: it seldom works up
the coast to the northward, and is of rare occurrence at
St. John’s. St. John, New Brunswick, seems to be espe-
cially visited, though it has no footing in the interior of
that province.

Insidiously drawing around the mariner in these
waters in calm summer weather, the fog of the Gulf
Stream is always thickest at this season, although the
stratum of vapour scarcely reaches over the vessel’s tops,
the moon or stars being generally visible from the deck
at night. Fog trumpets or lights are to a certain extent
useful precautions, yet even the strictest watch from the
bowsprit is often insufficient to avert collision.

14 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

In winter time the propinquity of the Gulf Stream pro-
duces frequent moderations of temperature. Deep falls
of snow are perpetually melting under its warm currents
of air when borne inland, though such phases are quickly
succeeded by a reassertion of true North American cold,
with a return of the north-west wind, arresting the thaw,
and encasing the steaming snow with a film of glace ice.

During the spring months again, the Arctic currents,
accompanied by easterly or north-easterly winds, exercise
a chilling influence on the climate of the Atlantic coast
of the Lower Provinces. Immense areas of field ice float
past the Nova-Scotian shores from the mouth of the St.
Lawrence and harbours of the Gulf, often working round
into Halifax harbour and obstructing navigation, whilst
vegetation is thereby greatly retarded.

The mirage observed on approaching these floating ice
plains at sea is very striking—mountains appear to grow
out of them, with waterfalls ; towns, castles, and spires,
ever fleeting and varying in form. I have observed very
similar effects produced in summer, off the coast, on a
clear day, on a distant wall of sea fog, by evaporation.
As might be reasonably expected, the commingling of —
two great currents emanating from such far distant
sources as do the Gulf and the Polar streams, must be
productive at their point of junction, of phenomena inte-
resting to the ichthyologist. To the student of this
branch of natural history Halifax, is an excellent position
for observation, and from the recorded memoranda of
Mr. J. M. Jones we find many curious meetings of
northern and southern types in the same waters—for
instance that of the albicore and the Greenland shark
(Thynnus vulgaris and Scymnus borealis)—the former a

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 15

well-known inhabitant of the tropics, the latter a true
boreal form. ‘Tropical forms of fish are of frequent oc-
currence in the Halifax market, and shoals of flying
fish have been observed by Admiral Sir Alexander Milne
in the Gulf Stream as far as 37 deg. 50 min. N.

A sketch, however slight, of the physical geography of
the Acadian Provinces would be incomplete were notice
to be omitted of the famous Bay of Fundy tide—a page
of modern geological history much to be studied in eluci-
dation of phenomena of ages long past, as pointed out
by Dr. Dawson, the well-known author of a valuable
scientific work termed “ Acadian Geology.’ On the
Atlantic seaboard at Halifax the rise of the spring tide
is about six feet, a height attained at high water with
but little variation throughout this coast. After passing
Cape Sable, the southernmost extremity of the province,
the portals of the bay may be said to be gained; and
here an appreciable rise occurs in the tidal wave of
about three feet. Farther round, at Yarmouth, sixteen
feet is the height at high water in spring tides, reaching
to twenty-seven feet at Digby Gut, forty-three feet at
Parsboro, and, at the mouth of the Shubenacadie River
at the head of Cobequid Bay, occasionally attaining the
extraordinary elevation of seventy feet above low water
mark. In this, as well as in several other rivers dis-
charging into the bay, the tide rushes up the channel for
a considerable distance into the interior with an at-
tendant phenomenon termed “the Bore,’”—an advanced
wave or wall of surging waters, some four feet above the
level of the descending fresh water stream. The spec-
tator, standing on the river bank, presently sees a proces-
sion of barges, boats, or Indian canoes, taking advantage

16 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

of this natural “ Express” from the ocean, whirling past
him at some seven or eight miles per hour, whilst the
long shelving banks of red mud are quickly hidden
by the eager impulsive current. Out, in the open bay,
the eddying “rips” over the flats as the rismg waters
cover them, or the tumultuous seas which rise where
the great tide is restrained by jutting headlands afford
still greater spectacles. With a strong wind blowing
in an opposite direction to the tide, the navigation of
the Bay of Fundy is perilous on a dark night, and
many are the victims engulfed with their little fish-
ing smacks in its treacherous and ever-shifting shoals.
It wears a beautiful aspect, however, in fine summer
weather—a soft chalky hue quite different from the
stern blue of the sea on the Atlantic shores, and some-
_ what approaching the summer tints of the Channel on
the coasts of England. The surrounding scenery too is
beautiful ; and the twelve hours’ steam voyage from —
Windsor, Nova Scotia, to St. John, the capital of New
Brunswick, past the picturesque headlands of Blomidon,
Cape Split, and Parsboro, in fine weather most enjoyable.
The red mud, or, rather, exceedingly fine sand, carried
by the surging waters, is deposited at high tide on the
flats and over the land overflown at the edges of the bay,
and thus have been produced the extensive salt marsh
lands which constitute the wealth of the dwellers by the
bay shores—soils which, never receiving the artificial
stimulus of manure, show no signs of exhaustion though
a century may have elapsed since their utilisation, The
occurrence of submerged forests, the stumps of which
still stand: in setu, observed by Dr. Dawson, and indicat-
ing a great subsidence of the land in modern times, and

a ee ee 4

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. ET

the frequent footprints of birds and animals on the suc-
cessive depositions of mud, dried by the sun, and easily
detached with the layers on which they were stamped,
are interesting features in connection with the geology of
this district.

The Fauna and Flora of the three provinces: constitut-
ing Acadia (the name, though, is now seldom applied
otherwise than poetically) are almost identical with those
displayed on the neighbouring portions of the continent,
in New England, and the Canadas, though of course, and
as might be expected, a few species swell the lists of
either kingdom further inland and on receding from the
ocean. ‘There are one or two noticeable differences
between the provinces themselves. Thus, for instance,
whilst the white cedar (Thuya occidentalis) is one of the
most common of the New Brunswick conifers, frequent
up to its junction with Nova Scotia, there are but one or
two isolated patches of this tree existing, or ever known
to exist, in the latter province, and these not found near
the isthmus, but on the shores of the Bay of Fundy,
near Granville. Again, not a porcupine exists on the
island:of Cape Breton, though abundant in Nova Scotia
up to the strait of Canseau, in places scarcely half a mile
broad. The migratory wild pigeon, formerly equally
abundant in New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, has now
entirely deserted the latter, though still numerous in
summer in the former province.

The Canadian deer (Cervus virginianus), common in
New Brunswick, has never crossed the isthmus; and the
wolf (Canis occidentalis), though now and then entering
Nova Scotia, apparently cannot make up its mind to

stay, though there is an amplitude of wilderness country :
3 ,

18 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

seen at long intervals of time in different parts of the
province, and almost simultaneously, it rapidly scours
over the country, and retires to the continent.

There are no deer now indigenous to Prince Edward's
Island, though the cariboo was formerly found there in
abundance. The Morse or Walrus, once numerous on
the coasts, seems to have entirely disappeared even
from the most northern parts of the Gulf: it was once
common in the St. Lawrence as far up as the Saguenay.
Another disappearance from the coast of Nova Scotia
is that of the Snow Goose (Anser hyperboreus), now
seldom seen south of the St. Lawrence.

Of the former presence of the Great Auk (Alca im-
pennis) in the neighbourhood of the Gulf, it is to be
regretted that there are no living witnesses, or even
_existing traditions. That it was once a resident on the
shores of Newfoundland is shown by the specimens
found in guano on the Funk Islands entombed under
ice. As has probably happened in the case of this bird,
it is to be feared that the retirement of other members of
the true Boreal Fauna within more Arctic limits forebodes
a gradual, though often inexplicable, progress towards —
extinction. 3

The newly-arrived emigrant or observant visitor can-
not fail to be impressed with the similarity of forms in
both the animal and the vegetable kingdoms to those
of western Europe, here presented. To the Englishman
unaccustomed to northern fir forests and their accom-
panying flora, the woods are naturally the strangest
feature in the country—the density of the stems in the
jagged forest lines which bound the settlements, the long
parallel-sided openings, cut out by the axe, which mark

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 19

the new clearings, where crops are growing rankly amongst
the stumps, roots, and rock boulders which still strew
the ground, and the wild tanglement of bushes and briars
on half-reclaimed ground—but in the fields and uplands
of a thoroughly cleared district he is scarcely reminded
of a difference in the scene from that to which he has
been accustomed. In the pastures he sees English
grasses, with the buttercup, the ox-eye, and the dandelion ;
the thistle and many a well known weed are recognised
growing by the meadow-side, with the wild rose and the
blackberry, as in English hedge-rows. Though the house-
sparrow and the robin are missed, and he is surprised to
find the latter name applied everywhere to the numerous
red-breasted thrushes which hop so fearlessly about the
pastures, he finds much to remind him of bird life at
home. Swallows and martins are as numerous, indeed
more so; the tit-mouse, the wren, and the gold-crest are
found to be: almost identical with those of the old
country, the former being closely analogous in every
respect to the small blue tit, and many of the warblers
and flycatchers have much in common with their Trans-
atlantic representatives. The rook is not here, but its place
is taken by flocks of the common American crow, often
as gregarious in its habits as the former, whilst the
various birds of prey present most striking similarities
of plumage when compared with those of Europe; and
the appropriateness of calling the American species the
same common names as are applied to the goshawk,
sparrowhawk, or osprey, is at once admitted. The wasp,
the bee, and the house-fly, present no appreciable diffe-
rences, nor can the visitor detect even a shade of dis-
tinction in many of the butterflies.

20 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE,

The seafaring man arriving from Europe will find even
less of divergence amongst the finny tribes and the sea-
fowl on these coasts, and indeed will not pretend to assert
a difference in most cases.

The very interesting question thus readily suggests.
itself to the naturalist—-in what light are many analogous
forms in Western Europe and Atlantic North America to
be regarded in reference to each other? The identity of
the species which almost continuously range the cireum-
arctic zoological province is perfectly well established in
such instances as those of the arctic fox, the white bear, and
of many of the Cetaceze and Phocidze amongst mammals;
of the eiders, common and king, the pintail and others of
the Anatidee, and of the sturgeon, capelin, herring, and
probably the sea-salmon amongst fishes. Nor could the
_ fact be reasonably doubted in the case of creatures which
are permanent residents of a limited cireumpolar zone, or
even in that of the migratory species which affect polar
regions for a season, and thence regularly range south-
wards over the diverging continents. The question, how-
ever, which is offered for solution is respecting those
analogous forms which have apparently permanent habi-—
tats in the Old and New Worlds, and have always
remained (as far as is known) geographically isolated.
With regard to the arctic deer the author's considerations
will be found given at some length, but there are many
other analogies in the fauna and flora of the two hemi-
spheres, which, on comparison, naturally lead to a dis-
cussion on the subject of local variation, and as to how
far the system of classification is to be thus modified.

Buffon’s idea that many of the animals of the New
World were the descendants of Old World stock would

THE MARITIME PROVINCES. 21

seem not only to be set aside but reversed in argument
by a new and growing belief that transmission of species
has extensively occurred from America to Europe and
Asia. “America,” says Hugh Miller, “though emphati-
_cally the New World in relation to its discovery by
~ civilized man, is, at least in these regions, an old world
in relation to geological type, and it is the so-called old
world that is in reality the new one. Sir Charles Lyell,
in the “ Antiquity of Man,” states that “ Professors
Unger and Heer have advanced, on botanical grounds
the former existence of an Atlantic continent, during
some part of the tertiary period, as affording the only
plausible explanation that can be imagined of the
analogy between the miocene flora of Central Europe and
the existing flora of Eastern America. Other naturalists,
again, have supposed this to have been effected through
an overland communication existing between America
and Eastern Asia in the direction of the Aleutian
Islands. Sir George Simpson has stated that almost
direct proof exists of the American ongin of the
Tchuktehi of Siberia; whilst it would appear that
primitive customs and traditions im many parts of the
globe are being traced to aboriginal man existing in
America.

Professor Lawson, of Dalhousie College, Halifax, N.S.,
in referring to the recent and well-established discovery
of heather (Calluna vulgaris) as indigenous to the
Acadian provinces, observes, “The occurrence. of this
common European plant in such small quantities in
isolated localities on the American continent is very in-
structive, and obviously points to a period when the heath
was a widely-spread social plant in North America, as it is

22 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

still in Europe where oft-recurring fires are yearly lessen-
ing its range. In Calluna we have probably an example
of a species on the verge of extinction as an American
species, while maintaining a vigorous and abundant
growth in Europe. If so, may not Europe be indebted
to America for Calluna, and not America to Europe ?”

With such scanty data, however, valuable indeed as
they are in building up theories, but few and uncertain
steps can be made towards solving so important a ques-
tion. An irresistible conclusion is however forced on the
mind of the naturalist that in many of the analogies he
meets with in animal or vegetable life in this portion of
the New World it is not fair to call them even types of
those of the Old; they are analogous species.

Se ee ee

CHAPTER II.

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE.

A GLANCE at a physical map of the country will serve
to show the relative position of the main bodies of the
North American forest, the division of the woods where
the wedge-shaped north-western corner of the plains comes
in, and their well-defined limit on the edge of the barren
grounds, coincident with the line of perpetual ground
frost.

Characterised by a predominance of coniferous trees,
the great belt of forest country which constitutes the
hunting grounds of the Hudson’s Bay Company, has its
nearest approach to the Arctic Ocean in the Mackenzie
Valley, becoming ever more and more stunted and
monotonous until it merges at length into the barren
waste.

In its southern extension, on meeting the northern
extremity of the prairies, it branches into two streams—
the one directed along the Pacific coast line and its great
mountain chain; the other crossing the continent
diagonally between the boundaries of the plains and
Hudson’s Bay towards the Atlantic. On this course
the forest soon receives important accessions of new
forms of trees, gradually introduced on approaching the.
lake district, and loses much of its sterner character.

24 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

The oak, beech, and maple groves of the Canadas are
equally characteristic of the forest scenery of these
regions, with the white pine or the hemlock spruce.

On approaching the Atlantic seaboard, the forest is

again somewhat impoverished by the absence of those —

forms which seem to require an inland climate. In the
forests of Acadie many Canadian trees found farther
westward in the same latitude are wanting, or of so rare
occurrence as to exercise no influence on the general
features of the country, such as the hickory and the
butternut. “In Nova Scotia,’ says Professor Lawson,
“the preponderance of northern species is much greater
than in corresponding latitudes in Canada, and many of
our common plants are in Western Canada either entirely
‘ northern, or strictly confined to the great swamps, whose

cool waters and dense shade form a shelter for northern:

species.”
Though certain soils and physical conformations of the
country occasionally favour exclusive growths of either,

the woods of the Lower Provinces display a pleasing —

mixture of what are locally termed hard and soft wood
trees—in other words, of deciduous and evergreen. vege-
tation. Broken only by clearings and settlements in the
lines of alluvial valleys, roads, or important fishing or
mining stations, the forest still obtains over large sections
of the country, notwithstanding continued and often
wanton mutilation by the axe, and the immense area
annually devastated by fire. The fierce energy of
American vegetation, if allowed, quickly fills up gaps,
and the burnt, blackened waste is soon re-clothed with
the verdure of dense copses of birch and aspen.

The true character of the American forest is not to

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7. = —a t= - =!
— — ————e - — —

or a eee ae

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 25

be studied from the road-side or along the edges of
the cleared lands. ‘To read its mysteries aright, we must
plunge into its depths and live under its shelter through
all the phases of the seasons, leaving far behind the sound
of the settler’s axe and the tinkling of his cattle-bells.
The strange feelings of pleasure attached to a life

-in the majestic solitudes of the pine forests of North

America cannot be attained by a merely marginal
acquaintance.

On entering the woods, the first feature which natu-
rally strikes us is the continual occurrence of dense copses
of young trees, where a partial clearing has afforded a
chance to the profusely sown germs to spring up and
perpetuate the ascendancy of vegetation, though of
course, in the struggle for existence, but few of these
would live to assert themselves as forest trees. As we
advance we perceive a taller and straighter growth, and
observe that many species, which in more civilised
districts are mere ornamental shrubs, throwing out their
feathery branches close to the ground, now assume the
character of forest trees with clean straight stems,
though somewhat slender withal, engendering the belief
that, left by themselves in the dpen, they would offer but
a short resistance to wintry gales. The foliage predomi-
nates at the tree top; the stems: (especially of the
spruces) throw out a profusion of spikes and dead
branchlets from the base upwards. Unhealthy situa-
tions, such as cold swamps, are marked by the utmost
confusion. Hverywhere, and at every variety of angle,
trees lean and creak against their comrades, drawing a
few more years of existence through their support. The
foot is being perpetually lifted to stride over dead stems,

26 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

sometimes so intricately interwoven that the traveller
becomes fairly pounded for the nonce.

This tangled appearance, however, is an attribute of
the spruce woods ; there is a much more orderly arrange-
ment under the hemlocks. These grand old trees seem
to bury their dead decently, and long hillocks in the
mossy carpet alone mark their ancestors’ graves, which
are generally further adorned by the evergreen tresses
of the creeping partridge-berry, or the still more delicate
festoons of the capillaire.

The busy occupation of all available space in the
American forest by a great variety of shrubs and herba-
ceous plants, constitutes one of its principal charms—the
multitudes of blossoms and delicate verdure arising from
the sea of moss to greet our eyes in spring, little maple
or birch seedlings starting up from prostrate trunks or
crannies of rock boulders, with wood violets, and a host
of the spring flora. The latter, otherwise rough and
shapeless objects, are thus invested with a most pleasing
appearance—transformed into the natural flower vases of
the woods. The abundance of the fern tribe, again, lends
much grace to the woodland scenery. In the swamp the
cinnamon fern, O. cinnamomea, with O. interrupta, attain
a luxuriant growth; and the forest brook is often almost
concealed by rank’ bushes of royal fern (O. regalis).
Rocks in woods are always topped with polypodium,
whilst the delicate fronds of the oak fern hang from their
sides. ilix feemina and F. mas are common every-
where, and, with many others of the list, present appa-
rently inappreciable differences to their Huropean repre-

sentatives.
There is a beauty peculiar to this interesting order

Shes

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 27

especially pleasing to the eye when studying details of
a landscape in which the various forms of vegetation
form the leading features. The luxuriant mosses and
ereat lichens which cover or cling to everything in the
forest act a similar part. Even the dismal black swamps
are somewhat enlivened by the long beards of the Usnea;
fallen trees are often made quite brilliant by a profusion
of scarlet cups of Cladonia gracilis.

But now let us examine further into the specific cha-
racter of at least some of the individuals of which the
forest is composed. As we wander on we chance, perhaps,
to stumble upon what is called, in woodsman’s parlance,
a “blazed line”—a broad chip has been cut from the side
of a tree, and the white surface of the inner wood at once
catches the eye of the watchful traveller; a few paces
farther on some saplings have been cut, and, keeping the
direction, we perceive in the distance another blazed mark
on atrunk. It may be a path leading from the settle-
ment to some distant woodland meadow of wild grass, or
a line marking granted property, or it may lead to a lot
of timber trees marked for the destructive axe of the lum-
berer—perhaps a grove of White Pine. This is the great
object of the lumberer’s search. Ascending a tree from
which an extensive view of the wild country is commanded,
he marks the tall overbearing summits of some distant pine
grove (for this tree is singularly gregarious, and is gene-
rally found growing in family groups), and having taken
its bearings with a compass, descends, and with his com-
rades proceeds on his errand of destruction. In the
neighbourhood of the coast, or on barren soil, the pine is
a stunted bushy tree, its branches feathering nearly to the
sround ; but the pine of the forest ascends as a straight

28 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

tower to the height of some 120 feet, two or three mas-
sive branches being thrown out in twisted and fantastic
attitudes. As if aware of its proud position as monarch
of the forest, it is often found on the summit of a preci-
pice ; and these conspicuous positions, which it seems to
prefer, have doomed this noble specimen of the cone-
bearing evergreens to ultimate extermination as certain
as that of the red man or the larger game of this conti-
nent. Some half-century since, the pine was found on
the margins of all the large lakes and streams, but of late
the axe and devastating fires have, as it were, driven the
tree far back into the remoter solitudes of the forest, and
long and expensive expeditions must be undertaken ére
the head-quarters of a gang of lumber-men can be fixed
upon for a winter employment. At the head waters of
- some insignificant brook, and in the neighbourhood of
good timber, these hardy sons of the forest fell the trees,
and cut and square them into logs, dragging them to the
edge of the stream, into whose swollen waters they are
rolled at the breaking up of winter and melting of the
snow, to find their way through almost endless difficulties
to the sea. That most useful animal in the woods, the
ox, accompanies the lumberers to their remote forest
camps, and drags the logs to the side of the stream. It
is really wonderful to watch these animals, well managed,
performing their laborious tasks in the forest: urged on
and directed solely by the encouraging voice of the team-
ster, the honest team drag the huge pine-log over the
rough inequalities of the ground, over rocks, and through
treacherous swamps and thickets, with almost unaccount-
able ease and safety, where the horse would at once be-
come confused, frightened, and injured, besides failing on

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THE LUMBERER'S CAMP IN WINTER.

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 29

the score of comparative streneth. Slowly but surely
the ox performs incredible feats of draught in the woods,
and asks for no more care than the shelter of a rough
shed near the lumberers’ camp, with a store of coarse wild
hay, and a drink at the neighbouring brook.

This aristocrat of the forest, Pinus strobus, refuses to
grow in the black swamp or open bog, which it leaves to
poverty-stricken spruces and larches, nor in its communi-
ties will it tolerate much undergrowth. Pine woods are
peculiarly open and easy to traverse. Bracken, and but
little else, grows beneath, and the foot treads noiselessly
on a soft slippery surface of fallen tassels. A peculiarly
soft subdued light pervades these groves—a ray here and
there falling on the white blossoms of the pigeon berry
(Cornus Canadensis) in summer, or, later, on its bright
scarlet clusters of berries, sets frequent sparkling gems in
our path. That beautiful forest music termed soughing
in Scotland, in reference to the sound of the wind
passing over the foliage of the Scotch fir, is heard to per-
fection amongst the American pines.

The white pine, according to Sir J. Richardson, ranges
as far to the northward as the south shore of Lake Wini-
peg. “ Even in its northern termination,” he says, “it is
still a stately tree.”

The Hemlock, or Hemlock Spruce (Abies Canadensis
of Michaux), is a common tree in the woodlands of
Acadie, affecting moist mossy slopes in the neighbour-
hood of lakes, though generally mixing with other ever-
greens in all situations. It is found, however, of largest
growth (80 feet), and growing in large groves, principally
in the former localities, where it vies with the white pine
in its solid proportions. The deeply grained columnar

30 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

trunk throws off its first branches some 50 feet above the
ground, and the light feathery foliage clings round the
summit of an old tree in dense masses, from which pro-
trude the bare twisted limbs which abruptly terminate

the column.
Perched high up in its branches may be often seen in

winter the sluggish porcupine, whose presence aloft is

first detected by the keen eye of the Indian through the
scratches made by its claws on the trunk in ascending its
favourite tree to feed on the bark and leaves of the
younger shoots.

Large groves of hemlock growing on woodland slopes
present a noble appearance; their tall columns never
bend before the gale. There is a general absence of
undergrowth, thus affording long vistas through the
shady grove of giants; and the softened light invests the
interior of these vast forest cathedrals with an air of
solemn mystery, whilst the even spread of their mossy
carpet affords appreciable relief to the footsore hunter.
The human voice sounds as if confined within spacious

and lofty halls.

Hawthorne, describing the wooded solitudes in which

he loved to wander, thus speaks of a grove of these
trees -—“ These ancient hemlocks are rich in many things
beside birds. Indeed, their wealth in this respect is
owing mainly, no doubt, to their rank vegetable growths,
their fruitful swamps, and their dark, sheltered retreats.
“Their history is of an heroic cast. Ravished and
torn by the tanner in his thirst for bark, preyed upon by
the lumberman, assaulted and beaten back by the settler,
still their spirit has never been broken, their energies
never paralysed. Not many years ago a public highway

ee eee

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 31

passed’ through them, but it was at no time a tolerable
road ; trees fell across it, mud and limbs choked it up,
till finally travellers took the hint and went around ; and
now, walking along its deserted course, I see only the
footprints of coons, foxes, and squirrels.

“Nature loves such woods, and places her own seal
upon them. Here she shows me what can be done with
ferns and mosses and lichens. ‘The soil is marrowy and
full of innumerable forests. Standing in these fragrant
aisles, I feel the strength of the vegetable kingdom and
am awed by the deep and inscrutable processes of life
going on so silently about me.

“No hostile forms with axe or spud now visit these
solitudes. The cows have half-hidden ways through
them, and know where the best browsing is to be had.
In spring the farmer repairs to their bordering of maples
to make sugar; in July and August women and boys
from all the country about penetrate the old Barkpeeling
for raspberries and blackberries; and I know a youth
who wonderingly follows their languid stream casting for
trout.

“Tn like spirit, alert and buoyant, on this bright June
morning go | also to reap my harvest,—pursuing a sweet
more delectable than sugar, fruit more savoury than ber-
ries, and game for another palate than that tickled by
trout.” *

Hemlock bark, possessing highly astringent properties,
is much used in America for tanning purposes, almost

* There is no mistaking the authorship of this passage from the note-
books of Nathaniel Hawthorne. It is not embodied in the recently
published English edition of his notes; I found it in a contribution of his
to an American periodical many years since, and preserved it as a gem.

32 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

entirely superseding that of the oak. Its surface is very —

rough with deep grooves between the scales. Of a light
pearly gray outside, it shows a madder brown tint when
chipped. The sojourner in the woods seeks the dry and
easily detached bark which clings to an old dead hem-
lock as a great auxiliary to his stock of fuel for the camp
fire ; it burns readily and long, emitting an intense heat,
and so fond are the old Indians of sitting round a small
conical pile of the ignited bark in their wigwams, that

it bears in their language the sobriquet of “the old

Grannie.”

The hemlock, as a shrub, is perhaps the most orna-
mental of all the North American evergreens. It has
none of that tight, stiff, old-fashioned appearance so gene-

rally seen in other spruces: the graceful foliage droops —

loosely and irregularly, hiding the stem, and, when each
spray is tipped with the new season’s shoot of the
brightest sea-green imaginable, the appearance is very

beautiful. The young cones are likewise of a delicate |

oreen.

This tree has a wide range in the coniferous wood-
lands of North America, extending from the Hudson’s
Bay territory to the mountains of Georgia. The great
southerly extension of the northern forms of trees on the
south-east coast, is due to the direction of the Allegha-
nian range, which, commencing in our own province of
vegetation, carries its flora as far south as 35 degrees
north latitude, elevation affording the same conditions of
growth as distance from the equator.

It would appear that this giant spruce has no analo-
gous form in the Old World as have others of the genus
Abies found in the New. All the genera of conifers,

|

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 33

however, here contain a larger number of trees, which,
though they are exceedingly similar in general appear-
ance, are specifically distinct from their European con-
geners.

Under the Arctic circle, as pointed out by Sir J.
Richardson, and beyond the limits of tree growth, but
little appreciable difference exists in circumpolar vegeta-
tion, and so we recognise in the luxuriant cryptogamous |
flora of the forests we are describing most of the mosses
and lichens found across the Atlantic, which here attain
such a noticeable development. As with nobler forms,
America, however, adds many new species to the
list. |

The Black Spruce is one of the most conspicuous and
characteristic forest trees of North-Eastern America,
forming a large portion of the coniferous forest growth,
and found in almost every variety of circumstance.
Sometimes it appears in mixed woods, of beautiful
growth and of great height, its numerous branches
drooping in graceful curves from the apex towards
the ground, which they sweep to a distance of twenty
to thirty feet from the stem, whilst the summit ter-
minates in a dense arrow head, on the short sprays
of which are crowded heavy masses of cones. At
others, it is found almost the sole growth, covering
large tracts of country, the trees standing thick, with
straight clean stems and but little foliage except
at the summit. Then there is the black spruce swamp,
where the tree shows by its contortions, its unhealthy
foliage, and its stem and limbs shaggy with usnea,
the hardships of its existence. Again on the open

bog grows the black spruce, scarcely higher than a cab-
D

34 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

bage sprout *—the light olive-green foliage living on
the compressed summit only, whilst the grey dead twigs
below are crowded with pendulous moss ; yet even here,
amidst the cold sphagnum, Indian cups, and cotton grass,
the tree lives to an age which would have given it a
proud position in the dry forest. Lastly, in the fissure of
a granite boulder may be seen its hardy seedling ; and
the little plant has a far better chance of becoming a tree
than its brethren in the swamp; for, one day, as frost and
increasing soil open the fissure, its roots will creep out and
fasten in the earth beneath.

In unhealthy situations a singular appearance is fre-
quently assumed by this tree. Stunted, of course, it
throws out its arms in the most tortuous shapes, sud-
denly terminating in a dense mass of innumerable
branchlets of a rounded contour like a beehive, display-
ing short, thick, light green foliage. The summit of —
the tree generally terminates in another bunch. The
stem and arms are profusely covered with lichens and
usnea. As a valuable timber tree the black spruce ranks
next to the pine, attaining a height of seventy to a hun-
dred feet. Being strong and elastic, it forms excellent:
material for spars and masts, and is converted into all
descriptions of sawed lumber—deals, boards, and scant-
lings. From its young sprays is prepared the decoction,

* Indeed these miniature trees in bogs where the sphagnum perpetually
bathes their roots with chilling moisture, have a very similar appearance to
Brussels sprouts on a large scale. The water held in the moss is always
cold: on May 5th, 1866, the tussacs of sphagnum were frozen solidly
within two or three inches of the surface. The centre of these bogs, often
called cariboo bogs by reason of this deer frequenting them in search of
the lichen, Cladonia rangiferinus, is generally quite bare of spruce clumps,
which fringe the edge of the surrounding forest, the trees increasing in
height as they recede from the open bog.

EEE OE oO

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 35

fermented with molasses, the celebrated spruce beer of the
American settler, a cask of which every good farmer’s wife
keeps in the hot, thirsty days of haymaking. To the
Indian, the roots of this tree, which shoot out to a great
distance immediately under the moss, are his rope, string
and thread. With them he ties his bundle, fastens the
birch-bark coverings to the poles of his wigwam, or sews -
the broad sheets of the same material over the ashen ribs
of his canoe.

For ornamental purposes in the open and cultivated
glebe the black spruce is very appropriate. The nume-
rous and gracefully curved branches, the regular and
acute cone shape of the mass, its clear purplish-grey
stem, and the beautiful bloom with which its abundant
cones are tinged in June, all enhance the picturesqueness
of a tree which is long-lived, and, moreover, never out-
grows its ornamental appearance, unless confined in
dense woodland swamps.

The bark of the black spruce is scaly, of various shades
of purplish-grey, sometimes approaching to a reddish hue,
hence, doubtless, suggesting a variety under the name of
red spruce, which is in reality a form depending on situa-
tion. In the latter, the foliage being frequently of a
lighter tinge of green, strengthens the supposition. No
specific differences have, however, been detected between
the trees.

The White Spruce or Sea Spruce of the Indians (Abies
alba, Mich.) is a conifer of an essentially boreal character.
Indeed in its extension into our own woodlands it ap-
pears to prefer bleak and exposed situations. It thrives
on our rugged Atlantic shores, and grows on exposed

and brine-washed sands where no other vegetation ap-
D2

36C: FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

pears, and hence is very useful, both as a shelter to the
Jand, and as holding it against the encroachment of the
sea. Its dark glaucous foliage assumes an almost impene-
trable aspect under these circumstances. I have seen
groves of white spruce on the shore, the foliage of which
was swept back over the land by prevailing gales from
‘the south-west, nearly parallel to the ground, and so
compressed and flattened at the top that a man could
walk on them as on a platform, whilst the shelter be-
neath was complete.

The Balsam Fir growing in these situations assumes a
very similar appearance in the density and colour of its
foliage and trunk to the white spruce, from which, how-.
ever, it can be quickly distinguished, on inspection, by
the pustules on the bark and its erect cones. In the
. forest the white spruce is rare in comparison with the
black, whose place it however altogether usurps on the
sand hills bordering the limit of vegetation in the far
north-west. The former tree prefers humid and rocky
woods.

Our Silver Fir (Abies balsamea, Marshall) is so like the
European picea that they would pass for the same
species were it not for the balsam pustules which charac-
terise the American tree. Both show the same silvery
lines under the leaf on each side of the mid-rib, which,
glistening in the sun as the branches are blown upwards
by the wind, give the tree its name. We find it in moist
woods—erowing occasionally in the provinces to a height
of sixty feet where it has plenty of room—a handsome,
dark-foliaged tree ; short-lived, however, and often falling
before a heavy gale, showing a rotten heart.

The silver fir is remarkable for the horizontal regularity

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 37

of its branches, and the general exact conical formation
of the whole tree. An irregularity in the growth of the
foliage, similar to that occurring in the black spruce, is
frequently to be found in the fir. A contorted branch,
generally half-way up the stem, terminates in a multi-
tude of interlaced sprays which are, every summer,
clothed with very delicate, flaccid, light-green leaves,
forming a beehive shape like that of the spruce. It may
be noticed, however, that whilst this bunch foliage is |
perennial in the case of the latter tree, that of the fir is
annually deciduous. Up to a certain age the silver fir in
the forest is a graceful shrub. Its flat delicate sprays
form the best bedding for the woodman’s couch; the
fragrance of its branches, when long cut or exposed to
the sun, is delicious, and their soft elasticity is most
orateful to the limbs of the wearied hunter on his return
to camp. ‘The bark of the larger trees, peeling readily
in summer, is used in sheets to cover the lumberer’s shanty,
which he now takes the opportunity to build in prospect
of the winter’s campaign.

The large, erect, sessile cones of the balsam fir are very
beautiful in the end of May, when they are of a light
sea-green colour, which, changing in June to pale laven-
der, in August assumes a dark slaty tint. They ripen in
the fall; and the scale being easily detached, the seeds
are soon scattered by the autumnal gales, leaving the
axis bare and persistent on the branch for many years.
In June each strobile is surmounted with a large mass of
balsam exudation.

A casual observer, on passing the edges of the forest,
cannot help remarking the brown appearance of the
spruce tops in some seasons when the cones are unusually

38 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

abundant. They are crowded together in bushels, and
often kill the upper part of the tree and its leading shoot,
after which a new leader appears to be elected amongst
the nearest tier of branchlets to continue the upward
erowth. From such a crop the Indians augur an un-
usually hard winter, through much the same process of
reasoning as that which the English countryman adopts
in prophesying a rigorous season from an abundant crop
of haws and other autumnal hedge fruits, and generally
with about the same chance of fulfilment.

No less majestic than the coniferee are many of the
species of deciduous trees, or “hard woods,” which, inter-
mingled with the former, impart such a pleasing aspect
to the otherwise gloomy fir forests of British North
America. Growing, as the firs, with tall straight stems,
. and struggling upwards for the influence of the sunlight
on their lofty foliage, the yellow and black birches aspire
to the greatest elevation, attaining a height of seventy or
eighty feet. Mixed with these are beeches and elms;
and in many districts the country is covered with an
almost exclusive growth of the useful rock or sugar-
maple.

In these “mixed woods,” as they are locally termed
(indicative, it is said, of a good soil), the prettiest con-
trast is afforded by the pure white stems of the canoe
birch (Betula papyracea) against the spruce boughs; and,
as these are generally open woods, the latter come sweep-
ing down to the ground. The young stems of the yellow
birch (B. excelsa) gleam like gilded rods in sunlight ;
their shining yellow bark looks as though it had been
fresh coated with varnish. |

These American birches are a beautiful family of trees,

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE, 39

particularly the canoe or paper birch, so called from the
readiness with which its folds of bark will separate from
the stem like thick sheets of paper. Smooth and round,
without a knot or branch for some forty feet from the
ground, is the tree which the Indian anxiously looks for;
it affords him the broad sheets of bark which cover his
wigwam and the frame of his canoe, and long journeys
does he often undertake in search of it. The bark is
thick as leather, and as pliable, and in the summer can
' readily be separated for any distance up the stem. From
it the Indians make the boxes and curiosities, by the sale
of which these poor creatures endeavour to earn a liveli-
hood. Their fanciful goods cannot, however, compete
with the useful productions of civilised labour, and are
only bought by the stranger and the charitable. The
white birch of the forest is as closely connected with the
interests of the Indian as the pine is with those of the
lumberer, and the former dreads the ultimate comparative
scarcity of the birch as the latter does that of the noble
timber-tree.

From the mountains of Virginia, on the south-east,
this important tree ranges northwardly in Atlantic
America far into the interior of Labrador, whilst in the
extreme north-west it ascends the valley of the Mackenzie
as far as 69 degrees N. lat. )

In travelling the forest in summer it is quite refreshing
to enter the bright sheen of a birch-covered hill, exchang-
ing the close resinous atmosphere of heated fir-woods for
its cool open vaults. The transition is often quite sudden
—the scene changing from gloom to brightness with a
magical effect. Such a contrast is presented to the
marked lights and shades of the pine forest! The silvery

40 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

stems with their light canopy of sunlit leaves, through
the breaks in which the blue sky shows quite dark as a
background, the innumerable lights falling on the light
ereen undergrowth of plants and shrubs beneath, and the
general absence of appreciable lines of shadow every-
where, stamp these hard-wood. hills with an almost fairy-
land appearance.

If at all near the borders of cinilianbiohi we soon strike

“hauling road,” leading from such localities into the
pereeignety track broad enough for a sled and pair of
oxen to pass over when the farmer comes in winter to

transport his firewood over the snow. And a goodly —
stock indeed he requires to battle with the cold of a

North American winter in the backwoods; logs, such as
- it would take two men to lift, of birch, beech or maple,
are piled on his ample hearth; the abundance of fuel
and the readiness with which he can bring it from the
neighbouring bush, is one of his greatest blessings. He
deserves a few comforts, for perhaps his lifetime, and that
of his father, has been spent in redeeming the few acres
round the dwelling from the fangs of gigantic stumps

and boulders of rock. A patch of potatoes, an acre or

so of buckwheat, and another of oats, and a few rough-
looking cattle, are his sources of wealth, or perhaps a
rough saw mill, constructed far up in the forest brook,
and the whirr of whose circular saw disturbs only the
wild animals of the surrounding woods.

- How vividly is recalled to my memory the delight
experienced on many occasions by our tired, belated
party, returning from a hunting camp through unknown
woods, on finding one of these logging roads, anticipating
in advance the kindly welcome of the invariably hospit-

splits Neth side Heer ai oe

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 41

able backwoods farmer, towards whose clearings it was
sure to trend. Perhaps for hours before we had almost
despaired of quitting the forest by nightfall. On sending
the Indians into tree-tops to reconnoitre, the disheartening
ery would be, “ Woods all round as far as we can see.”
Further on, perhaps, we should hear that there were
“Lakes all round!” Worse again, for then a wearisome
detour must be made. But at last some one finds signs
of chopping, then a stack of cord-wood, and then we
strike a regular blazed line. Now the spirits of every
one revive, and we soon emerge on the forest road with
its clean-cut track, corduroy platforms through swamps,
and rude log bridges over the brooks, which brings us
within the welcome sound of cattle bells, and at length
to the broad glare of the clearings.

Before leaving the woods, however, we may not omit
to notice those characteristic trees of the American forest,
the maples, particularly that most important member of
the family, the rock or sugar maple—Acer saccharinum.
Found generally interspersed with other hard-wood trees,
this tree is seen of largest and most frequent growth in
the Acadian forests on the slopes of the Cobequid hills,
and other similar ranges in Nova Scotia, often growing
together in large clumps. Such groves are termed
“ Sugaries,’ and are yearly visited by the settlers for
the plentiful supply of sap which, in the early spring,
courses between the bark and the wood, and from which
the maple sugar is extracted. Towards the end of
March, when winter is relaxing its hold, and the hitherto
frozen trees begin to feel the influence of the sun, the
settlers, old and young, turn into the woods with their
axes, sap-troughs, and boilers, and commence the opera-

42 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

tion of sugar-making. A fine young maple is selected ;
an oblique incision made by two strokes of the axe ata
few feet from the ground, and the pent-up sap im-
mediately begins to trickle and drop from the wound.
A wooden spout is driven in, and the trough placed
underneath ; next morning a bucketful of clear sweet
sap is removed and taken to the boiling-house. Some-
times two or three hundred trees are tapped at a time,
and require the attention of a large party of men. At
the camp, the sap is carefully boiled and evaporated
until it attains the consistency of syrup. At this stage
much of it is used by the settlers under the name of
“maple honey, or molasses.” Further boiling ; and on
pouring small quantities on to’ pieces of ice, it sud-
denly cools and contracts, and in this stage is called
_“ maple-wax,” which is much prized as a sweetmeat.
Just beyond this point the remaining sap is poured
into moulds, in which as it cools it forms the solid
saccharine mass termed “maple sugar.” Sugar may also
be obtained, though inferior in quality, from the various
birches ; but the sap of these trees is slightly acidulous,
and is more often converted into vinegar.

White or soft maple (A. dasycarpum), and the red
flowering maple (A. rubrum), are equally common trees.
Both contribute largely to the gorgeous colouring of the
fall, and the latter species clothes its leafless sprays in
the spring almost as brilliantly with scarlet blossoms.
Before these fade, a circlet of light green leaves appears
below, when a terminal shoot has a fitting place in an
ornamental bouquet of spring flowers.

As a rule, all the Aceraceze are noted for breadth of
leaf, and, being even more abundant than the birches in

THE FORESTS OF ACADIE. 43

the forests of Acadie, the solid appearance of the rolling
hard-wood hills is thus accounted for. These great
swelling billows in a sea of verdure form the grandest
feature of American forest scenery. In Vermont and
New Hampshire, to the westward of our provinces, they
become perfectly tempestuous. The black arrow-heads
of the spruces, or the slanting tops of the pines, pierce
through them distinctly enough, but the summits of the
hard-woods are blended together in one vast canopy of
light green foliage, in which the eye vainly seeks to trace
individual form.

Amongst the varieties of scenery presented by our
wild districts, I would notice the burnt barrens. These
sometimes extend for many miles, and are most dreary in
their appearance and painfully tedious to travel through.
Years ago, perhaps, some fierce fire has run through the
evergreen forest, and its ravages are now shown in the
spectacle before us. Gaunt white stems stand in groups,
presenting a most ghost-like appearance, and pointing
with their bleached branches at the prostrate remains of
their companions, which, strewed and mixed with matted
bushes and briars, lie beneath, rendering progress almost
impossible to the hunter or traveller.

In granitic districts, where the scanty soil—the result
of ages of cryptogamous vegetation and decay—has been
clean licked up by the fire, even the energetic power of
American vegetation appears utterly prostrated for a
period, as if hopeless of again assimilating the desert to
the standard of surrounding features.

As a contrast to such a scene, and in conclusion to
our dissertation on the forests, turn we to the smiling
intervale scenery of her alluvial valleys, for which

44 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Acadie is so famous. Many of the rivers, coursing
smoothly through long tracts of the country, are broadly
margined by level meadows with rich soils, productive
of excellent pasture. The banks are adorned with orange
lilies; and the meadows, which extend between the
water and the uplands, shaded by clumps of elm B=
americana).

Almost the whole charm of these intervales (in an
artistic point of view) is due to the groups of this
oraceful tree, by which they are adorned. Its stem,
soon forking and diverging like that of the English horn-
beam, nevertheless carries the main bulk of the foliage

to a good elevation, the ends of the middle and lower — ;

branches bending gracefully downwards. The latter often
‘ hang for several yards, quite perpendicularly, with most
delicate hair-like branchlets and small leaves. We have
but one elm in this part of America; yet no one at first
sight would ever connect the tall trunk and twisted top
branches of the forest-growing tree with the elegant
form of the dweller in the pasture lands.

Whether from appreciation of its beauty, or in view of
the shade afforded their cattle, which always congregate
in warm weather under its pendulous branches, the

settlers agree in sparing the elm growing in such situa-

tions.

These long fertile valleys are further adorned by
copses of alders, dogwood, and willows—favourite haunts
of the American woodcock, which here alone finds
subsistence, the earth-worm being never met with in the
forest.

oe

E.

INTERVAL

AN

ELMS IN

CHAPTER II.

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND THE NEW WORLDS.

THE MOOSE.
(Alee, Hamilton Smith ; Alee Americanus, Jardine.)

Muzzle very broad, produced, covered with hair, except a small, moist,
naked spot in front of the nostrils. Neck short and thick ; hair thick
and brittle ; throat rather maned in both sexes ; hind legs have the
tuft of hair rather above the middle of the metatarsus; the males
have palmate horns. The nose cavity in the skull is very large,
reaching behind to a line over the front of the grinders ; the inter-
maxillaries are very long, but do not reach to the nasal, The nasals
are very short.

In the foregoing diagnosis, taken from ‘“‘Gray’s Knowsley
Menagerie,” are summed up the principal characteristics
of the elk in the Old and New Worlds. In colour alone
the American moose presents an unimportant difference
to the Swedish elk, being much darker; its coat at the
close of summer quite black, when the males are in their —
prime. The European animal varies according to season
from brown to dark mouse-grey. In old bulls of the
American variety the coat is inclined to assume a grizzly
hue. The extremities only of the hairs are black; to-
wards the centre they become of a light ashy-grey,
and finally, towards the roots, dull white—the diffe-
rence of colour in the hair of the two varieties thus

46 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

being quite superficial. The males have a fleshy appen-
dage to the throat, termed the bell, from which and the
contiguous parts of the throat long black hair grows
profusely. A long, erect mane surmounts the neck
from the base of the skull to the withers. Its bristles
are of a lighter colour than those of the coat, and
partake of a reddish hue. At the base of the hair
the neck and shoulders are covered with a quantity of
very fine soft wool, curled and interwoven with the hair.
Of this down warm gloves of an extraordinarily soft
texture are woven by the Indians.

Moose hair is very brittle and inelastic. Towards its
junction with the skin it becomes wavy, the barrel of
each hair suddenly contracting like the handle of an oar
just before it enters the skin.*

_ Gilbert White, speaking of a female moose deer which

he had inspected, says: “The grand distinction between
this deer and any other species that I have ever met
with consisted in the strange length of its legs, on which
it was tilted up, much in the manner of birds of the
grallze order.” This length of limb is due, according to
Professor Owen, “to the peculiar length of the cannon
bones (metacarpi and metatarsi).”

The other noticeable peculiarities of the elk are the

* In “ Anatomical Descriptions of Several Creatures Dissected by the
Royal Academy of Sciences at Paris, by Alexander Pitfield, F.R.S., 1688,”
the above peculiarity is thus described :—“ The hair was three inches long,
and its bigness equalled that of the coarsest horsehair; this bigness grew
lesser towards the extremity, which was pointed all at once, making, as it
were, the handle of a lance. This handle was of another colour than the
rest of the hair, being diaphanous like the bristles of a hog. It seems that
this part, which was finer and more flexible than the rest of the hair, was
so made to the end, that the hair which was elsewhere very hard might
keep close and not stand on end. This hair, cut through the middle,
appeared in the microscope spongy on the inside, like a rush.”

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 47

great length of the head and ear, and the muscular
development of the upper lip; the movements of which,
directed by four powerful muscles arising from the maxil-
laries, prove its fitness as a prehensile organ. In form it
has been said to be intermediate between the snout of
the horse and of the tapir. I am indebted to Mr. Buck-

land for the following description of a skull, which had
been forwarded to him from Nova Scotia :—

“This splendid skull weighs ten pounds eleven ounces,
and is twenty-four inches and a-half in length. The
inter-maxillary bones are very much prolonged, to give
attachment to the great muscle or upper prehensile lip,
and the foramen in the bone for the nerve, which
supplies the ‘muffle’ with sensation, is very large. I
can almost get my little finger into it. The ethmoid
bone, upon which the nerves of smelling ramify them-
selves, is very much developed. No wonder the hunter
has such difficulty in getting near a beast whose nose
will telegraph the signal of ‘danger’ to the brain, even
when the danger is a long way off, and the ‘ walking
danger, if I have read the habits of North American
Indians, is in itself of a highly odoriferous character. The
cavities for the eyes are wide and deep. I should say the
moose has great mobility of the eye. The cavity for the
peculiar gland in front of the eye is greatly scooped out.
The process at the back of the head for the attachment
of the ligamentum nuche—the elastic ligament which,
like an india-rubber spring, supports the weight of the
massive head and ponderous horns without fatigue to the
owner, is much developed. The enamel on the molar
teeth forms islands with the dentine somewhat like the
pattern of the tooth of the common cow.”

48 - FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

The height of the elk at the withers but little exceeds
that at the buttock ; the back consequently has not that
slope to the rear so often misrepresented in drawings of
the animal. The appearance of extra height forwards is
given by the mane, which stands out from the ridge of
the neck, something like the bristles of an inverted
hearth-broom. The ears, which are considerably over a
foot in length in the adult animal, are of a light brown,
with a narrow marginal dark-brown rim ; the cavity is
filled with thick whitish-yellow hair. The naked skin
fringing the orbit of the eye is a dull pink ; the eye itself
of a dark sepia colour. Under the orbit there is an are
of very dark hair. The lashes of the upper lid are full, —
and rather over an inch in length. A large specimen
will measure six feet six inches in height at the shoulder ;
_ length of head from occiput to point of muffle, following
the curve, thirty-one inches ; from occiput to top of
withers in a straight line, twenty-nine inches ; and from
the last point horizontally to a vertical tangent of the
buttocks, fifty-two inches. A large number of measure-
ments in my possession, for the accuracy of which I can
vouch, show much variation of the length of back in ~
proportion to the height, thus probably accounting for a
commonly received opinion amongst the white settlers of
the backwoods that there are two varieties of the moose.

THE PAST HISTORY OF THE ELK.

The study of northern zoology presents a variety of
considerations interesting both to the student of recent
nature and to the palzeontologist. ‘Taking as well known

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 49

instances the reindeer and musk-ox, there are forms yet
inhabiting the arctic and sub-arctic regions which may
be justly regarded as the remains of an ancient fauna
which once comprised many species now long since
extinct, and which with those already named, occupied a
far greater southerly extent of each of the continents
converging on the pole than would be possible under the
present climatal conditions of the world. With those
oreat types which have entirely disappeared before man
had recorded their existence in the pages of history, in-
cluding the mammoth (Elephas primigenius), the most
abundant of the fossil pachyderms, whose bones so crowd
the beaches and islands of the Polar Sea that in parts the
soil seems altogether composed of them, the Rhinoceros
tichorinus, and others, were associated genera, a few
species of which lived on into the historic period, and
have since become extinct, whilst others, occupying
restricted territory, are apparently on the verge of dis-
appearance. ‘All the species of European pliocene
bovidee came down to the historical period,” states Pro-
fessor Owen in his “ British Fossil Mammals,” “and the
aurochs and musk-ox still exist; but the one owes its
preservation to special imperial protection, and the other
has been driven, like the reindeer, to high northern lati-
tudes.” Well authenticated as is the occurrence of the
rangifer as a fossil deer of the upper tertiaries, the
evidence of its association in ages so remote, with Cervus
Alces, has been somewhat a matter of doubt. The elk
and the reindeer have always been associated in descrip-
tions of the zoology of high latitudes by modern natural-
ists, as they were when the boreal climate, coniferous

forests, and mossy bogs of ancient Gaul brought them
E

50 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE,

under notice of the classic pens of Cesar, Pausanias, and
Pliny. And there is a something in common to both of
these singular deer which would seem to connect them
equally with the period when they and the gigantic
contemporary genera now extinct roamed over so large
a portion of the earth’s surface in the north temperate
zone, where the fir-tree—itself geologically typical of a
oreat antiquity—constituted a predominant vegetation. —

The presence of the remains of Cervus Alces in associa-
tion with those of the mammoth, the great fossil musk-ox
(Ovibos), the fossil reimdeer, and two forms of bison in

the fossiliferous ice-cliffs of Eschscholtz Bay, as described -

by Sir John Richardson, would seem to be an almost
decisive proof of its existence at a time when the tempe-
rature on the shores of the Polar Sea was sufficiently

genial to allow of a vegetation affording browse and

cover to the great herds of mammals which have left —

their bones there, with buried, fossilised trees, attesting
the presence of a forest at.a latitude now unapproached
save by shrubs, such as the dwarf birch, and by that only
at a considerable distance to the south. The elk of the

present day, as we understand his habits, unlike the

musk-ox and reindeer, for which lichens and scanty
grasses in the valleys of the barren grounds under the
Polar circle afford a sufficient sustenance, is almost
exclusively a wood-eater, and could not have lived at
the locality above indicated under the present physical
aspects of the coasts of Arctic America, any more than
the herds of buffaloes, horses, oxen and sheep, whose
remains are mentioned by Admiral Von Wrangell as

having been found in the greatest profusion in the

interior of the islands of New Siberia, associated with

,
ee

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 51

mammoth bones, could now exist in that icy wilderness.
On these grounds a high antiquity is claimed for the
sub-genus Alces, probably as great as that of the rein-
deer.

As a British fossil mammal, the true elk has not yet
been described, though for a long time the remains of
the now well-defined sub-genus Megaceros were ascribed
to the former animal. There is a statement, however, in
a recent volume of the “Zoologist” to the effect that the
painting of a deer’s head and horns, which were dug out
of a marl pit in Forfarshire, and presented to the Royal
Society of Edinburgh, is referable to neither the fallow,
red, nor extinct Irish deer, but to the elk, which may be
therefore regarded as having once inhabited Scotland.
The only recorded instance of its occurrence in England
is the discovery, a few years since, of a single horn at the
bottom of a bog on the Tyne. It was found lying on,
not in, the drift, and therefore can be only regarded as
recent.

Passing on to prehistoric times, when the remains of
the species found in connexion with human implements
prove its subserviency as an article of food to the hunters
of old, we find the bones of Cervus Alces in the Swiss
lake dwellings, and the refuse-heaps of that age ; whilst
in a recent work on travel in Palestine by the Rev. H.
B, Tristram, we have evidence of the great and ancient
fauna which then overspread temperate Hurope and Asia
having had a yet more southerly extension, for he dis-
covers a limestone cavern in the Lebanon; near Beyrout,
containing a breccious deposit teeming with the débris of
the feasts of prehistoric man—flint chippings, evidently

used as knives, mixed with bones in fragments and teeth,
B2

52 . FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

assignable to red or reindeer, a bison, and an elk. “Tf,”
says the author, “as. Mr, Dawkins considers, these teeth
are referable to those now exclusively northern quadrupeds,
we have evidence of the reindeer and elk having been
the food of man in the Lebanon not long before the
historic period ; for there is no necessity to put back to
any date of immeasurable antiquity the deposition of
these remains in a limestone cavern. And,” he adds,
with significant reference to the great extension of the
ancient zoological province of which we are speaking,
“there is nothing more extraordinary in this occurrence

than in the discovery of the bones of the tailless hare of ©

Siberia in the breccias of Sardinia and Corsica.”
The first allusion to the elk in the pages of history is
made by Ceesar in the sixth book “De Bello Gallico ”"—

“sunt item que appellantur Alces,’ etc. etc., a descrip- -

tion of an animal inhabiting the great Hercynian forest
of ancient Germany, in common with some other remark-
able feree, also mentioned, which can refer to no other,
the name being evidently Latinised from the old Teutonic
cognomen of elg, elch, or aelg, whence also our own term

elk. He speaks of the forest as commencing near the ~

territories of the Helvetii, and extending eastward along
the Danube to the country inhabited by the Dacians.
“Under this general name,’ says Dr. Smith, “ Ceesar
appears to have included all the mountains and forests
in the south and centre of Germany, the Black Forest,
Odenwald, Thiirmgenwald, the Hartz, the Erzgebirge, the
Riesengebirge, etc., etc. As the Romans became better
acquainted with Germany, the name was confined to
narrower limits. Pliny and Tacitus use it to indicate
the range of mountains between the Thiirmgenwald and

oe

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 53

the Carpathians: The name is still preserved in the
modern Harz and Erz.” Gronovius states that the
German word was Hirtsenwald, or forest of stags. In
an old translation of the Commentaries I find the word
“alces ” rendered “a kind of wild asses,’ and really a
better term could hardly be applied, had the writer,
unacquainted with the animal, caught a passing glimpse
of an elk, especially of a young one without horns. But
it is evident that Ceesar alludes to a large species of deer,
and, although he compares them to goats (it is nearly
certain that the original word was “ capreis,” “caprea ”
being a kind of wild goat or roebuck), and received from
his informants the story of their being jointless—an
attribute, in those days of popular errors and super-
stitions, ascribed to other animals as well—the very fact
of their being hunted in the manner described, by
weakening trees, so that the animal leaning against them
would break them down, involving his own fall, proves
that the alce was a creature of ponderous bulk.

The descriptive paragraph alluded to contains one of
the fallacies which have always been attached to the
natural history of the elk, ancient and modern; and,
even now-a-days the singular appearance of the animal
attempting to browse on a low shrub close to the ground,
his legs not bent at the joint, but straddling stiffly as he
endeavours to cull the morsel with his long, prehensile
upper lip, might impart to the ignorant observer the idea
that the stilt-like legs were jointless. The fabrication of
their being hunted in the way described was, of course,
based on the popular error as to the formation of their
limbs. “ Mutileque sunt cormbus” may imply that
Ceesar, or more likely some of his men, had either seen a

54 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

female elk, or—as might be more acceptably inferred—a
male which had lost one horn, and consequently late in
the autumn, as it is well known that the horns are not
shed simultaneously. Pausanias speaks of the elk as
intermediate between the stag and the camel, as a most
sagacious animal, and capable of distinguishing the odour
of a human being at a great distance, taken by hunters
in the same manner as is now pursued in the “skall” of
north Europe, and as being indigenous to the country of
the Celtze; whilst Pliny declares it to be a native of
Scandinavia, and states that at his time it had not been
exhibited at the Roman games. At a later period the —
animal became better known, for Julius Capitolinus
speaks of elks bemg shown by Gordian, and Vopiscus
mentions that Aurelian exhibited the rare spectacle of the
elk, the tiger, and the giraffe, when he triumphed over
Zenobia.

In these few notices is summed up all that has been
preserved of what may be termed the ancient history of
the European elk. An interesting reflection is suggested
as to what were the physical features of central Hurope in
those days. It seems evident that ancient France, then
called Gaul, was a region of alternate forests and
morasses in which besides the red and the roe, the rein-
deer abounded, if not the elk; that in crossing the Alps,
a vast, continuous forest, commencing on the confines of
modern Switzerland, occupied the valleys and slopes of
the Alps, from the sources of the Rhine to an eastern
boundary indicated by the Carpathian mountains, and
embraced, as far as its northern extension was known,
the plateau of Bohemia. Strange and fierce animals,
hitherto unknown to the Romans—accustomed as they

iri

— a

———— ——————EE———————E———E

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 55

had been to seeing menageries of creatures brought from
other climes, dragged in processions and into the arena
—were found in these forests. The urus or wild bull,
now long extinct, “in size,” says Ceesar, “little less than
the elephant, and which spares neither man nor beast
when they have been presented to his view.” The savage
aurochs yet preserved in a Lithuanian forest, the elk and
the reindeer were their denizens, and formed the beef and
venison on which the fierce German hunters of old sub-
sisted. “The hunting of that day” may be well imagined
to have been very different to the most exciting of
modern field sports, and continued down to the thirteenth
century, as is shown by the well-known passage from the
Niebelungen poem, where the hero, Sifrid, slays some of
the great herbivoree—the bison, the elk, and the urus—
as well as “einen grimmen Schelch,” about the identity
of which so much doubt has arisen, though the conjecture
has been offered by Goldfuss, Major Hamilton Smith,
and others, that the name refers to no other than the
great Irish elk or megaceros..

The recent notices of the elk contained in some curious
old works on the countries of northern Europe and their
natural history are valuable merely as indicating the
presence and range of the animal in certain regions. The
errors and extravagances of the classic naturalists still
obtained, and tinged all such writings to the commence-
ment of the great epoch of modern natural history
ushered in by St. Hilaire and Cuvier. A confused
account of the animal is given by Scaliger, and it is
mentioned by Gmelin in his Asiatic travels. Olaus
Magnus, the Swedish bishop, says, “The elks come from
the north, where the inhabitants call them elg or elges.”

56 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Scheffer, in his history of Lapland, published in 1701,
speaks of that country “as not containing many elks, but
that they rather pass thither out of Lithuania.” Other
writers mention it, but, whenever a scientific description
is attempted it is full of credulous errors, such as its
liability to epileptic fits—a belief entertained not only
by the peasants of northern Europe, but likewise,
with regard to the moose, by the North American
Indians ; its attempt to relieve itself of the disease by
opening a vein behind the ear with the hind foot, whence
pleces of the hoof were worn by the peasants as a pre-
ventive against falling sickness ; and its being obliged to —
browse backwards through the upper lip. becoming en-—
tangled with the teeth.* There are also ample notices
of the elk in the works of Pontoppidan and Nilsson ;
Albertus Magnus and Gesner state that in the twelfth
century it was met with in Sclavonia and Hungary. The
former writer calls it the equicervus or horse hart. In
1658 Edward Topsel published his “ History of Four-
footed Beasts and Serpents : to be procured at the Bible,
on Ludgate-hill, and at the Key, in Paul’s Churchyard.”
At page 165 he treats of the elk: “They are not found
but in the colder northern regions, as Russia, Prussia,
Hungaria, and Illyria, in the wood; Hercynia, and
among the Borussian Scythians, but most plentiful in
Scandinavia, which Pausanias calleth the Celtes.”

* Mr. Buckland, referring to the above statement in “ Land and Water,”
says :—“ Of course some part of the elk was used medicinally. Our
ancestors managed to get a ‘pill et haustus’ out of all things, from
vipers up to the moss in human skulls. The Pharmacopeeia of the day
prescribes a portion of the hoof worn in a ring ; ‘it resisteth and freeth
from the falling evil, the cramp, and cureth the fits or pangs” Fancy an

hysterical lady being told to take ‘elk’s hoof’ for a week, to be followed
by ‘hart’shorn’”

a
.

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 57

The accounts given by the earlier American voyagers
of Cervus Alces—there found under the titles of moose
(Indian) or [original (French)—were also highly exag-
gerated ; though, considering that they received their
descriptions from the Indians, who to this day believe in
many romantic traditions concerning the animal, they
are excusable enough. From the writings of Josselyn,*
Denys, Charlevoix, Le Hontan, and others, little can be
learnt of the natural history of the moose. Suffice it to
say, that they represented it as being ten or twelve feet
in height, with monstrous antlers, stalking through the
forest and browsing on the foliage at an astonishing
elevation. It was consequently long believed that the
American animal was much larger than his European
congener ; and when the gigantic horns of the Megaceros
were first ascribed to an elk, it was to the former that
they were referred by Dr. Molyneux.

RECENT NATURAL HISTORY OF THE SPECIES.

Commencing its modern history, let us now briefly
trace the limits within which the elk is found in Europe,
Asia, and—regarding the moose as at least congeneric—
America. It is to the sportsmen and naturalists who

* “The moose or elke is a creature, or rather, if you will, a monster of
superfluity ; a full grown moose is many times bigger than an English
oxe ; their horns, as I have said elsewhere, very big and brancht out into
palms, the tops whereof are sometimes found to be two fathoms asunder
(a fathom is six feet from the tip of one finger to the tip of the other, that
is four cubits), and in height from the toe of the fore feet to the pitch of
the shoulder twelve foot, both of which hath been taken by some of my
sceptique readers to be monstrous lies.”—Josselyn’s Voyages to New England,
pub, 1674,

58 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

have recently written on the field sports of the Scandina-
vian Peninsula that we are indebted for nearly all our
information on the natural history of this animal, and its
geographical distribution in northern Hurope. The works
of Messrs. Lloyd and Barnard contain ample notices.
“ At the present day,” says the latter author, “ it is found
in Sweden, south of the province of East Gothland.
Angermanuland is its northernmost boundary.” The late
Mr. Wheelwright, in “Ten Years in Sweden,” which con-
tains an admirable synopsis of the fauna and flora of that
country, places the limits of the elk in Scandinavia

between 58° North lat. and 64°. Mr. Barnard states that —
“it likewise inhabits Finland, Lithuania, and Russia, —

from the White Sea to the Caucasus. It is also found in
the forests of Siberia to the River Lena, and in the neigh-
-bourhood of the Altai mountains.” Von Wrangel met
with the elk—though becoming scarce, through excessive
hunting and the desolation of the forest by fire—in the
Kolymsk district, in the almost extreme north-east of
Siberia. Erman, another eminent scientific traveller in
Siberia, describes it as abundant in the splendid pine
forests which skirt the Obi, and mentions it on several
occasions in the narrative of his journey eastward through

the heart of the country to Okhotsk. It has been recently —

noticed amongst the mammalia of Amoorland, and as
principally inhabiting the country round the lower.
Amoor. It is thus seen that the domains of the elk
in the Eastern Hemisphere are immensely extensive,

lying between the Arctic Circle—indeed, approaching the -

Arctic Ocean, where the great rivers induce a northern
extension of the wooded region—and the fiftieth parallel
of north latitude, from which, however, as it meets

Siege GES Oa yr

I ee

en a es lade E

CT

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 59

greater civilisation in the western portion of the Russian
empire, it recedes towards the sixtieth.

In the New World, it would appear from old. narra-
tives that the moose (as we must unfortunately continue
to call the elk, whose proper title has been misappro-
priated to Cervus canadensis) once extended as far south .
as the Ohio. Later accounts represent its southern limit
on the Atlantic coast to be the Bay of Fundy, the coun-
tries bordering which—Nova Scotia, New Brunswick,
and the State of Maine—appear to be the most favourite
abode of the moose ; for nowhere in the northern and
western extension of the North American forest do we
find this animal so numerous as in these districts. Absent
from the islands of Prince Edward, Anticosti, and New-
foundland, it is found on the Atlantic sea-board, and to
the north of New Brunswick, in the province of Gaspé ;
across the St. Lawrence, not further to the eastward
than the Saguenay, though it was met with formerly on
the Labrador as far as the river Godbout. The absence
of the moose in Newfoundland appears unaccountable ;
for, although a large portion of this great island is com-
posed of open moss-covered plateaux and broad savannahs
—favourite resorts of the cariboo or American reindeer—
yet it contains tracts of forest, principally coniferous,
of considerable extent, in which birch, willow, and
swamp-maple are sufficiently abundant to afford an
ample subsistence to the former animal, which is stated

by Sir J. Richardson to ascend the rivers in the north-

west of America nearly to the Arctic Circle—as far, in
fact, as the willows grow on the banks.

Assuming that the moose is still found in New Hamp-
shire and Vermont, where it exists, according to Audubon

60 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE,

and Bachman, at long intervals, we may therefore define
its limits on the eastern coasts of North America as lying
between 43° 30’ and the fiftieth parallel of latitude.

In following the lines of limitation of the species
across the continent, we perceive an easy guide in con-
sidering its natural vegetation. As regards the general
features of the forests which the moose affects, we find
them princjpally characterised by the presence of the fir
tribe and their associations of damp swamps and soft
open bogs, provided that they are sufficiently removed
from the region of perpetual ground-frost to allow of the
requisite growth of deciduous shrubs and trees on which —
the animal subsists. The best indication, therefore, of
the dispersion of the moose through the interior of the
continent is afforded by tracing the development of the
_ forest southwards from the northern limit of the growth
of trees.

The North American forest has its most arctic exten-
sion in the north-west, where it is almost altogether
composed of white spruce (Abies alba), a conifer which,
when met with in far more genial latitudes, appears to.
prefer bleak and exposed situations. Several species of
Salix fringe the river banks, and feeding on these we first:
find the moose, even on the shores of the Arctic Sea,
where Franklin states it to have been seen at the mouth
of the Mackenzie, in latitude 69°. Further to the east-
ward Richardson assigns 65° as the highest limit of its
range ; and in this direction it follows the general course
of the coniferous forest in its rapid recession from the
arctic circle, determined by the lme of perpetual ground-
frost, which comes down on the Atlantic sea-board to the
fifty-ninth parallel, cutting off a large section of Labra-

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 61

dor. To the northward of this line are the treeless wastes,
termed barren-grounds, the territory of the small arctic
eariboo. |

The monotonous character and paucity of species of
the evergreen forest in its southern extension continues
until the valley of the Saskatchewan is reached, where
some new types of deciduous trees appear—balsam-
poplar, and maple—forming a great addition to the
hitherto scanty fare of the moose. Here, however, the
forest is divided into two streams by the north-western

corner of the great prairies—the one following the slopes

of the Rocky Mountains, whilst the other edges the plains
to the south of Winipeg and the Canadian lakes. In the
former district, and west of the mountains, the Columbia
river is assigned as the limit of the moose. On the other
course the animal appears to be co-occupant with the
wapiti, or prairie elk, of the numerous spurs of forest
which jut out into the plains, and of the isolated patches
locally termed moose-woods. Constantly receiving acces-
sion of species in its south-westerly extension, the Cana-
dian forest is fully developed at Lake Superior, and there
exhibits that pleasing admixture of deciduous trees with
the nobler conifers—the white pine and the hemlock
spruce—which conduces to its peculiarly beautiful as-
pect. This large tract of forest, which, embracing the
great lakes and the shores of the St. Lawrence, stretches
away to the Atlantic sea-board, and covers the provinces
of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward’s
Island, including a large portion of the Northern States,
has been termed by Dr. Cooper, in his excellent mono-
graph on the North American forest-trees, the Lacustrian
Province, from the number of its great lakes ; it is chiefly

62 . FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

characterised by the predominance of evergreen coniferee.
It was all at one time plentifully occupied by the moose,
which is now but just frequent enough in its almost
inaccessible retreats in the Adirondack hills to be classed
amongst the quadrupeds of the State of New York.
The range of the animal across the continent is thus
indicated, and its association with the physical features
of the American forest. As before remarked, the neigh-
bourhood of the Bay of Fundy appears to be its present
most favoured habitat ; and it seems to rejoice especially
in the low-lying, swampy woods, and innumerable lakes
and river-basins of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick.

The scientific diagnosis of the Alcine groups (Hamilton

Smith) having been detailed already, we pass on to
describe the habits of the American moose—the result
_ of a long period of personal observation in the localities
last mentioned. First, however, a few remarks on the
specific identity of the true elks of the two hemispheres
seem as much called for at this time as when Gilbert
White, writing exactly a century ago, asks, “ Please to let
me hear if my female moose” (one that he had inspected
at Goodwood, and belonging to the Duke of Richmond)
“corresponds with that you saw; and whether you still
think that the American moose and European elk are the
same creature?” In reference to this interesting ques-

tion, my own recent careful observations and measure-

ments of the Swedish elks at Sandringham compared
with living specimens of moose of the same age examined
in America, convince me of their identity; whilst the
late lamented Mr. Wheelwright, with whom I have had
an interesting correspondence on the subject, states in
“Ten Years in Sweden”: “The habits, size, colour, and

© eae

.

A Se Ae ee
‘

9 ee i

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 63

form of our Swedish elk so precisely agree with those of
the North American moose in every respect, that unless
some minute osteological difference can be found to exist
(as in the case of the beavers of the two countries), I
think we may fairly consider them as one and the same
animal.”* The only difference of this nature that I ever
heard of as supposed to exist, consisted in a greater
breadth being accredited to the skull, at the most pro-
tuberant part of the maxillaries, in the case of the Euro-
pean elk. This I find is set aside in the comparative
diagnosis at. the Museum of the Royal College of Sur-

* The following corroborative statement has appeared in “Land and
Water,” from the pen of a correspondent whose initials are appended :—
“T beg to state my opinion that the elk of North America and of Northern
Europe are identical. Having lived four years in New Brunswick and
Nova Scotia, and having had the opportunity since I have been living in
Prussia of seeing the interesting paintings of the elk of East Prussia,
executed by Count Oscar Krochow, I have very little doubt on the subject ;
indeed, the differences are so trifling and so manifestly the result of climatic
influences, that as a sportsman I have no doubts whatever. The elk (Elend
thier, Elenn thier, Elech or Elk in German) is still found in the forest
lying between the Russian frontier and the Curische Huff, in the govern-
mental district of Gumbinnen, where it is strictly preserved, and where
its numbers have considerably increased in late years. I think that only
six stags are allowed to be shot yearly in this district, and permission is
only to be obtained on very particular recommendation to high authorities
in Berlin. The best German sporting authorities and sporting naturalists
consider the moose deer of North America and the elk of Northern Europe
to be identical. The elk was not extinct in Saxony till after the year 1746,
and is still found in Prussia, Livonia, Finland, Courland (where it is called
Halang), in the Ural, and in Siberia. Perhaps the greatest numbers are
found in the Tagilsk forests in the Ural, where the elk grows to an
enormous size. The size and weight, shape of the antlers, its having
topmost height at the shoulder, the shape and mode of carrying the head,
prolongation of the snout to what is called (in North America) ‘the mooffle,’
the awkward trotting gait, and also its power of endurance and the dis-
tances which it travels when alarmed, all concur in establishing the identity
of the North American and Northern European elks. The elk of Northern
Europe goes with young forty weeks ; the rutting season commences in
Lithuania (East Prussia) about the end of August, and lasts through
September. As well as can be established by recent observation, the
duration of life is from sixteen to eighteen years,”—B, W. (Berlin),

64 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

geons, in which no grounds of distinction whatever are
evidenced. Vs | |

- I consider that this and’ the other arctic deer—the —
rangifers (excepting, perhaps, in the latter instance the
small barren-ground cariboo, which is probably a distinet
species)—owe any differences of colour or. size, or even
shape of the antler, to local variation, influenced by the
physical features of the country they inhabit. There is
more variation in the woodland cariboo of America in i%
distribution across the continent than I am able to perceive
between the elks of the Old and New World. As migra-
tory deer, occupying the same great zoological province,
almost united in its arctic margin, we need not look for
difference of species as we do in the case of animals whose
zones of existence are more remote from the Pole, and
_ where we find identical species replaced by typical.

The remark of an old writer that the elk is a “melan-
cholick beast, fearful to be seen, delighting in nothing
but moisture,” expresses the cautious and retiring habits
of the moose, and the partiality which it evinces for the
long, mossy swamps, where the animal treads deeply and
noiselessly on a soft cushion of sphagnum. ‘These swamps
are of frequent occurrence round the margins of lakes,
and occupy low ground everywhere. They are covered
by arank growth of black spruce (Abies nigra), of stunted
and unhealthy appearance, their roots perpetually bathed
by the chilling water which underlies the sphagnum, and
their contorted branches shaggy with usnea. The cin-
namon fern (Osmunda cinnamomea) grows luxuriantly ;
and its waving fronds, tinged orange-brown in the fall of
the year, present a pleasing contrast to the light sea-
green carpet of. moss from. which they spring profusely.

ee

OE

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 65

A few swamp-maple saplings, withrod bushes (viburnum),
and mountain-ash, occur at intervals near the edge of
the swamp, where the ground is drier, and offer a
mouthful of browse to the moose, who, however, mostly
frequenting these localities in the rutting season, seldom
partake of food. Here, accompanied by his consort,
the bull remains, if undisturbed, for weeks together ;
and, if a large animal, will claim to be the monarch of
t'e swamp, crashing with his antlers against the tree
stems should he hear a distant rival approaching, and
making sudden mad rushes through the trees that can
be heard at a long distance. At frequent intervals the

‘moss is torn up in a large area, and the black mud
scooped out by the bull pawing with the fore-foot.

Round these holes he continually resorts. The strong
musky effluvia evolved by them is exceedingly offensive,
and can be perceived at a considerable distance. They
are examined with much curiosity by the Indian hunter
(who is not over particular) to ascertain the time elapsed
since the animal was last on the spot. A similar fact is
noticed by Mr. Lloyd in the case of the European elk,
“orop” being the Norse term applied to such cavities
found in similar situations in the Scandinavian forest,
The rutting season commences early in September, the
horns of the male being by that time matured and _har-
dened. An Indian hunter has told me that he has called
up a moose in the third week of August, and found the
velvet still covering the immature horn ; however, the
connexion between the cessation of further emission of
horn matter from the system owing to strangulation of
the ducts at the burr of the completed antler, with the

advent of the sexual.season, is so well established as a
F

66 . FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

fact in the natural history of the Cervine that such an
instance must be regarded as exceptional. The first two
or three days of September over, and the moose has
worked off the last ragged strip of the deciduous skin
against his favourite rubbing-posts—the stems of young
hacmatack (larch) and alder bushes, and with conscious |
pride of condition and strength, with clean hard antlers
and massive neck, is ready to assert his claims against
all rivals. A nobler animal does not exist in the American
forest ; nor, whatever may have been asserted about his
ungainliness of gait and appearance, a form more entitled.
to command admiration, calculated, indeed, on first being -
confronted with the forest giant, to produce a feeling of
awe on the part of the young hunter. To hear his dis-
tant crashings through the woods, now and then drawing
his horns across the brittle branches of dead timber as if
- to intimidate the supposed rival, and to see the great
black mass burst forth from the dense forest and stalk
majestically towards you on the open barren, is one of
the grandest sights that can be presented to a sports-
man’s eyes in any quarter of the globe. His coat now
lies close, with a gloss reflecting the sun’s rays like that
of a well-groomed horse. His prevailing colour, if in his
prime, is jet black, with beautiful golden-brown legs, and
flanks pale fawn. The swell of the muscle surrounding
the fore-arm is developed like the biceps of a prize-
fighter, and stands well out to the front. I have mea-
sured a fore-arm of a large moose over twenty inches in
circumference. The neck is nearly as round as a barrel,
and of immense thickness. The horns are of a light
yellowish white stained with chestnut patches ; the tines
rather darker; and the base of the horn, with the lowest

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THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 67

eroup of prongs projecting forwards, of a dark reddish
brown.

At this season the bulls fight desperately. Backed
by the immense and compact neck, the collision of the
antlers of two large rivals is heard on a still autumnal
night, like the report of a gun. If the season is young,
the palm of the horn is often pierced by the tines of the
adversary, and I have picked up broken fragments of
tines where a fight has occurred. Though at other
seasons they rarely utter a sound, where moose are plen-
tiful they may be heard all day and night. The cows
utter a prolonged and strangely-wild call, which is imi-

- tated by the Indian hunter through a trumpet of rolled-

up birch-bark to allure the male. The bull emits several
sounds. ‘Travelling through the woods in quest of a
mate, he is constantly “talking,” as the Indians say,
giving out a suppressed guttural sound—quoh! quoh!
—which becomes much sharper and more like a bellow
when he hears a distant cow. Sometimes he bellows in
rapid succession ; but when approaching the neighbour-
hood of the forest where he has heard the call of the cow
moose, and for which he makes a bee line at first, he
becomes much more cautious, speaking more slowly, con-
stantly stopping to listen, and often finally making a long
noiseless détowr of the neighbourhood, so as to come up
from the windward, by which means he can readily
detect the presence of lurking danger These latter
cautious manoeuvres on the part of the moose are, how-
ever, more frequently exercised in districts where they
are much hunted ; in their less accessible retreats the old
bulls will often rush up to the spot without hesitation.

The suspicious and angry bull will often go into a thick
F 2

68 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

swamp and lay about him amongst the spruce stems right
and left, now and then making short rushes—the dead
sticks flying before him with reports like pistol shots. I
have often heard a strange sound produced by moose
when “real mad,” as the Indians would say—a half-
choked sound as if there was a stoppage in the wind-pipe,
which might be expressed—hud-jup, hud-jup! When
with his mate, his note is plaintive and coaxing—cooah,
cooah ! !

A veteran hunter, now dead, well-known in Nova
Scotia as Joe Cope—to be regretted as one of the last
examples of a thorough Indian, and gifted with extra- —
ordinary faculties for the chase—thus described to me,
over the camp-fire, one of his earlier reminiscences of the
~ woods—the subject being a moose fight.

It was a bright night in October, and he was alone,
calling, on an elevated ridge which overlooked a great
extent of forest land. “TI call,” said he, “and in all my
life I never hear so many moose answer. Why, the place
was bilin’ with moose. By-and-by I hear two coming
just from opposite ways—proper big bulls I knew from
the way they talked. They come right on, and both ~
come on the little hill at same time—pretty hard place,
too, to climb up, so full of rocks and windfalls. When
they coming up the hill, I never hear moose make such
a shockin’ noise, roarin’, and tearin’ with their horns. I
just step behind some bushes, and lay down. They meet
just at the top, and directly they seen one another, they
went to it. Well, Capten, you wouldn’t b’lieve what a
noise—just the same as if gun gone off. Well, they
ripped away, till I couldn’t stand it no longer, and I shot
one of the poor brutes ; the other he didn’t seem to mind

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 69

the gun one bit—no more noise than what he been
makin’, and he thought he killed the moose; so I just
loaded quick, and I shot him too. What fine moose
them was—both layin’ together on the rocks! No moose
like them now-a-days, Capten.”

It is not long since that an animated controversy ap-
peared in the columns of a sporting paper under the
heading “Do stags roar?” It was decided, I believe,
that such was the case with the red-deer of the Scottish
hills, by the testimony of many sportsmen. I can testify
that such is also a habit of the moose, and many will
corroborate this statement. On two occasions in the fall
I have heard the strange and, until acquainted with its
origin, almost appalling sound emitted by the moose. It
is a deep, hoarse, and prolonged bellow, more resembling
a feline than a bovine roar. Once it occurred when a
moose, hitherto boldly coming up at night to the Indians’
eall, had suddenly come on our tracks of the previous
evening when on our way to the calling-ground. On the
other occasion I followed a pair of moose for more than
an hour, guided solely by the constantly repeated roar-
ings of the bull, which I shot in the aet.

Young moose of the second and third year are later
in their season than the old bulls. Before the end of
October, when their elders have retired, though they will
generally readily answer the Indians’ call from a dis-
tance, they show great caution in approaching—stealthily
hovering round, seldom answering, and creeping along
the edges of the barren or lake so as to get to leeward of
the caller, making no crashing with their horns against
the trees as do the older bulls, and always adopting the
moose-paths. In consequence they are seldom called up.

70 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

When the moose wishes to beat a retreat in silence, his
suspicions being aroused, he can effect the same with
marvellous stealth. Not a branch is heard to snap, and
the horns are so carefully carried through the densest
thickets that I believe a porcupine or a rabbit would
make more noise when alarmed.

In the fall the bull moose, forgetting his hitherto cau-
tious habits of moving through the forest, seems, on the
contrary, bent on making himself heard, “ sounding” (as
the Indians term it) his horns against a tree with a pecu-
liar metallic rmg. Sometimes the ear of the hunter,
intently listening for signs of advancing game, is as-
sailed by a most tremendous clatter from some distant
swamp or burnt-wood, “just (as my Indian once aptly
- expressed it) as if some one had taken and hove down a

pile of old boards.” It is the moose, defiantly sweeping
his forest of tines right and left amongst the brittle
branches of the ram-pikes, as the scathed pines, hardened
by fire, are locally termed. The resemblance of the
sound of the bull when he’answers at a great distance off
to the chopping of an axe is very distinct ; and even the
practised ear of the sharpest Indian is often exercised in
long and ‘anxiously criticising the sound before he can
make up his mind from which it emanates. There are
of frequent occurrence, in districts. frequented by these
animals, what are termed moose-paths — well-defined
lines of travel and of communication between their feeding
grounds which, when seeking a new browsing country,
or when pursued, they invariably make for and follow.
These paths, which in some places are scarcely visible, at
other times are broad enough to afford a good line of
travel to a man; they are also used by bears and wild

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THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 71

eats. Sometimes they connect the little mossy bogs
which often run in chains through a low-lying evergreen
forest ; at others they traverse the woods round the
edges of barrens, skirting lakes and swamps. I have
often observed that moose, chased from a distance into a
strange district, will at once and intuitively take to one
of these moose-paths.

With the exception of the leaves and tendrils of the
yellow pond lily (Nuphar advena), eaten when wallowing
in the lakes in summer, and an occasional bite at a tus-
sack of broad-leaved grass growing in dry bogs, the food
of the moose is solely afforded by leaves and young
terminal shoots of bushes. The following is a list of
trees and shrubs from which I picked specimens, showing
the browsing of moose, on returning to camp one winter's
afternoon. Red maple, white birch, striped maple, swamp

’ maple, balsam fir, poplar, witch hazel, mountain ash.

The withrod is as often eaten, and apparently relished
as a tonic bitter, as the mountain ash; but the young
poplar growing up in recently burnt lands in small
eroves, with tender shoots, appears to form the most
frequently sought item of diet. In winter young spruces
are often eaten, as, also, is the silver fir; in the latter
case the Indians say the animal is sick. The observant
eye of the Indian hunter can generally tell in winter,
should drifting snow cover up its tracks, the direction in
which the moose has proceeded, feeding as he travels, by
the appearance of the bitten boughs ; as the incisors of
the lower jaw cut into the bough, the muscular upper lip
breaks it off from the opposite side, leaving a rough pro-
jection surmounting a clean-cut edge, by which the

position of the passing animal is indicated. The wild

72 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

meadow hay stacked by the settlers back in the woods is
never touched by moose, though I have seen them eat
hay when taken young and brought up in captivity. A
young one in my possession would also graze on grass,
which, vainly endeavouring to crop by widely straddling
with the forelegs he would finally drop on his knees to
eat, and thus would advance a step or two to reach
further, and in a most ludicrous manner.

To get at the foliage out of reach of his mouffle the
animal resorts to the practice of riding down young
trees, as shown in the accompanying woodcut. |

The teeth of the moose are arranged according to the
dental formula of all ruminants, though I once saw a
lower jaw containing nine perfect incisors. The crown
. of the molar is deeply cleft, and the edges of the enamel

‘surrounding the cutting surfaces very sharp and hard as —
adamant —beautifully adapted to reduce the coarse
sapless branches on-which it is sometimes compelled to
subsist in winter, when accumulated snows shut it out
from seeking more favourable feeding grounds. I have ©
often heard it asserted by Indian hunters that a large -
stone is to be found in the stomach of every moose.
This, of course, is a fable; but a few years since I was
given a calculus from a moose’s stomach which I had
sawn in two. The concentric rings were well defined,
and were composed of radiating crystals like needles. The
nucleus was plainly a portion of a broken molar tooth
which the animal had swallowed. <A short time after-
wards I obtained another bezoar taken from a moose.
The rings were fewer in number than in the preceding

case, but the nucleus was a very nearly perfect and entire
molar.

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MOOSE RIDING-DOWN A TREE.

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 73

The young bull moose grows his first horn (a little
dag), of a cylindrical form, in his second summer, «.e.,
when one year old. Both these and the next year’s
growth, which are bifurcate, remain on the head through-
out the winter till April or May. The palmate horns of
succeeding years are dropped earlier, in January or
February—a new growth commencing in April. The
full development of the horn appears to be attained

when the animal is in its seventh year.*

As a means of judging age, no dependence is to be
placed on the number of the tines, but more upon the
colour and perfect appearance of the antler. In an old
moose, past his prime, the horns have a bleached appear-
ance, and the tines are not fully developed round
the edge of the palm. It is my impression that when
moose are much disturbed, and are not allowed to “ breed”
their horns in quiet, contorted and undersized horns
most frequently occur. Double and even treble palms,

* Old Winckell, perhaps the best authority among the Germans on
sporting zoology, says on this point :—‘‘ In the first year of life, and indeed
earlier than the red deer, the elk calf shows knobby projections on that
part of the head where the horns grow, which by September attain an inch
in height. In the spring of the second year the true knobs appear, forming
single points seven or eight inches in length. These are covered with
dark brown velvet. In the latter part of April, or beginning of May in
the year following, these are cast, and are replaced either by longer single
points or by forked antlers, according to which the young elk is called
either ‘ spiesser’ or ‘gabler.’ These again are cast early in April, and are
replaced by heavier forks, or by shorter but six-pointed antlers, when the
elk obtains the designation of ‘geringer hirsch.’ In the fifth year the horns
are cast in March, and the new ones lose their velvet also at a correspond-
ingly earlier date. These are cast in February of the sixth year. I should
have previously remarked that they had already developed into branches,
which form they retain from henceforth, the number of points on the broad
shovel-shaped branches increasing with age. From this time forth the elk
casts in December and January, the complete reproduction of the great
antlers, which attain a weight of from 30 to 401b., not being completed
till June. The antlers of the young are light, those of the full-grown elk
are dark brown.”—B, W.

74 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

folded back one layer upon the other, are not uncommon ;
and sometimes an almost entire absence of palmation
occurs, in which case I have seen a pair of moose horns
ascribed to the cariboo. Structural irregularity of the
antler is frequently the result of constitutional injury.
A friend in Nova Scotia, well known there as “the Old
Hunter,” recently gave me a pair of horns of most
singular appearance, the original possessor of which he
had shot a few falls previous. They were of a dead-
white colour, without palmation, and with immense and
knotted burrs and long bony excrescences sprouting from
the shafts of the antlers like stalactites. The horn —
matter, instead of flowing evenly over the surface, had —
been impeded in its course, and had burst out at the base
' of the horn. The animal, an unusually large and old
bull, when shot showed evident signs of having been in
the wars during the previous season. Several of his ribs
were broken, and the carcass bore many other marks of
injury. The very bones appeared affected by disease,
and were dried up and marrowless.

Even when badly wounded, the moose is seldom
known to attack a man unless too nearly approached.
There are instances, however, recorded to the contrary.
An old Indian, long since dead, called ‘‘ Old Joe Cope”
(not the Joe previously mentioned), was for years nearly
bent double by a severe beating received from the fore-
foot of a wounded moose which turned on him. For
safety, there being no tree near, he jammed himself in
between two large granite boulders which were near at
hand. ‘The aperture did not extend’ far enough back to
enable him to get altogether out of the reach of the
infuriated bull.

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THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 75

Whatever may be said about the mild eyes of the
dying moose, a wounded animal, unable to get away,
assumes a very “ugly” expression. ‘The little hazel eye
and constricted muscles of the mouffle speak volumes of
concentrated hate. Such scenes [ have lost no time in
terminating by a quick coup de grdce. When the
moose faces the hunter, licking his lips, it is a caution to
stand clear.

Portions of skeletons, the skulls united by firmly
locked antlers, are not unfrequently found in the wilder-
ness arena where a deadly fight has occurred, and the
unfortunate animals have thus met a lingering and
terrible death, to which may be applied the well-known
lines of Byron in illustration—the contest, indeed, being
prolonged beyond the original intention :—

“Friends meet to part : love laughs at faith ;
True foes, once met, are joined till death !”

A splendid pair of locked horns of the American
moose now adorn the Museum of the Royal College of
Surgeons.

In hot weather the moose appears much oppressed and
lazy ; he will scarcely stir, and a little exertion causes
him to pant and the tongue to hang out. Cold weather,
on the contrary, braces him up, and we always find that
on a frosty night and morning in the fall of the year
the moose is more inclined to travel and answer the
hunter’s call than on a close night, though in the height
of the season. The best time for calling is on a cold
frosty morning just before sunrise, when a rime frost
whitens the barrens, and the air holds a death-like
stillmess, the constant hooting of the cat-owls (Bubo
Virginianus) portending the approach of a storm.

76 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Except in the height of the rutting season, the great
ear of the moose is ever on the alert to detect danger ;
the slightest snap of a dead bough trodden on by the
advancing hunter, and he is off in a long swinging trot
for many a mile. He readily perceives the difference of
sounds occasioned by the presence of his human foe to
those produced by the animals or birds of the forest, or
by the approach of his own species. “The only way
you can fool a moose,” says my Indian, “is when the
drops of rain are pattering off the trees on to the dead
leaves ; then he don’t know nothing.”

The presence of the moose is so difficult to detect, —
except by tracks and signs of browsing, that habitual
silence and caution in walking through the forest be-
comes a leading trait in the moose hunter, whose eyes
_are ever glancing around through the forest. By observ-
ing this strictly, and from long habit, I shot my last
moose unexpectedly. On our road to the calling ground,
a picturesque little open bog of a hundred acres or so in
the middle of a heavily-wooded evergreen forest, we had
passed through a descending valley under tall hemlock
woods on the soft mossy carpet which makes travelling —
so easy and grateful to the moccasined foot. Not a word
had been spoken save in cautious undertones, and de-
bouching on the bog, we walked up to a little pile of
rocks and dead trees near the centre, where we were to
try our luck with the moose-call on the approach of
evening, and quietly deposited our loads—blankets and
camp-kettle. Lighting our pipes, we sat still for a few
moments, scanning the edges of the woods. It was per-
fectly calm ; not a sound except the cry of the jay or the
woodpecker’s tap. Presently the Indian, who lay in the

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 77

bushes close by, gave a little warning “hist ;” and, look-
ing up, I saw a fine moose standing about eighty yards
off, and slowly looking about him. He had come out of
the woods close to our point of exit, and we must have
been passed by him quite handy. I was capped; and in
a few minutes crowds of moose-birds had assembled to
share the hunter’s feast. But for our caution we should
never have seen or heard him.

In November, the rutting season over, the bull moose
again seeks the water and recovers his appetite: re-
maining, nevertheless, in poor condition throughout the
winter. He may be now seen standing listless and
motionless for hours together, and seeming to take but
little notice of the approach of danger unless his nostrils
are invaded by the scent of a human being, which will
start a moose under any circumstances. About this
time the cows, young bulls, and calves congregate in
small parties of three to half a dozen, and affect open
barrens and hill sides, where there is a plentiful supply
of young wood of deciduous trees, constituting what is
termed a ‘‘ moose-yard.” If undisturbed they will remain
on such spots, feeding round in an area more or less limited
in extent, for several weeks; when, the supply of pro-
vender failing, they break up camp and proceed in search
of fresh ground: When the weather and state of the
snow permits, these shifts are practised throughout the
winter. In Canada, however, and in Northern New
Brunswick, the moose is a far less migratory animal than
he is in Nova Scotia, owing to the great depth of the
snow ; once he chooses his yard he has to remain in it,
and is quite at the mercy of the hunter who may have
discovered the locality, and who can invade his domains

78 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE,

at any time and at his own convenience. The old bulls
become very solitary in their habits, and, indeed, seem to
avoid the society of their species, living in the roughest
and most inaccessible districts, on hill sides strewn in
the wildest confusion with bleached granite boulders, and
windfalls where some forest fire has passed over and left
the land thus desolate.

In severe snow-storms the moose seeks shelter from
the blinding drift (pouwdre) in fir thickets. In the yard,
the animal spends the day in alternately lying down for
periods of about two hours, and rising to browse on the
bushes near at hand. About ten o’clock in the morning, —
and again in the afternoon, they may generally be found
feeding, or standing, chewing the cud, with their heads
listlessly drooping. At noon they always lie down ; and
_ the Indian hunter knows well that this is the worst time
of day to approach a yard, as the animal is then keenly
watching, with its wonderful faculties of scent and hear-
ing on the alert, for the faintest taint or sound in the air
which would intimate coming danger. I have waited
motionless for an hour at a time, knowing the herd was
reposing close at hand, and anxiously expecting a little -
wind to stir the branches so as to cover my advance,
which would otherwise be quite futile. The snapping of
a little twig, or the least collision of the rifle with a
branch in passing, or the crunching of the snow under
the moccasin, though you planted your footsteps with
the most deliberate caution, would suffice to start them.

The moose is not easily alarmed, however, by distant
sounds, nor does he take notice of dogs barking, the
screams of geese, or the choppings of an axe—sounds,
emanating from some settler’s farm, which are borne

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THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 79

through the air on a clear frosty morning to an astonish-
ing distance in America. Indeed, I once was lying in
the bushes in full view of a magnificent bull when the
cars passed on a provincial railway at a distance of four
or five miles, and the deep discordant howl of the
American engine-whistle, or rather trumpet, woke echoes
from the hill-sides far and near. Once or twice he raised
his ears and slowly turned his head to the sound, and
then quietly and meditatively resumed the process of
rumination.

In April, about the time of the sap ascending in trees,
the moose horns begin to sprout, the old pair having
fallen two months previously. The latest date that I
have ever seen a bull wearing both horns was on the
29th of January. The cylindrical dag of the moose in
his second year, and the two-pronged and still impalmate
horn of the next season are, however, retained till
April. In the middle of this month the coat is shed,
and for some time the moose presents a very rugged
appearance. ‘Towards the end of May the cow drops one
or two calves (rarely three), by the margin of a lake,

often on one of the densely-wooded islands, where they

are more secure from the attacks of the black bear or of
the bull moose themselves. It has been affirmed as one
of the distinctive traits of the Arctic deer that the fawns
are not spotted. Though faint, there are decided dap-
ples on the sides and flanks of the young moose ; in the
cariboo they are quite conspicuous. In May the plague
of flies commences, driving the more migratory cariboo
to the mountains and elevated lands, and inducing the
moose to pass much of his time in the lakes, where they
may be frequently seen browsing on water-lilies near the

80 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

shore, or swimming from point to point. Besides the
clouds of mosquitoes and black flies (Simulium molestum)
which swarm round everything that moves in the woods,
there are too large Tabani, or breeze flies, that are always
about moose, a grey speckled fly, and one with yellow
bands. The former is locally termed moose-fly, and is
very troublesome to the traveller in the woods in summer,
alighting on an exposed part, and quickly delivering a
sharp painful thrust with its lance-like proboscis. A tick
(Ixodes) affects the moose, especially in winter and early
spring. The animal strives to free itself from their irri-
tation by striding over bushes and brambles. The ticks
may often be seen on the beds in the snow where moose
have lain down, and whence they are quickly picked up by
the ever-attendant moose birds, or Canada jays (Corvus
canadensis). These vermin will fasten on the hunter
when backing his meat out of the woods. The Indian
says: “ Bite all same as a piece of fire.”

So many are the Indian tales illustrating the supposed
power that the moose possesses of being able to hide
himself from his pursuers by a complete and long-sus-
tained submergence below the surface of the water, that
one is almost inclined to believe that the animal is gifted
with an unusual faculty of retaining the breath. I know
that moose will feed upon the tendrils and roots of
the yellow pond lily by reaching for them under water.
An instance occurring in the same district in Nova
Scotia that I was hunting in, and at the same time,
which was related to me, will serve as a sample of the
oft-repeated stories bearmg on this poimt. We had
crossed a fresh moose track of that morning’s date on
proceeding to our hunting grounds on the Cumberland

a. | eT eT _

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 81

hills in search of cariboo. Not caring to kill moose we
left it; but shortly after the track was taken up and
followed on light new-fallen snow by a settler. Having
started the animal once or twice without getting a shot,
he followed its track to the edge of a little round pond
in the woods whence he could not find an exit of the
trail. Sitting down to smoke his pipe before giving it
up to return, his gun left against a tree at some distance,
he was astonished to see the animal’s head appear above
the surface in the middle of the pond. On jumping up,
the moose quickly made for the opposite shore, and,
emerging from the water, regained the shelter of the
forest ere he could get round in time fora shot. The
Indians have a tradition that the moose originally came
from the sea, and that in times of great persecution, some -
half-century since, when no moose tracks could be found
in the Nova Scotian woods, they resorted to the salt
water, and left for other lands. An old hunter, now
dead, told me he was present when his father shot the
first moose that had been seen since their return; that
great were the rejoicings of the Indians on the occasion,
and that two were shot on the beach by a settler who
had seen them swimming for shore from open water in
the Bay of Fundy. I can vouch for an instance of a
moose, when hunted, taking to the sea and swimming off
to an island considerably over a mile from the mainland.
Such tales are evidently intimately connected with the
powers of the animal in the water, in which, as has been
previously stated, it passes much of its existence during
the hot weather. A similar hunter's story to the one
related above is quoted by Mr. Gosse in the “ Canadian
Naturalist.” .

82 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

In conclusion, it is with regret that the conviction
must be expressed that this noble quadruped, at no very
distant period, is destined to pass away from the list of
the existing mammalia. The animal has fulfilled its
mission ; it has afforded food and clothing to the primi-
tive races who hunted the all-pervading fir forests of
Central Europe and Asia to subarctic latitudes, whilst,
until very recently, its flesh, with that of the cariboo,
formed the sole subsistence of the Micmacs and other
tribes living in the eastern woodlands of North America.
To these the beef of civilisation—enju-teeamwée, or
French moose-meat, as the Indian calls it—but ill and
scantily supplies the place of their once abundant veni-
son. It has enabled the early and adventurous settler to
push back from the coast and open up new clearings in
the depths of the forest. With a barrel of flour and a
~ little tea, rafted up the lakes or drawn on sleds over the
snow to his rude log hut, he was satisfied to leave the
rest to the providence of nature; and the moose, the
salmon, and the trout, with the annual prolific harvest of
wild berries, contributed amply to the few wants of the
fathers of many a rising settlement. With but few and_
exceptional instances, the moose or the elk has not be-
come subservient to man as a beast of burden as has the
reindeer ; neither is it, like the latter, still called upon
to afford subsistence to nomade tribes of savages who
live entirely apart from civilisation. Being an inhabitant
of more temperate regions, it 1s brought more constantly
within the influences of the permanent neighbourhood of
man, and thus, whilst its extinction is threatened by
slaughter, a sure but certain alteration is being effected
in the physical features of its native forest regions. The

THE ALCINE DEER OF THE OLD AND NEW WORLDS. 83

often purposeless destruction of woods by the axe, and
the constant devastation of large areas of forest by fires,
too frequently the result of carelessness, are reducing the
moisture of the American wilderness, removing the
sponge-like carpet of mosses by which the water was
retained, and rendering the latter a less fitting abode for
the moose. Restriction of his domains and constant dis-
turbance are undoubtedly slowly dwarfing the species.
We no longer hear of examples of the monster moose of
the old times of which Indian tradition still speaks, and
when the well-authenticated diminution in the size of
the red deer of the Scottish hills is remembered, an ap-
pearance of less exaggeration than is usually attributed
to them marks the tales of the early American voyageurs
concerning the moose.

When the Russian aurochs and the musk-sheep of
Arctic America shall have disappeared, it is to be feared
that Cervus Alces of the Old and New Worlds, his fir
forests levelled, his favourite swamps drained, and unable
to exist continuously in the broad glare and radiation of
a barren country, will follow, to be regretted as one of
the noblest and most important mammals of a past
age; his bones will be dug from peat-bogs by a future
generation of naturalists, and prized as are now those of
the Great Auk of the islands of the North Atlantic, or of
the Struthiones of New Zealand, which have perished
within the ken of the scientific record of modern natural
history.

CHAPTER IV.

MOOSE HUNTING.

SUCCESSFUL in the chase, or on the contrary, it must be
premised that many a sportsman who essays the sport of
moose-hunting in the North-American woods finds but
little excitement therein. The toil and monotony of the
long daily rambles through a wilderness country, strewed
with rocks and fallen trees, and covered with tangled
_ vegetation, with the uncertainty of obtaining even a
distant sight of (much less a shot at) these cautious
animals, whose tracks one is apparently constantly fol-
lowing to no purpose, drive not a few would-be hunters
from the woods in a state of supreme disgust.

There is no country in the world where wild sports are
pursued, in which the goddess of hunting exacts so much.
perseverance and labour from her votaries as the fir-
covered districts of North America, or bestows so scanty
areward. The true and persistent moose-hunter (never
a poacher or a pot-hunter) is generally animated by other
sentiments, and achieves success through an earnest
appreciation of the external circumstances which attend
the sport. He loves the solitude of the forest, and
admires its scenery ; is charmed with the ready resources
and wild freedom of camp life, and, instead of listlessly
following in the tracks of his Indian guides in a state of

MOOSE HUNTING. 85

semi-disgust, derives the greatest pleasure in watching
their wonderful powers of tracking, their sagacity in
finding the game, and general display of woodcratt.

It is, perhaps, to this art of tracking or “ creeping ”
that the sport itself owes all its excitement ; and it is in
the lower provinces (Nova Scotia especially) that it is
earried out to perfection by the Indian hunters ; a race,
however, which, it must be regrettingly stated, is fast
disappearing from the country. .

In Nova Scotia the moose may not be legally shot after
the last day of December, and are thus protected, by the
absence of deep snow in the woods during the open
season, from such ruthless invasions of their restricted
“vards,’ and wanton massacres as are of frequent occur-
rence in New Brunswick and Lower Canada. Moose
hunting in the deep snows which choke the forests to-
wards the close of winter—the hunter being able to move
freely over the surface by the aid of his snow-shoes,
whilst the animals are huddled together, spiritless, and
in wretched condition—is a stupid slaughter, and
decidedly deserves the imputation often cast upon it,
that it has no more merit of sport than the being led up
to a herd of cattle in a farmyard.

The light snow-storms, however, of the first winter
months cover the ground just sufficiently to bring out
the art of creeping to its perfection, whilst the moose
cannot be run down, and snow shoes are never required.
The dense deciduous foliage of the hard woods is now all
removed, and the woods afford clear open vistas in which
game may be far more readily detected than in the cover
of autumn; a wounded animal seldom escapes the hunter
to die a lingering death ; and, lastly, there cannot be the

86 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

slightest excuse for leaving in the woods the spoils which
it becomes the imperative duty of the hunter, for many
reasons, to remove.

At the same time fall-hunting has likewise its ad-
vantages. There is a double chance of sport now pre-
sented, as creeping may be pursued by day, whilst at
sunrise and sunset, and, indeed, throughout the night
when the moon is round, the “call” may be resorted to.
Much, too, in the way of camp equipage may be dispensed
with at this season. One may travel till sundown and
camp in one’s tracks amongst the rank ferns and bushes

of the upland barrens with but one rug or blanket for — |

cover, and sleep soundly and comfortably in the open,

though a rime frost sparkles on every spray next morn-
ing. And if, perhaps, the supply of firewood has been
. somewhat short towards dawn, the excitement of hearing
an answer in the still morning air warms you to action ;
a mouthful of Glenlivet from the flask, and a hasty
snatch of what small amount of caloric may be excited
by the Indian’s breath amongst the embers of the night
fire, and you are ready for the “ morning call.”

And then, when the sun dispels the vapours, raises the —

thin misty les which mark the water courses and forest
lakes, and, finally, mellows the scenery with the hazy
atmosphere of a warm autumnal day, what a glorious
time it is to be in the woods! Give me the fall for
moose hunting, and the stealthy creep through glowing
forests on an Indian summer’s day, when the air in the
woods holds that peculiar scent of decaying foliage which
to my nostrils conveys an impression as pleasing as that
produced by the blossom-scented zephyrs of May.
Perhaps one of the most singular of the experiences

ee SS |.

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me" “ a - =
DA ct a. A.

MOOSE HUNTING. 87

which the new hand meets with in moose hunting, and
the one which teaches him to lean entirely for assistance
upon his Indian guide, is the extreme unfrequency with
which an accidental sight of game is obtained in the
forest. Moose tracks are perhaps plentiful, also signs of
fresh feeding on the bushes, and impressed forms of the
animals, where they have rested on the moss, or amongst
ferns, but how seldom do we see the animals themselves by
chance. Suddenly emerging from thick cover on the edge
of an extensive barren occupying several thousand acres,
the eye of the hunter rapidly scans the open in eager
quest of a moving form, but meets with continual disap-
pointment. Not a sign of life, perhaps, but the glancing
flight of a woodpecker or the croak of a raven. One is
prone to believe that the country is deserted by large
game. Presently, however, your Indian, who, leaving
you to rest on a fallen tree and enjoy a few whitts of the
hunter's solace, makes a cast round for his own satisfac-

tion, returns. to tell you that there are moose within

(possibly) a few hundred yards of you. You discredit
it, but are presently induced to believe his assertion
when you are shown the freshly-bitten foliage (anyone
ean soon learn to distinguish between a new-cropped
bough and a bite over which a few hours have passed),
or, perhaps, the mud still eddying in a little pool in
which the animal has stepped. You may listen, too, by
the hour together for some token of their whereabouts,
but hear. no sounds but those of the birds or squirrels.

If there is daylight, and the wind propitious, your
guide will probably in half an hour or so point to a
black patch seen between tree stems, indicating a portion
of the huge body of a moose, unless you have bungled

88 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

the whole affair by an unlucky stumble over a brittle
windfall, or clanked your gun-stock against a tree-stem.
It will thus be readily seen that success in moose hunt-
ing entirely depends upon the excellence of the Indian
hunter who accompanies the sportsman. His art, or
“ oft,” is hardly to be comprehended by. description ;
it is as evidently the result of long practice—not, per-
haps, individual practice, but of the skill which he has
inherited from his forefathers, who before the advent of
Eastern civilisation, regularly “followed the woods ”—as
is the high state of perfection to which the various breeds
of sporting dogs have been brought by artificial means.

Soon confused in the maze of woods through which —
your Indian leads you after moose, you chance to ask
- him at length where camp lies. He will tell you within
half a point of the compass, and without hesitation,
though miles away from the spot. The slightest. dis-
arrangement of moss or foliage, a piece of broken fern,
or a scratch on the lichens of a granite plateau, are to
him the sign-posts of the woods; he reads them at a
glance, running. Should you rest under a tree or by a
brook-side, leaving, perhaps, gloves, purse, or pouch —
behind, next day he will go straight to the spot and
recover them, though the country is strange. Under the
snow he will find and show you what he has observed or
secreted during the previous summer. He is the closest
observer of nature, and can tell you the times and
seasons of everything ; and there is not an animal, bird,
or reptile whose voice he cannot imitate with marvellous
exacthess. ;

A faithful companion, and always ready to provide
beforehand for your slightest necessities, the Micmac

7

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Sr ee

MOOSE HUNTING. 89

hunter will never leave you in the woods in distress ;
and should you cut yourself with an axe, meet with a
gun accident, or be taken otherwise sick, will carry you
himself out of the woods.* Under his guidance we will
now introduce the reader to the sport of moose hunting.

Old Joe Cope, the Indian hunter, is still to the fore ;+
his little legs, in shape resembling the curved handle of
pliers, carry him after the moose nearly as trustily as
ever. Perhaps his sight and hearing are failing him, and
he generally hunts in company with his son Jem as an
assistant ; and Jem, being a lusty young Indian, does
most of the work in “backing out” the moose-meat
from the woods.

“ Joe,” said I, on meeting the pair one morning late
in September, a few falls ago, at the country-market at
Halifax, where they were selling a large quantity of
moose-meat, Joe’s eyes beaming with ferocious satisfaction

* The following anecdote—a scrap from the note-book of an old comrade
in the woods—is an interesting example of the Indian’s reflective powers :—
“ At length Paul, who is leading, stops, and, turning towards us, points
towards a cleared line through the forest. ‘A road,a road!’ and we give
three such cheers. It is a logging-road, leading from the settlements into
the forest ; but which is the way to the clearings! If we turn in the wrong
direction it will delay us another day, and we have only a little tea left and
six small biscuits. It is soon settled ; we turn to the left, and presently
find a wisp of hay dropped close to a tree. Now comes out a piece of
Indian ‘’cuteness.’ Paul has observed that when a tree knocks off a hand-
ful of hay from a load, it falls on that side of the tree to which the cart is
“going » the hay is on our side of the tree, so we are going in the direction

whence the cart came. But it might be wild hay, brought in from a

natural meadow. They taste and smell it; it is salt (in this country the
farmers salt the meadow hay to keep it, but not the wild hay): hence this
was hay carted from the settlements for the use of oxen employed in haul-
ing out lumber. We are, therefore, going in the direction whence the cart
came, and towards the settlements.”

+ Since this was written, poor Joe has for ever left the hunting grounds
of Acadie, having shot his last moose but afew weeks before he rested
from a life of singular adventure and toil. Reqwiescat in pace.

‘

90 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

as he pocketed the dollars by a ready sale. “Joe, I think
I must come and look at your castle, at Indian Lake; they
say you have exchanged your camp for a two-storey
frame-house, and are the squire of the settlement. Do
you think you have left a moose or two in your pre-
serves ?”

“Well, Capten, I very glad to see you always when
you come along my way. I most too old, though, to
hunt with gentlemen—can’t see very well.”

“We will make out somehow, Joe; and Jem there
will help you through, if you come to a stand-still.”

‘Oh, never fear,” replied Mr. Cope (he always speaks —
of himself as Mr. Cope), laughing ; “that Jem, he don’t
know nothing ; I guess I more able to put him through
* yet |
And so we closed the bargain ; to wit, that we should
have a day or two’s hunting together in what Joe fully
regarded as his own preserves and private property—the _
woods around Indian Lake, distant twenty miles from
Halifax.

What would the old Indians, at the close of the last
century, have said, if told that in a short time a stage-
coach would ply through their broad hunting-grounds
between the Atlantic and the Bay of Fundy? Think of
the astonishment of Mr. Cope and his comrades of the
present age, perhaps just stealing. on a bull-moose, when
they first heard the yell of the engine and rattle of the
car-wheels! This march has been accomplished ; the
old Windsor coach, with its teams of four, after having
flourished for nearly half a century, has succumbed to
the iron-horse, and the discordant sounds of passing
trains re-echo through the neighbouring woods, to the no

2)
.

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ee
.

MOOSE HUNTING. 91

small disoust of Mr. Cope and those of his race in the
same interest.

Joe said that in the country we were going to hunt,
every train might be distinctly heard as it passed ; “ and
yet,” said he, “the poor brutes of moose don’t seem to
mind it much ; they know it can’t hurt them.”

A settler’s waggon took our party over an execrable
road to the foot of Indian Lake. It had been raining
heavily all the morning, and we turned in to warm our-
selves at the settler’s shanty, whilst the old Indian went
off by a path through the dripping bushes to his camp,
for the purpose of sending his canoe for me. ‘This, and
a few scattered houses in the neighbourhood, was called
the Wellington settlement ; and here, as at the Ham-
mond’s Plains settlement, which we had passed through
that morning, the principal occupation of the inhabitants
seemed to be in making barrels for the fishery trade.

They make them very compact, as they are intended for

herrmg or mackerel in pickle. The staves are spruce,
and are bound with bands of birch. The barrel is sold for
a trifle more than an English shilling. The Hammond’s
Plains people are all blacks, a miserable race, descendants
of those who were landed in Nova Scotia at the conclu-
sion of the American war in 1815. Their wretchedness
in winter is extreme, and in the summer they earn a hand-
to-mouth livelihood by bringing in to the Halifax market
a few vegetables grown in the small cleared patches
round their dwellings, bunches of trout from the brooks,
and the various berries which grow plentifully in the
wild waste lands round their settlement.

Presently the canoe was signalled, and, going down to
the water’s edge, I embarked, and in a few minutes stood

92 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

before Joe's castle. It was a substantial frame-house, —
evidently built by some settler who had a notion of
making his fortune by the aid of a small stream which =
flowed into the lake close by, and over which stood a &
w-mill. An old barn was attached, and from its rafters — | 7

ee moose-hides of all sizes, ages, and in all stages of

decomposition ; horns, legs, and hoofs; poreupines de-
prived of their quills, which are seed for ornamental —
work by the women ; and, in fact, a very similar collec- a E
tion, only on a grander scale, to that which is often dis- ."
played on the outside of a gamekeeper’s barn in England. — a
A rush of lean, hungry-looking curs was made through .
the door as Joe opened it to welcome me. “ Walk — =

Capten—ah, you brute of dog, Koogimook! Mrs. Cope
. from home, visiting his friends at Windsor. Perhaps you 4 |
take some dinner along with me and Jem before we start |
up lake ?” 2. a
“All right, Joe ; ll smoke a pipe till you and Jem - a a
are ready,” I ele: not much relishing the appearance —
of the parboiled moose-meat which Jem was fishing out —
of a pot. “No chance of calling to-night, foe afi, <2
Joe; we shall have a wet night.” se
“T never see such weather for time of year, Conca aa
everything in woods so wet—can’t hardly make fire; but
grand time for creeping—oh, grand! Everything, you
see, so soft, don’t make no noise. What sort of moccasin _
you got?” am
Ҥ good pair of the moose-shanks you sold me, last __
winter, Joe; they are the best sort for keeping out the
wet, and they are so thick and warm.” ae.
The moose-shank moccasin is cut from the hind leg of he
the moose, above and below the hock ; it is in shape like

MOOSE HUNTING. | 93

an ankle-boot, and is sewn up tightly at the toe, and,
with this exception, being without seam, is nearly water-
tight. The interior of Cope Castle was not very sweet,
nor were its contents arranged in a very orderly manner
—this latter fact to be accounted for, perhaps, by the
absence of the lady. Portions of moose were strewed
everywhere ; potatoes were heaped in various corners, and
nothing seemed to have any certain place of rest allotted
to it. Smoke-dried eels were suspended from the rafters,
in company with strings of moose-fat and dried cakes of
concrete blue-berries and apples. Joe had, however, some
idea of the ornamental, for parts of the Illustrated News
and Punch divided the walls with a number of gaudy
pictures of saints and martyrs.

The repast being over, the Indians strided out, replete,
with lighted pipes, and paddles in hand, to the beach.
Some fresh moose-meat was placed in the canoe, with a
basket of Joe’s “’taters,” which, Jem said, “’twas hardly
any use boiling, they were so good, they fell to pieces.”
A little waterproof canvas camp was spread over the rolls

. of blankets, guns, camp-kettles, and bags containing the

grub, which were stowed at the bottom; and, having
seated myself beside them, the Indians stepped lightly
into the canoe and pushed her off, when, propelled. by
the long sweeping strokes of their paddles, we glided
rapidly up the lake.

Indian Lake is a beautiful sheet of water, nearly ten
miles in length, and, proportionally, very narrow—per-
haps half a mile in its general breadth. Rolling hills,
steep, and covered with heavy fir and hemlock wood,
bounded its western shore; those on the opposite side
showing large openings of dreary burnt country. The

94 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

maple-bushes, skirting the water, were tinged with their
brightest autumnal glow; and in the calm water, in coves
and nooks, on the windward side of the lake, the reflec-
tions were very beautiful. I longed for a cessation of the
rain, and a gleam of sunshine across the hill-tops, if only
to enjoy the scenery as we passed ; and certainly a seat
in a canoe is a very pleasant position from which to
observe the beauties of lake or river scenery, the spec-
tator being comfortably seated on a blanket or bunch of
elastic boughs in the bottom of the canoe—legs stretched
out in front, back well supported by rolls of blankets,
and elbows resting on the gunwales on either side.

“ Ah! here is the Halfway rock, what the old Indians
call the Grandmother,” said Joe, steerig the canoe so as
. to pass close alongside a line of rocks which stood out in
fantastic outlines from the water close to the western
shore of the lake. “Here is the Grandmother—we must
give him something, or we have no luck.”

To the rocks in question are attached a superstitious
attribute of having the power of influencing the good
or bad fortune of the hunter. They are supposed to be
the enchanted form of some genius of the forest ; and few -
Indians, on a hunting mission up the lake, care to pass
them without first propitiating the spirit of the rocks by
depositing a small offering of a piece of money, tobacco,
or biscuit.

“That will do, Capten ; anything a’most will do,” said
Joe, as one cut off a small piece of tobacco, and another
threw a small piece of biscuit or a potato on to the rock.
“ Now you wouldn’t b'lieve, Capten, that when you come
back you find that all gone. I give you my word that’s
true; we always find what we leave gone.” Whereupon

Sena

MOOSE HUNTING. 95

Joe commenced a series of illustrative yarns, showing the
dangers of omitting to visit “the Grandmother,” and how
Indians, who had passed her, had shot themselves in the
woods, or had broken their legs between rocks, or had
violent pains attack them shortly after passing the rock,
and on returning, and making the presents, had imme-
diately recovered.

“Tt looks as if it were going to be calm to-night, Joe,”
said I, as we neared the head of the lake; “which side
are we to camp on? ‘Those long mossy swamps and
bogs which run back into the woods on the western
side, look likely resorts for moose.”

“No place handy for camp on that side,” said Joe;

“grand place for moose, though—guess if no luck to-

morrow mornin’, we cross there. I got notion of trying
this side first.’ And so, having beached the canoe,
turned her over, and drawn her into the bushes secure
from observation, we made up our bundles, apportioning
the loads, and followed Joe into the forest, now darkened
by the rapidly closing shades of evening. In a very
short time the dripping branches, discharging their heavy
showers upon us as we brushed against them, and the
saturated moss and rank fern, made us most uncomfort-
ably wet; and as the difficulties of travelling increased as
the daylight receded, and the tight wet moccasin is not
much guard to the foot coming in painful contact with
an unseen stump or rock, we were not sorry when the
weary tramp up the long wooded slope from the lake
was ended, and a faint light through the trees in the
front showed that we had arrived at the edge of the
barrens. “It’s no use trying to make call to-night, that
sartin,” said Joe; “couldn’t see moose if he came. Oh,

96 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

dear me, I sorry for this weather! Come, Jem, we try
make camp right away.” It was a cheerless prospect, as
we threw off our bundles on the wet ground ; it was
quite dark, and, though nearly calm, the drizzling rain
still fell and pattered in large drops, falling heavily from
the tree-tops to the ground beneath. First we must
get up a good fire—no easy thing to an unpractised hand
in woods saturated by a week’s rain. However, it can
be done, so seek we for some old stump of rotten wood,
easily knocked over and rent asunder, for we may, per-
haps, find some dry stuff in the heart. Joe has found
one, and, with two or three efforts, over it falls with a
heavy thud into the moss, and splits into a hundred
fragments. ‘The centre is dry, and we return to the spot.
fixed upon with as much as we can carry. The moss is

scraped away, and a little carefully-composed pile of the ~
dead wood being raised, a match is applied, and a cheer-
ful tongue of flame shoots up, and illumines the dark
woods, enabling us to see our way with ease. Now is the —
anxious time on which depends the success of the fire.
A hasty gathering of more dry wood is dexterously piled
on, some dead hard-wood trees are felled, and split with
the axe into convenient sticks, and in a few moments we
have a rousing fire, which will maintain its ground and
greedily consume anything that is heaped upon it, in spite
of the adverse element. A few young fir saplings are
then cut, and placed slantingly against the pole which
rests in the forks of two upright supports; the canvas is
unrolled and stretched over the primitive frame, and our
camp has started into existence. The branches of the
young balsam firs, which form its poles, are well shaken
over the fire, and disposed in layers beneath, to form the

=

MOOSE HUNTING. 97

4

bed; blankets are unrolled and stretched over the boughs,
and finding, to my joy, that the rain had not reached the
change of clothes packed in my bundle, I presently recline
at full length under the sheltering camp, in front of a
roaring fire, which is rapidly vaporising the moisture
contained in my recent garments, suspended from the
top of the camp in front. Joe is still abroad, providing
a further stock of firewood for the night, whilst his son
is squatting over the fire with a well-filled frying-pan,
and its hissing sounds drown the pattering of the rain-
drops.

After our comfortable meal followed the fragrant weed,
of course, and a discussion as to what we should do on
the morrow. ‘The barrens we had come to were of great
extent, and of a very bad nature for travelling, the ground
being most intricately strewed with the dead trees of the
forest which once covered it, and the briars and bushes
overgrowing and concealing their sharp. broken limbs and
rough granite rocks, often cause a severe bruise or fall to
the hunter. It was, as Joe said, a “‘grand place” for
calling the moose, as in some spots the country could be
scanned for miles around, whilst the numerous small
bushes and rock boulders would afford a ready conceal-
ment from the quick sight of this animal. However,
time would show. If calling could not be attempted next
morning, it would most likely be suitable for creeping ;
so, hoping for a calm morning and a clear sky, or, at all
events, for a cessation of the rain, we stretched ourselves
for repose ; and the pattering drops, the crackings and
snappings of the logs on the fire, and the hootings of the
owls in the distant forest, became less and less heeded or

heard, till sleep translated us to the land of dreams.

H

98 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

To our disgust it still rained when we awoke next
morning ; the wind was in the same direction, and the
same gloomy sky promised no better things for us that
day. ‘The old Indian, however, drew on his moccasins,
and started off to the barren by himself to take a survey
of the country whilst the breakfast was preparing, and I
gloomily threw myself back on the blanket for another
snooze. After an hour or so’s absence, Joe returned, and
sat down to his breakfast (we had finished ours, and were
smoking), looking very wet and excited. “Two moose
pass round close to camp last night,” said he; “I find
their tracks on barren. They gone down the little valley
towards the lake, and I see their tracks again in the
woods quite fresh. You get ready, Capten; | have notion
we see moose to-day. I see some more tracks on the
barren going southward; however, we try the tracks
near camp first,—maybe we find them, if not started by
the smell of the fire.”

We were soon at it, and left our camp with hopeful —
hearts and in Indian file, stepping lightly im each other’s
tracks over the elastic moss. Everything was in first-rate
order for creeping on the moose; the fallen leaves did
not rustle on the ground, and even dead sticks bent with-
out snapping, and we progressed rapidly and noiselessly ~
as cats towards the lake. Presently we came on the
tracks, here and there deeply impressed in a bare spot of
soul, but on the moss hardly discernible except to the
Indian’s keen vision. They were going down the valley;
a little brook coursed through it towards the lake, and
_ from the mossy banks sprung graceful bushes of moose-
wood and maple, on the young shoots of which the moose
had been feeding as they passed. The tracks showed that

MOOSE HUNTING. 99

’

they were a young bull and a cow, those of the latter being
much longer and more pointed. Presently we came to
an opening in the forest, where the brook discharged
itself into a large circular swamp, densely grown up with
alder bushes and swamp maple, with a thick undergrowth
of gigantic ferns. Joe whispered, as we stood on the
brow of the hill overlooking it, “‘ Maybe they are in there
lying down; if not, they are started;” and, putting to
his lips the conical bark trumpet which he carried, he
gave a short plaintive call—an imitation of a young bull
approaching and wishing to join the others. No answer
or sound of movement came from the swamp. “Ah, I
afraid so,” said Joe, as we passed round and examined

_ the ground on the other side. “I ’most all the time fear

they started ; they smell our fire this morning while Jem
was making the breakfast.” Long striding tracks, deeply
ploughing up the moss, showed that they had gone off in
alarm, and at a swinging trot, their course being for the
barrens above. It was useless to follow them, so we went
off to another part of the barrens in search of fresh
tracks. The walking in the open was most fatiguing
after the luxury of the mossy carpeting of the forest.
Slipping constantly on wet smooth rocks, or the slimy

surfaces of decayed trees; for ever climbing over masses

of prostrate trunks, and forcing our way through tangled
brakes, and plunging into the oozing moss on newly-
inundated swamps, we spent a long morning without
seeing moose, though our spirits were prevented from
flagging by constantly following fresh tracks. The moose
were exceedingly “yary,” as Joe termed it, and we started
two or three pairs without either hearing or seeing them,

until the same exclamation of disappointment from the
. H 2

100 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Indian proclaimed the unwelcome fact. At length we
reached the most elevated part of the barren. We could
see the wooded hills of the opposite shore of the lake
looming darkly through the mist, and here and there a
portion of its dark waters. The country was very open;
nothing but moss and stunted huckleberry bushes, about
afoot and a half in height, covered it, save here and
there a bunch of dwarf maples, with a few scarlet leaves
still clinging to them. The forms of prostrate trunks,
blackened by fire, lying across the bleached rocks, often
gave me a start, as, seen at a distance through the dark
misty air, they resembled the forms of our long-sought —
game—particularly so when surmounted by twisted roots
upheaved in their fall, which appeared to crown them

‘ with antlers.

“Stop, Capten! not a move!” suddenly whispered old.
Joe, who was crossing the barren a few yards to my left ;
“don’t move one bit!” he half hissed and half said
through his teeth. “Down—sink down—slow—like
me!” and we all gradually subsided in the wet bushes.

I had not seen him; I knew it was a moose, though I
dared not ask Joe, but quietly awaited further directions. —
Presently, on Joe’s invitation, I slowly dragged my body
through the bushes to him. “ Now you see him, Capten—_
there—there! My sakes, what fine bull! What pity
we not a little nearer—such open country !”

There he stood—a gigantic fellow—black as night,
moving his head, which was surmounted by massive
white-looking horns, slowly from side to side, as he
scanned the country around. He evidently had not seen
us, and was not alarmed, so we all breathed freely. This
success on our part was partly attributable to the sudden-

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MOOSE HUNTING. 101

ness and caution with which we stopped and dropped when
the quick eye of the Indian detected him, and partly to
the haziness of the atmosphere. His distance was about
five hundred yards, and he was standing directly facing
us, the wind blowing from him to us. After a little de-
liberation, Joe applied the call to his lips, and gave out a
most masterly imitation of the lowing of a cow-moose, to
allure him towards us. He heard it, and moved his head
rapidly as he scanned the horizon for a glimpse of the
stranger. He did not answer, however; and Joe said,
as afterwards proved correct, that he must have a cow
with him somewhere close at hand. Presently, to our great
satisfaction, he quietly lay down in the bushes. “ Now we
have him,” thought I; “but how to approach him?”
The moose lay facing us, partially concealed in bushes,
and a long swampy guily, filled up with alders, crossed
the country obliquely between us and the game. We
have lots of time, as the moose generally rests for a
couple of hours at a time. Slowly we worm along to-
wards the edge of the alder swamp ; the bushes are pro-
vokingly short, but the mist and the dull grey of our
homespun favour us. Gently lowering ourselves down
into the swamp, we creep noiselessly through the dense

bushes, their thick foliage closing over our heads. Now

is an anxious moment—the slightest snap of a bough, the
knocking of a gun-barrel against a stem, and the game
is off.

“Must go back,” whispered Joe, close in my ear ;
“can’t get near enough this side—too open ;” and the
difficult task is again undertaken and performed without
disturbing the moose. What a relief, on regaining our

old ground, to see his great ears flapping backwards and

102 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

forwards above the bushes! Another half-hour passes in
creeping like snakes through the wet bushes, which we
can scarcely hope will conceal us much longer. It seems
an age, and often and anxiously I look at the cap of my
single-barrelled rifle. I am ahead, and at length, judging
one hundred and twenty yards to be the distance, I can
stand it no longer, but resolve to decide matters by a
shot, and fire through an opening in the bushes of the
swamp. Joe understands my glance, and placing the call
to his lips, utters the challenge of a bull-moose. Slowly
and majestically the great animal rises, directly facing
me, and gazes upon me for a moment ; a headlong stagger
follows the report, and he wheels round behind a clump
of bushes.

“Bravo! you hit him, you hit sure enough,” shouts
_Joe, levelling and firing at a large cow-moose which had,
unknown to us, been lying close beside the bull. “Come
along,’ and we all plunge headlong into the swamp.
Dreadful cramps attacked my legs, and almost prevented
my getting through—the result of sudden violent motion
after the restrained movements in the cold wet moss and
huckleberry-bushes. A few paces on the other side, and
the great bull suddenly rose in front of us, and strided
on into thicker covert. Another shot, and he sank life-
less at our feet. The first ball had entered the very
centre of his breast and cut the lower portion of the
heart.

Late that night our canoe glided through the dark
waters of the lake towards the settlement. The massive
head and antlers were with us.

“ Ah, Grandmother,” said Joe, as we passed the indis-
tinct outlines of the spirit rocks, “you very good to us

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MOOSE-CALLING. 103

this time, anyhow; very much we thank you, Grand-
mother.”

“It’s a pity, Joe,” I observed, “that we have not time
to see whether our offerings of yesterday are gone or not ;
but mind, when you go.up the lake again to-morrow to
bring out the meat, you don’t forget your Grandmother,
for I really think she has been most kind to us.”

MOOSE-CALLING.

Few white hunters have succeeded in obtaining the
amount of skill requisite in palming off this strange
deceit upon an animal so cautious and possessing such
exquisite senses as the moose. It is a gift of the Indian,
whose soft, well modulated voice can imitate the calls of
nearly every denizen of the forest.

As has been stated before, September is the first month
for moose-calling, the season lasting for some six weeks.
I have seen one brought up as late as the 23rd of
October.

The moose is now in his prime; the great palmated
horns, which have been growing rapidly during the
summer, are firm as rock, and the hitherto-protecting
covering of velvet-like skin has shrivelled up and dis-
appeared by rubbing against stumps and branches, leaving
the tines smooth, sharp, and ready for the combat.

The bracing, frosty air of the autumnal nights makes
the moose a great rambler, and in a short time dis-
tricts, which before would only give evidence of his
presence by an occasional track, now show countless
impressions in the swamps, by the sides of lakes, and

104 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

on the mossy bogs. He has found his voice, too, and,

where moose are numerous, the hitherto silent woods
resound with the plaintive call of the cow, the grunting
response of her mate, and the crashings of dead trees, as
the horns are rapidly drawn across them to overawe an
approaching rival.

This call of the cow-moose is imitated by the Indian”

hunter through a trumpet made of birch bark rolled up
in the form of a cone, about two feet in length ; and the
deceit is generally attempted by moonlight, or in the
early morning in the twilight preceding sunrise—seldom

after. Secreting himself behind a sheltering clump of —
bushes or rocks, on the edge of the forest barren, on some —

favourable night in September or October, when the

moon is near its full, and not a breath of wind stirs the

foliage, the hunter utters the plaintive call to allure the
monarch of the forest to his destruction. The startling
and strange sound reverberates through the country; and
as its echoes die away, and everything resumes the won-
derful silence of the woods on a calm frosty night in the
fall, he drops his birchen trumpet in the bushes, and
assumes the attitude of intense listening. Perhaps there

is no response ; when, after an interval of about fifteen —

minutes, he ascends a small tree, so as to give greater
range to the sound, and again sends his wild call pealing
through the woods. Presently a low grunt, quickly
repeated, comes from over some distant hill, and snappings
of branches, and falling trees, attest the approach of the
bull ; perhaps there is a pause—not a sound to be heard
for some moments. The hunter, now doubly careful,
knowing that his voice is criticised by the exquisite ear
of the bull, kneels down, and, thrusting the mouth of his

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“call” into the bushes close to the ground, gives vent to
a lower and more plaintive sound, intended to convey the
idea of impatience and reproach. It has probably the
desired. effect; an answer is given, the snappings of
branches are resumed, and presently the moose stalks
into the middle of the moonlit barren, or skirts its sides
in the direction of the sound. A few paces further—a
flash and report from behind the little clump of concealing
bushes, and the great carcass sinks into the laurels and
mosses which carpet the plains.

Whatever may be adduced in disfavour of moose-
ealling on the score of taking the animal at a disadvan-
tage, it is confessedly one of the most exciting of forest
sports. ‘The mysterious sounds and features of night life
in the woods, the beauty of the moonlight in America—
so much more silvery and bright than in England—the
anxious suspense with which the hunter regards the last
flutterings of the aspens as the wind dies away, and
leaves that perfect repose in the air which is so necessary
to the sport, and the intense feeling of sudden excitement
when the first distant answer comes to the wild ringing
eall, are passages of forest life acknowledged by all who -
have experienced them as producing a most powerful
effect. on the imagination, both when experienced and in

memory.

But few moose are shot in this manner—very few in
comparison with the numbers tracked or crept upon—for
the per centage of animals that are thus brought up, even
by the best Indian caller, is very small, and it is the
attribute of native hunters in every wild country where
there are large deer—as the moose, reindeer, or sambur—
to attain their object by imitation of their voices.

106 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Another method of calling which has fallen into disuse
was formerly practised by the Indians of the Lower Pro-
vinces in the fall. The hunter secretes himself in a
swamp—one of those damp mossy valleys in which the
moose delights at this season ; no moon is required, and
his companion holds an immense torch, made of birch
bark, and a match ready for lighting it. The moose
comes to the call far more readily than when the hunter
is on the open barren or bog, and, when within distance,
the match is applied to the torch ; the resinous bark at
once flares brightly, illuminating the swamp for a long
distance round, and discovers the astonished moose
standing amongst the trees, and apparently incapable of —
retreat. The Indians say that he is fascinated by the
- light, and though he may walk round and round, he can-

not leave it, and of course offers an easy mark to the
rifle. |

It is no easy matter to make sure of a moose, even
should he be within pistol range, in the uncertain moon-
light ; chalk is sometimes used, the better to show when
the barrel is levelled. A highly-polished silver bead is
the best for a fore-sight, as it catches the light, and is
readily discerned when the alignment is obtained.*

Moose-calling is always a great uncertainty. Some
seasons there are when the moose will not come so readily
as in others, but stop after advancing for a short distance,
and remain in the forest for hours together, answering
the call whenever it is made, and tearing the branches
with their horns ; the hunter, his patience worn out, and

* “The old Bushman” recommended for shooting large game at night a
V-shaped forked stick to be bound on the muzzle, stating that he found it
of great service. Get the object in the field of view between the horns of
the V and you are pretty sure to hit.

8 a SE se le Ta BD

MOOSE-CALLING. 107

stiff with cold and from lying so long and motionless in
the damp bushes, at last gives it up, and retires to his
camp. Should there be the slightest wind, moose will
always take advantage of it in coming up to the caller,
and endeavour to get his scent. ‘The capacious nostrils
of the moose, up which a man can thrust his arm, show
the fine powers of that organ; and should the hunter
have crossed the barren or the forest intervening betwixt
him and the approaching bull at any time during the
day, unless heavy rain has occurred and obliterated the

smell of his track, the game is up; not another sound is

heard from the moose, who at once beats a retreat, and so
noiselessly, that the hunter often believes him to be still
standing, quietly listening, when, in fact, he is in full
retreat, and miles away. In districts where moose are
very numerous, a number of bulls will reply to the call at
the same time from different parts of the surrounding
woods ; and in such cases it becomes, as the Americans
express it, “‘a regular jam ;” they fear one another; and,
unless one of them is a real old ’un, and cares for nobody,
cannot be induced to come out boldly, though they do
sometimes try to cheat one another, and sneak round the
edge of the woods very quietly.

Your patriarch moose, however, scorns a score of rivals,
and goes in for a fight on every fitting occasion ; indeed,
you have only to approach him when with his partner in
the thick swamp, and, cracking a bough or two, put the
eall to your lips and utter the challenge-note of a bull.
With mad fury he leaves his mate and crashes through
the forest towards you, and then—shoot him, or else
stand clear. I have known this plan to be successfully

carried out when moose have been started, and are in full

108 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

flight ; the imitation of a rival bull has brought the moose
suddenly round to meet his doom ; and it is a very com-
mon practice for the Indian to adopt, when a moose
answers but will not come to the call, and he has every
reason to believe that he is already accompanied by a cow.

A few falls since I was in the woods with a companion
and an excellent Indian, who is still at the head of his
profession, John Williams. We were in a hunting district
not containing many moose, being too much surrounded
by roads and settlements, but very accessible from
Halifax, and one which would always afford a few days’
hunting if the ground had not recently been disturbed. —
We were not much incumbered with baggage; the
nature of our movements prevented our taking much
into the wood beyond the actual necessaries, 7.¢., a small
_ blanket apiece, which, rolled into a bundle, Indian fashion,
and carried across the back by a strap passing over the
chest and shoulders, contained the ammunition, a couple
of pairs of worsted socks, brushes, combs, &c., and a few
packages of tea, sugar, and such light and easily-stowed
portions of the commissariat. The Indian carried in his
bundle the heavier articles—the half dozen pounds of —
fat pork, about twice that amount of hard pilot bread, .
the small kettle with a couple of tin pint cups thrust —
inside, they in their turn being filled with butter, or salt
and pepper, or perhaps lucifers—anything, in fact, which
could find a place and fit in snugly ; and lastly, and as
a matter of course, a capacious frying-pan, made more
portable by unshipping the handle. A large American
axe, its head cased in leather, passed through his belt,
from which were suspended the broad hunting-knife in an
ornamented moose-skin sheath, and the tobacco-pouch of

EEE

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MOOSE-CALLING. 109

otter or mink-skin. Our suits were all of the strong grey
homespun of the country, an almost colourless material,
and on that account, as well as for its tendency to dry
quickly when wet, owing to its porosity, very valuable
to the hunter as a universal cloth for every garment.

Thus accoutred, we marched through the forest in file,
laying down our bundles now and then to follow recent
moose-tracks which might cross our path, and to ascertain
the whereabouts of the game with regard to the barrens
towards which we were wending our way with the object
of callmg the moose. ‘The previous night had been
passed under the shelter of a grove of enormous hem-
locks, where we had halted on our journey from the
settlements, night overtaking us. All night the owls had
hooted around our little primitive encampment—a sure
sion of coming rain; and their melancholy predictions
were this morning verified, for a damp, misty drizzle beat
in our faces as we emerged from the forest on a grassy
meadow, which stretched away in a long valley, and was
dotted with stacks of wild meadow hay. It was one of
those miniature woodland prairies which afford the settler
such plentiful supplies for feeding his stock in winter, and
which are the result of the labours of the once abounding
beaver, and enduring monuments of its industry.

In crossing the meadows we came upon traces of a very
recent struggle between a young moose and a bear: the
bear had evidently taken advantage of the long grass to
steal upon the moose, and take him at a disadvantage in
the treacherous bog. The grass was much beaten down,
and deep furrows in the black soil below showed. how
energetically the unfortunate moose had striven to escape
from his powerful assailant. There was a broad track,

110 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

plentifully strewed with moose hair, showing how the
moose had struggled with the bear towards the woods,
where no doubt the affair was ended, and the bear dined:
The full-erown moose is far too powerful an animal to
dread the attack of the bear; it is only the unprotected
calf, separated from its parent, which is occasionally
pounced upon. |

We reached the barren that afternoon, wet and un-
comfortable, and were right glad when a roaring fire
rose up in front of the little gipsy-like camp, partly
of cut bushes and partly of birch bark, which the
Indian constructed for us in the middle. We did
not care for the possibility of disturbing any stray
moose that might be in the immediate neighbourhood ;
- the wind was rising and chasing away the murky

clouds from the northward, and there was no chance of
calling that night, so we passed the afternoon in drying
ourselves, and keeping up the fire, which was no easy
matter, as the woods skirting the barren were at some
distance, and the barren itself offered nothing but clumps
of wet green bushes, moss-tufts, ground laurels, and rocks.
The night was clear and frosty, as is generally the case
after rain ; 1t was so cold that we could not sleep much,
and our wood failed us. Once, on going out to search for
some sticks, I heard a moose calling in the thick forest
through which we were to proceed in the ee in
search of more distant hunting-grounds.

The prospect from our little grotto of bushes, as we
breakfasted next morning, was charming ; the tops of the
maple-covered hills, which sloped down towards the ~
barren on either side, were delicately tinged with warm
brownish-red, deepened by the frost of the previous night;

—

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MOOSE-CALLING. | 111

and the bushes which skirted a little lake in front of us,
over which hung a stationary line of mist, were painted
with every hue, warmed and gilded at their summits by
the slanting sun-rays. ‘There was the delicate rose-colour
varying to blood-red and deep scarlet, of the smaller
maples, which are always brightest in swampy low situa-
tions, and the bright golden of the birches, poplars, and

beeches. Sometimes a maple was wholly painted with

the darkest claret, whilst in another a branch or two

were vermilion, and the rest of the foliage of vernal

greenness.

The rank patches of rhodora were tinged with a light
pinkish tint, a pretty contrast to the rich shining green
leaves of the myrica growing with the former shrub in
damp spots. The flora of the fall, comprising asters,
golden rods and wild-everlastings were all out, encircling
the pearly grey rocks which strewed the barren, and
every bush was wreathed with lines and webs of little
spiders, marked by the myriads of minute dew-drops
with which they were strung. Gradually warmed by
the rays of the sun when, overcoming the surrounding
barrier of the forest, they poured over the whole face of
the scene, the little barren sparkled like fairy-land, the

‘morning resolving itself into one of those glorious days

for which the fall of the year is noted ; days when the
light seems to bring out colours on objects which you
would never see at other times; when all nature seems
brightened up by the peculiar state of the atmosphere ;
when the trees seem more beautiful, rocks more shapely,
and water more pellucid; when the sky has a greater
softness and depth than commonly, and one’s own
feelings are in unison with all around.

112 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE. -

On such a morning the clear, affecting notes of the
hermit thrush seem more joyous than at his spring
advent, and other lingering songsters—the white-throated
sparrow, the red-breasted grosbeak, and the well-known
robin—pour forth their strains as if in praise for the
blessing of renewed summer life.

Our hunt through the neighbouring woods that fore-
noon was unsuccessful; all the tracks, though recent,
showed that the moose had left the immediate vicinity.
The “ going” was bad, and, returning to camp, we deter-
mined to start immediately with our loads for some
extensive barrens, of which the Indian knew, at a few
miles’ distance.

Our path lay through a large evergreen forest, and the
' walking on soft feather-moss was most refreshing after

the painful morning’s trudge over rocks and wind-falls.
The ground was gently descending ; and in the valley
were little circular swamps and bogs where the firs
showed evidences of the unhealthy situation by their
scant foliage, and the profuse moss-beards which clung
to them.

A dense covert of fern, coloured a golden brown in its |
autumnal decay, grew in the swamp: here and there a
bunch of bright scarlet leaves of swamp-maple glowed —
amongst the colourless stems of rotted trees.

In situations like this the moose likes to dwell in the
fall, and frequent tracks attested the very recent presence
of these animals in the valley through which we were
travelling. Here and there the moss was scraped up in
barrows-full, and the dark soil beneath hollowed out in a
pit, giving out a strongly offensive odour as we passed ;
in fact, the moose had,'as Williams told us, only that

a ee

MOOSE-CALLING. 113

morning passed, and we might come on them at any
moment. We now travelled with great caution; any
little blunder committed, such as a slight snap caused
by stepping on a rotten stick, or grazing a gun-barrel
against a tree-stem, was invested with a plausible ap-
pearance by the Indian, who would immediately apply
the call to his lips, and utter a low grunt, as it were a
moose walking through the woods. At last the forest
opened ahead, the gloom of the pines gave place to
brighter light, and we stood on the edge of the barren
sought for. Below us lay the swamp through which we
had followed the moose, and we had the satisfaction of
seeing, on crossing the stagnant brook which separated it
from our present position, the mud still circling where the
animals had passed. They had just crossed it before us,
and taken to the barren.

The barren, which was at. some elevation above the
swampy forest we had recently quitted, sloped from us
in an undulating wilderness of tangled brakes and dead
trees, whose tall, bleached forms reared themselves like
ghosts in the fast approaching twilight. It was quite
calm—a delightful evening for “ calling”—and we dis-
encumbered ourselves of the loads, and sat down in the

. bushes to smoke and converse in low tones until the

moon should rise and mellow the twilight.

Everything was perfectly still, except the occasional
tap of the woodpecker on the decayed trunk of some
distant rampike. As the sun sank below the horizon,
the gentle breeze gradually diminished, and now not a
leaf on the poplar and maple bushes around us flutters.

“ Now, John,” I whispered to the Indian, “it is almost

time to try your voice. We will make the moose hear
I

114 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

us to-night, if there are any in these woods. Ah! did
you hear that? Listen.”

We all heard it plainly—a heavy crash of branches on
the barren right in front of us; then another, followed by
a rush through the bushes of some evidently large animal;
then came the call of the cow-moose, followed by the
orunting of bulls.

“Two or three of ’em,” said John; “whole crew
fighting in little swamp just ahead. Grand chance this.
Put the bundles down behind the rock there, so as moose
can’t see them, and look at your caps.”

It was just the time to commence calling—the day-
light had quite died out, and the young moon, nearly ~
half grown, shed an uncertain light over the gray rocks
and bare gaunt rampikes of the barren. We moved on
to a little knoll a few yards ahead, whence was obtained
a view through the rocks and dead trees for over a hun-
dred yards in the direction of the moose, and lay down
a few paces apart in the thick bushes which grew some
two or three feet high everywhere.

The Indian crouched behind a massive trunk near us,
and we anxiously awaited his first challenge to the
moose, which were in a swampy hollow in the barren,
not more than 500 yards distant, though the thickly
standing rampikes and rocks, and the unevenness of the
ground, prevented us from seeing them. He seemed to
wait long and hesitatingly ; so much would depend upon
the skilfulness of his first call, and several times the bark
trumpet was withdrawn from his lips before he made up
his mind to the effort.

At length he called ; softly, and with a slight quaver,
the plaintive sound was drawn forth, apparently from the

MOOSE-CALLING. 115

lowest parts of his throat, checked in the middle, then
again resumed, and its prolonged cadences allowed gra-
dually to die away. It was a masterly performance ; and
our pulses beat high as the echoes returned from the
sides of the thick forest which skirted the barren, and we
listened for some reply from the moose.

Then followed a prolonged crashing, as if a whole
army of giants was forcing its way through the brittle
rampikes ; it seemed impossible that a moose could have
caused such a tremendous uproar—then a pause, and the
moose answered the call—Quoh! quofh! He was
evidently close at hand, though still concealed by the
closeness of the covert; and we were, moreover, lying
crouched as flatly as possible on the ground, and behind
a little rise in the barren, which intervened most conve-
niently. Here he remained for some moments, occasion-
ally drawing his antlers with great rapidity and violence
against the dead stems on either side, and making the
brittle branches fly in all directions; then another ad-
vance, though with less noise, and his grunts became less
frequent ; at last, a dead stop, and not a sound for some
moments. He was evidently becoming suspicious, not
seeing the object of his desire on the barren before him
where he had expected, for moose have a wonderful
faculty of travelling through the woods towards a sound
if only once heard. I have known them to come for
miles, and straight as an arrow, to the exact spot where
the Indian had been calling an hour or more previously,
having left it in consequence of not hearing the answer. .

There was a slight rustle just behind us, and, looking
round, I perceived the Indian rapidly worming his way

through the bushes, gliding like a snake. He beckoned

12

- 116 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

with his hand for us to remain quiet, and I at once
divined his object; he was making for the edge of the
woods, some hundred yards or so from the direction of
the moose. Presently a few loud snappings of dead
branches, purposely broken by the Indian as soon as he
had reached the covert, was followed by the well-coun-
terfeited call. The ruse succeeded ; the suspicions of
the bull were allayed, and the horns were again dashed
against the stems as he unhesitatingly advanced towards
our ambush. At length we can plainly hear his footsteps,
and the rustling of the little bushes ; every now and then
he utters a low, satisfied grunt to himself, as he winds up —
the ascent. Now our pulses and hearts beat so, that it
becomes a wonder they do not scare the moose, and we
- grasp the stocks of our rifles tightly as we wait for his

appearance. Here he comes! The moonlight just catches
the polished surfaces of his great spreading horns ; a black
mountain seems to grow out of the barren in front, and
the bull stands immediately before us, his gigantic pro-
portions standing out in bold relief against the sky, and
clouds of hot vapour circling from his expansive nostrils,
as he pauses for a moment to gaze forward from the ©
acquired elevation. He must see the glitter of the moon-
light on our barrels as they are raised to the shoulder,
but it is too late for retreat ; the sharp cracks of the two
rifles proclaim his doom, and as they are lowered the
great moose falls heavily over, without a pace accom-
plished in retreat, instantaneously dead. Our wild yell
of triumph was echoed by the Indian from the woods
behind, who hastened to join us ; the echoes, so strangely
and rudely evoked from the distant forest, gradually fade
away, and all is again still, save where a distant erack

MOOSE-CALLING. 117

marks the flight of the startled moose, the late comrades
of our noble bull.

“ Pretty handy on to five feet,” said John, as he with
difficulty raised the ponderous head from the bushes, to
display the breadth of the antlers ; “that’s a great’ moose,
old feller, that ; hind-quarters weigh goin’ on for a hun-
dred and fifty weight each; we have to get two or three
smart hands to back him out.”

The night was now far advanced, and it was with
well-earned satisfaction that we stretched ourselves in
front of a roaring fire, wrapping our blankets tightly
round us. Though frosty, it was clear and calm; we
needed no camp, and John dragged up log after log of
the dead dry timber, which was strewed in plentiful
confusion over the barren, until we had a fire large
enough to have roasted our moose whole. The kettle,
filled from the brook below in the swamp, soon boiled,
and after a refreshing cup and a biscuit a-piece, we finally
tightened our blankets round our forms, and, with pipes
in our mouths, gradually dozed off.

Towards the morning is the coldest time of the night,
and I more than once awoke from the cold, and went on
the barren for fresh fuel to supply the quickly-decaying
embers. There was the same solemn stillness over the
face of that wild scene: the moon was down long since,
but a few brilliant streamers of the aurora played in the
clear sky in the north, and by their light I could just
discern the great dark form of the moose in the bushes,
all covered with the thick rime frost, and guarded by
two colossal stems, which pointed sternly at the victim
with their whitened branches, as if to demand vengeance
for the death of the forest monarch. At intervals the

118 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

melancholy and deep-toned hoot of the eagle-owl came
from the recesses of the woods, and at length the effect
became so unbearingly solemn and mysterious, that I felt
a relief on stepping back into our little circle, and blew
the embers lustily until spires of flame seized hold of the
fresh wood, and the brilliant fire-light shut out the som-
breness of the dismal night scene.

The sun was long up, and shone brightly in our fs
ere we awoke the next morning, and certain indistinct
sounds of frying and savoury odours were mingled with
tha latter portions of our dreams.

“Come on, Capten,” said John; “come on, and eat
some moose. ‘This moose be very tender ; little later in
the fall not so good, though ; soon get tough and black.”

It was excellent, not partaking of the rank musky
flavour which later in the autumn pervades the whole
earcase. John fried “some liver for himself, and we all
felt more inclined to bask out the day in the sun than to
prepare for a start homewards. However, a couple of
hours found us plodding through the forest, the Indian
bearing across his shoulders the broad antlers, which
necessitated great management to insinuate through the —
denser thickets. John, however, knew a lumberer’s path,
leading out towards the settlement, and we soon had
easy walking. Once or twice a stream must be crossed,
and it was most interesting on such occasions to watch
the ease and dexterity with which the Indian would
fell a large tree to serve for a bridge, and, heavily bur-
dened as he was, cross on the stem, lopping off the inter-
posing branches as he proceeded, to prepare it for our
passage. Poor Williams! no assistance could be procured
at the settlement ; and, as we left him and started home-

MOOSE-CALLING. 119

wards with our trophy, he had undertaken to retrace his
steps alone to the carcase of the moose, and by degrees
bring out every pound of the meat on his own back.
And this feat he performed, though the distance was
fully five miles; and the four quarters, exclusive of the
head, skin, and the massive neck, would weigh more
than five hundred pounds. We far from envied him his
task and the long trudge in the lonely forest.

.CHAPTER VY.

THE AMERICAN REINDEER.

——@——

THE CARIBOO.

(Rangifer, Hamilton Smith ; Rangifer Caribou, Audubon and Bachman.)

Muzzle entirely covered with hair; the tear bag small, covered with a
pencil of hairs. The fur is brittle; in summer, short; in winter
longer, whiter ; of the throat longer. The hoofs are broad, depressed,
and bent in at the tip. The external metatarsal gland is above the
middle of the leg. Horns, in both sexes, elongate, subcylindric, with
the basal branches and tip dilated and palmated ; of the females
smaller. Skull with rather large nose cavity ; about half as long as
the distance to the first grinder; the intermaxillary moderate, nearly

reaching to the nasal ; a small, very shallow, suborbital pit.

THE above diagnosis, taken from Dr. Gray’s article on
the Ruminantia in the Knowsley menagerie, seems to
embrace the chief characteristics of the reindeer of the
sub-arctic regions. The colour, habits, &c., of the variety
designated above will be found succeeding the following
general considerations. Asa species subject to but slight
local variation (with one possible exception in the case
of the barren ground cariboo) the reindeer, Cervus
tarandus of Linnzeus, rangifer of Hamilton Smith, in-
habits both the old and the new worlds under similar
circumstances of climate and natural productions. Its
range across the Northern continents of Asia, Europe and
America is almost unbroken; whilst in the North

lS ati ea

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. 121

Atlantic, which presents the only serious interruption
to its circumpolar continuity, it occurs in Iceland, Green-
land and Newfoundland. Sometimes preferring the
barren heights of the Norwegian fjells, or the elevated
plateaux of Newfoundland, at others the seclusion of the
pine forest (as with the woodland cariboo of America),
its haunts and boundaries are always:determined by the
distribution of those mosses and lichens which almost
exclusively constitute its food—the Cladonia rangiferina
or reindeer lichen, with two or three species of Cornicu-
laria and Cetraria.

When we consider the great antiquity of the reindeer,
and its occurrence as a true fossil mammal coeval with
‘¢ mammoth and other gigantic animals now extinct,
in connection with its singular adaptation to feed on
lichens—those representatives of a primitive vegetation
which are still engaged in preparing a soil for higher
forms in northern latitudes—we cannot fail in recog-
nising its mission as an animal of the utmost import-
ance in affording food and clothing to the primitive
races of mankind of the stone age. With its remains
discovered in the bone caves and drift beds of that
period are associated stone arrow-heads and bone imple- |
ments; whilst a resemblance of the animal, fairly wrought
upon its own horn, leaves no room to doubt its uses as a
beast of the chase, though probably not (in those savage
times) of domestication.

Even in Cxsar’s day ancient Gaul was a country of
gloomy fir forests and extensive morasses, and its climate
more like that of Canada at present. The reindeer also
was still abundant throughout central Europe (though
probably it had long since disappeared from Great

122 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Britain and the south of France), and was in a state of
gradual migration to its present northern haunts. A
more essentially arctic deer than the elk, the reindeer,
in its southern extension, is found with the latter
animal co-occupant of the wodded regions which
succeed the desert plains on the shores of the Polar
ocean, termed “barren grounds” on the American
continent, and “ Tundras” in Europe and Asia. Its most
southern limit in the Old World is reached in Chinese
Tartary in lat. 50°. A fact mentioned in the Natural
History Review, in an article on the Mammalia of Amoor
land, may be here quoted as showing a singular meeting —
of northern and southern types of animal life. It is
stated that the Bengal tiger, ranging northwards occasion-
ally to lat. 52°, there chiefly subsists on the flesh of the
reindeer, whilst the tail-less hare (pika) a polar resident,
sometimes wanders south to lat. 48° where the tiger
abounds.* -

Following an ascending isotherm through Siberia and
Northern Russia, the reindeer comes down on the elevated
table-lands of Scandinavia to latitude 60°, ‘‘ wherever,”
as Mr. Barnard observes in “Sport in Norway,” “ the
altitude is above the limit of the willow and the birch.”
From the latter country the animal was successfully in-
troduced into Iceland in 1770 (a similar attempt being
made at the same time to acclimatize it in Scotland,
which ended in failure), and has since so multiplied as
to be regarded with disfavour by the inhabitants, who
care little for it as a beast of the chase, on account of the

* Erman in his Siberian travels, speaking of the fauna of Irkutsk, in
the trans-Bakalian districts, says :—“ We see the Tunguze, mounted on his
reindeer, passing the Buraet with his camel, and discover the tigers of China
in the forests where the bear is taking its winter sleep.”

ae

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. 123

damage it does to the grasses and Iceland moss on the
plains. According to Professor Paijkull, author of “A
Summer in Iceland,’ the desert plains south of Lake
Myvatn are its principal resort.

Crossing the Atlantic to the south of Greenland, which
is inhabited by the variety (or species?) R. Groenlandicus,
the American reindeer, now termed ‘the cariboo, is first
met with in Newfoundland. It is abundant on the
elevated plateaux and extensive savannahs of this great
island, and is sometimes seen on the cliffs even at Cape
Race.

The most southerly range attained by the species on
the Atlantic seaboard of North America is determined at
Cape Sable in Nova Scotia, in lat. 43° 30’, or about that
of Marseilles. In this province the cariboo is becoming
very scarce, and almost altogether restricted to the high |
lands of Cape Breton, and the Cobequid range of hills.
Té is not found in Prince Edward’s Island or in
Anticosti.

Tolerably abundant in New Brunswick and the ad-
joining portion of Canada south of the St. Lawrence to
the latitude of Quebec, of rarer occurrence in the State of
Maine, we find the home of the woodland cariboo
in the great belt of coniferous forest which in Upper
and Lower Canada extends northwards from the basin of
the St. Lawrence over an immense wilderness country,
and embraces the southern area of the Hudson’s Bay
basin. From the western shore of Lake Superior, and
at some distance back from the prairie country, the line
of its range across the continent curves to the north-
west, following the rapidly ascending isotherm into
the Valley of the Mackenzie, and thence crossing the

124 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Rocky Mountains, passes into the American territory
of Alaska.

According to Mr. Lord* it inhabits the high ridges of
the Cascade Mountains, the Galton range and western
slope of the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia.

In evidence of the transmission of the cariboo into
Eastern Asia, it is stated by Dr. Godman that it crosses
from Behring’s strait to Kamschatka by the Aleutian
islands.

Closely associated with man in a state of semi-
domestication in Siberia and Lapland, the wild rein-deer
also largely contributes to the support of the various
nomadic tribes of these countries, by whom it is
slaughtered on the paths of its two great annual migra-
- tions. In America likewise, though no attempt has
been made to convert the cariboo into a beast of burden,
its flesh is the mainstay of many wandering Indian
tribes who inhabit the subarctic forest region from
Labrador to the northern spurs of the Rocky Mountains,
and its skin their principal resource for clothing. In its
distribution across the American continent, indicated
above, it is pursued in the chase by the Montagnais and
Nasquapee Indians of Labrador, the Crees and Chipe-
wyans of Hudson’s Bay, and the Dog-ribs and other tribes
of the Mackenzie Valley. To the Micmacs, Malicites and
others, south of the St. Lawrence, it is no longer indis-
pensable as a staple of subsistence; they are now
intimately associated with the civilisation of the white
man, who completely possesses their hunting-grounds,
and with whose mode of life they partially comply ; but
to the wilder races designated above, its gradual dis-

* The Naturalist in British Columbia.

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. 125

appearance must bring starvation and a corresponding
progress towards extinction.

With regard to the barren ground cariboo (R.
Greenlandicus) being distinct from the larger animal of
the forests, the separation of the two as species by
Professor Baird of the Smithsonian Institution at
Washington in the description of North American mam-
mals, which accompanies the War Department Reports
of the Pacific Route, joined with the opinion expressed
by Sir John Richardson in his “Journal of a Boat
Voyage through Rupert’s Land and the Arctic Sea,” and
the further testimony of Dr. King, surgeon to Back’s
expedition, appears to leave no room for doubt. Mr.
Baird says “‘the animal is much smaller than the wood-
land reindeer ; the does not being larger than a good
sized sheep.” The average weight of ninety-four deer shot
in one season by Captain M‘Clintock’s men, when cleaned
for the table, was sixty pounds. “ A full-grown, well-fed
buck,” says Sir J. Richardson, “seldom weighs more than
one hundred and fifty pounds after the intestines are
removed. The bucks of the larger kind which were men-
tioned as frequenting the spurs of the Rocky Mountains,
near the Arctic circle, weigh from two hundred pounds to
three hundred pounds, also without the intestines.” He
also states that “this kind does not penetrate far into the
forest even in severe seasons, but prefers keeping in the
isolated clumps or thin woods that grow on the skirts of
the barren grounds, making excursions into the latter in
fine weather.” Dr. King mentions that the barren-
ground species is peculiar not only in the form of its
liver, but in not possessing a receptacle for bile. This
species ranges along the shores of the Arctic Ocean and

126 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

of Hudson’s Bay, above the northern limit of forest
growth; it inhabits Melville and other islands of the
Arctic archipelago, and is found in Greenland.

The cariboo of the forests of Lower Canada, New-
foundland and Nova Scotia, which we now. proceed to
describe, seems to attain in this portion of America, the
finest development of which the species is susceptible.
It is a strongly-built, thick-set animal, (that is by com-
parison with the more graceful of the Cervidee), yet far
from being as ungainly and slouching as the Norwegian
reindeer is commonly depicted in drawings, though
these are probably generally taken from domesticated
specimens, which they resemble much more closely than
they do the wild deer of the mountams. A very large
buck in Newfoundland will exceed four hundred pounds
_in weight, and measure over four feet in height at the
shoulder. I have seen a cariboo in Nova Scotia that
must have considerably exceeded four feet six inches in
height, and was thought by the Indian at a distance off
to have been a moose.

Reindeer of a similar development, and in colour
closely resembling the cariboo of Eastern America, were
met with by Erman in Eastern Asia, where they are used
for the saddle (placed on the shoulder—the only part of
the back where the deer can support a load) by the
Tunguzes. He states that the Lapland reindeer of
menageries and museums appeared to him but dwarfs in
comparison with those of Northern Asia, and with their
size and strength seemed also to have lost much of their
beauty of form.* Certainly the cariboo of Nova

* Speaking of the Tunguzes, Erman says :—“The charm of their look
lies in their slim and active figure, as also in their constant connection with

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. 127

Scotia or New Brunswick, as I have seen them, grace-
fully trotting over the plains on light snow, and in Indian
file, or, when alarmed, circling round the hunter with
neck and head braced up and scut erect, stepping with
an astonishing elasticity and spring, is a noble creature
in comparison with the specimens of the reindeer of
Northern Europe that have appeared in the Society’s
gardens at Regent’s Park: they are, nevertheless, in-
dubitably the same species and simply local varia-
tions.

The colour of the American cariboo, as described by
Audubon and Bachman, is as follows :—

“Tips of hairs light dun gray, whiter on the neck than
elsewhere ; nose, ears, outer surface of lees and shoulders
brownish. Neck and throat dull white; a faint whitish
patch on the side of shoulders. Belly and tail white; a
band of white around all the legs adjoining the hoofs.”
From this general description there is, however, consider-
able variation. Bucks in their prime are often of a rich,
rufous-brown hue on the back and legs, having the neck
and pendant mane, tail and rump, snow-white. <A patch
of dark hair, nearly black, appears on the side of the
muzzle and cheek. As the hair grows in length, towards
the approach of winter, it lightens considerably in hue:
individuals may frequently be seen in a herd with coats
of the palest fawn colour, almost white. Young deer are
dappled on the side and flank with light sandy spots.
The white mane, reaching to over a foot in length in old
males, which hangs pendant from the neck with a graceful

one of the handsomest of animals; for when one sees a Tunguze sit, with
the proudest deportment, on his reindeer, they both seem made for each
other, and it is hard to decide whether the reindeer lends grace to the rider
or borrows it from him.”—T'ravels in Siberia, by Adolph Erman.

128 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

curve to the front, is one of the most noticeable and
ornamental attributes of the species.

The horns of different specimens vary greatly in form
both as regards the development of palmation and the
position of the principal branches. As a general rule,
the horns of the Norwegian reindeer are (according to
my impression) less subject to palmation of the main
shaft, which is longer, and broadens only at the top
where the principal tines are thrown off. I have, how-
ever, met with precisely the same form in antlers from
the Labrador. The accompanying figures will illustrate
the forms alluded to. The middle snag of the cariboo’s
horn is also more developed than in the case of the
European. variety.

In most instances there is but one well-developed
_ brow antler, the other being a solitary curved prong;
sometimes, however, as shown in the illustration, very
handsome specimens occur of two perfect brow snags
meeting in front of the forehead, the prongs interweaving
like the fingers of joined hands.

Except in the case of the does and young bucks,
which retain theirs till spring, it is seldom that horns are
seen in a herd of cariboo after Christmas. The reason
to which the retention of the horns by the female reindeer
during winter has been attributed by some speculative
writers—namely, in order to clear away the deep encrusted
snow, and enable her fawns to get at the moss beneath
—is simply wrong. The animal never uses any other
means than its hoofs to scrape for its moss; whilst the
thin sharp prongs of the doe would prove anything but an
efficient shovel. The latter and true mode of proceeding
I have often watched when worming through the bushes

ess ie yu es

HORNS OF THE CARIBOO,

1. The ordinary Canadian type.
2. Cariboo horns from Newfoundland.
3. Horns from Labrador.

ee —— —— ~ he soa = -. feta Se Z rs =

a ales Ketel

a

ee

a a laa ng Sill nana sg it

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. 129

aa

round the edge of a barren to get a shot. Both Mr. Bar-
nard, and the author of “Ten Years in Sweden,” allude
to the female reindeer using her horns in winter to pro-
tect the fawns from the males, thus rightly accounting
for this singular provision of nature in the case of a
gregarious species in which the males, females, and
young herd together at all seasons.

Another misrepresentation has appeared with regard
to the reindeer: it has been compared, when obliged to
cross a lake on ice, to a cat on walnut-shells! I cannot
conceive any variation in a point so intimately connected
with its winter habits on the part of the European rein-
deer, if the two are, as I believe, identical in configura-
tion and subservience to existence under precisely similar
circumstances ; but for the cariboo I can aver that its
foot is a beautiful adaptation to the snow-covered country
in which it resides, and that on ice it has naturally an
advantage similar to that obtained artificially by the
skater. In winter time the frog is almost entirely ab-
sorbed, and the edges of the hoof, now quite concave,
grow out in thin sharp ridges; each division on the
under surface presenting the appearance of a huge
mussel-shell. According to “The Old Hunter,” who has
kindly forwarded to me some specimens shot by himself
in Newfoundland in the fall of 1867 for comparison with
examples of my own shot in winter, the frog is absorbed
by the latter end of November, when the lakes are
frozen ; the shell grows with great rapidity, and the
frog does not fill up again till spring, when the antlers
bud out. With this singular conformation of the foot,
its great lateral spread, and the additional assistance

afforded in maintaining a foot-hold on slippery surfaces
K

130 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

by the long stiff bristles which grow downwards at
the fetlock, curving forwards underneath between
the divisions, the cariboo is enabled to proceed over
crusted snow, to cross frozen lakes, or ascend icy pre-
cipices with an ease which places him, when in flight,
beyond the reach of all enemies, except perhaps the
nimble and untiring wolf.

The pace of the cariboo when started is like that of
the moose, a long, steady trot, breaking into a brisk walk
at intervals as the point of alarm is left behind. He
sometimes gallops, or rather bounds, for a short distance
at first ; this the moose never does. When thoroughly
alarmed, he will travel much further than the moose; —
the hunter having disturbed, missed, or slightly wounded
_ the latter, may, by following him up, very probably get
several chances again the same day. Such is seldom the
ease in cariboo hunting, even in districts where the
animals are rarely disturbed. Once off, unless wounded,
you do not see them again.

The cariboo feeds principally on the Cladonia rangi-
ferina, with which barrens and all permanent clearings in
the fir forest are thickly carpeted, and which appears to
grow more luxuriantly in the subarctic regions than in
more temperate latitudes. Mr. Hind, in “ Explorations
in Labrador,” describes the beauty and luxuriance of this
moss in the Laurentian country, “with admiration for
which,” he says, “the traveller is inspired, as well as for
its wonderful adaptation to the climate, and its value as
a source of food to that mainstay of the Indian, and con-
sequently of the fur trade in these regions—the caribou.”
The recently-announced discovery by a French chemist
who has succeeded in extracting alcohol in large quanti-

i ee os a ee ee

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. — 131

ties from lichens, and especially from the reindeer moss
(identical in Europe with that of America), is interesting,
and readily suggests the value of this primitive vegeta-
tion in supporting animal life in a Boreal climate as a
heat-producing food. Besides the above, which appears
to be its staple food, the cariboo partakes of the tripe de
roche (Sticla pulmonaria) and other parasitic lichens
growing on the bark of trees, and is exceedingly fond
of the Usnea, which grows on the boughs (especially
affecting the top) of the black spruce, in long, pendant
hanks. In the forests on the Cumberland Hills, in Nova
Scotia, I have observed the snow quite trodden down
during the night by the cariboo, which had resorted to
feed on the “old man’s beards” in the tops of the spruces
felled by the lumberers on the day previous. In the
same locality I have observed such frequent scratchings
in the first light snow of the season at the foot of the
trees in beech groves, that I am convinced that the
animal, like the bear, is partial to the rich food afforded
by the mast.

I am not aware that a favourite item of the diet of the
Norwegian reindeer—Ranunculus glacialis—is found in
America, and the woodland cariboo has no chance of ex-
hibiting the strange but well-authenticated taste of the
former animal by devouring the lemming ; otherwise the
habits of the two varieties are perfectly similar as regards
food.

The woodland cariboo, like the Laplander’s reindeer,
is essentially a migratory animal. ‘There are two well-
defined periods of migration—in the spring and autumn—
whilst throughout the winter it appears constantly seized

with an unconquerable desire to change its residence.
K 2

132 : FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.—

The great periodic movements seem to result from an
instinctive impulse of the reindeer throughout its whole
circumpolar range. Sir J. Richardson, in America, Erman
and Von Wrangell, in Northern Europe and Asia—the
three distinguished ‘savants who have contributed so
largely to the natural history of the northern regions—
all affirm the regularity of its migrations to the open
steppes, barren grounds, and bare mountains, and point
to the chief cause—a desire to escape the insupportable
torments of the flies which swarm in the forest. In
Newfoundland the cariboo acts in a manner precisely
similar to that described by Wrangell, in speaking of the —
reindeer of the Aniui. . They leave the lake country and —
broad savannahs of the interior for the mountain range
which covers the long promontory terminating at the
Straits of Belleisle, at the commencement of summer,
and return when warned by the frosts of September to
seek the lowlands.: At this time the deer passes, and
valleys at the head of the Bay of Exploits may be seen
thick with deer moving in long strings; and here the Red
Indians of a past age, like the hunters of the Aniui,
would congregate to kill their winter's supply of venison. —

With regard to the restlessness of this animal at
intervals in the forest country in winter time, I have
frequently observed a sudden and contemporary shift of
all the cariboo throughout a large area of country. One
day quietly feeding through the forest in little bands, the
next, perhaps, all tracks would show a general move in
a certain direction ; the deer joining their parties after
a while, and entirely leaving the district, travelling in
large herds towards new feeding-grounds, almost invari-
ably down the wind. The little Arctic remdeer of North

THE AMERICAN REINDEER. 133

America is far less migratory in its habits than the larger
species, and with the musk-sheep (ovibos) remains in the
same localities throughout: the year.

In forest districts, in many parts of its range over the
Northern American continent, the cariboo is found to-
gether with the moose in the same woodlands. They
appear, however, to avoid each other’s company ; and I
have observed in following the tracks of a travelling band
of cariboo, that, on passing a fresh moose-yard, they have
broken into a trot—a sure sign .of alarm. In many
districts, especially those in which the. existing. southern
limits of the cariboo are marked, this animal is gradually
disappearing, whilst the moose is taking its place. Toa
great extent this is the result of an increasing settlement
of the country by man. The moose is a much more
domestic animal in its habits, and will remain and
multiply in any small forest district, however the latter
may be surrounded by roads or settlements ; whereas the
cariboo is a great wanderer, and requires long and
unbroken ranges of wild country in which he can
uninterruptedly indulge his vagrant habits. Being more-
over more jealous of the advance of civilisation than the
moose, he is surely disappearing as his old lines of
periodic migration are encroached upon and broken by
new settlements and their connecting roads.

In winters of great severity the cariboo always travel
to the southernmost limits of their haunts, which
they occasionally exceed and enter the settlements.
Some years ago, during an unusually cold winter, the
deer crossed in large bands from Labrador into New-
foundland over the frozen straits. As assumed by Dr.
Gray, a variety appears to be established in the case of

134 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

the Newfoundland cariboo. These deer certainly attain
a greater development than the generality of the speci-
mens shot on the continent: I have heard of bucks
weighing six hundred pounds, and even over. The
general colour of the former animals is lighter—to be
accounted for, perhaps, by the fact that Newfoundland
is a far more open country than the eastern parts of
Canada and the Lower Provinces. The herds are more-
over comparatively undisturbed, and the moss grows in
the greatest profusion. I have seen the fat taken off the
loins of a Newfoundland deer o the depth of two inches.
Further particulars concerning the cariboo on this island —

and its migrations will be found in a chapter on New-— |
foundland.

CHAPTER VI.
CARIBOO HUNTING.

Tue cariboo of the British provinces is only to be
approached by the sportsman with the assistance of a
reoular Indian hunter. In old times the Indians pos-
sessed and practised the art of calling the buck in Sep-
tember, as they now do the bull moose, the call-note being
a short hoarse bellow; this art however is lost, and at
the present day the animal is shot by stalking or

“creeping” as it is locally termed, that is, advancing

stealthily and in the footsteps of the Indian, bearing in mind
the hopelessness of success should sound, sight or scent
give warning of approaching danger. As with the moose,
the latter faculty seems to impress the cariboo most with
a feeling of alarm, which is evinced at an almost in-
credible distance from the object, and fully accounted for,
as a general fact, by the size of the nasal cavity, and the
development of the cartilage of the septum. As the
cariboo generally travels and feeds down wind, the
wonderful tact of the Indian is indispensable in a forest
country, where the game cannot be sighted from a dis-
tance as on the fjelds of Scandinavia, or Scottish hills.
Of course, however, on the plateaux of Newfoundland
and Labrador, and on the large cariboo-plains of Nova
Scotia and New Brunswick, less Indian craft is brought

136° FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

into play, and the sport becomes assimilated to that of
deer-stalking.

It is almost hopeless to attempt an explanation of the
Indian’s art of hunting in the woods — stalking an
invisible quarry ever on the watch and constantly on the
move, through an ever-varying succession of swamps,
burnt country, or thick forest. A review of all the
shifts and expedients practised in creeping, from the first
finding of recent tracks to the exciting moment when the
Indian whispers “ Quite fresh; put on cap,” would be im-
practicable. I confess that like many other young hunters
or like the conceited blundering. settlers, who are for
ever cruising through the woods, and doing little else
(save by a chance shot) than scaring the country, I once
. fondly hoped to be able to master the art, and to hunt on
my own account. Tifteen years’ experience has unde-
ceived me, and compels me to acknowledge the superiority
of the red man in all matters relating to the art of
“venerie” in the American woodlands.

When brought up to the game in the forest, there is
also some difficulty in realising the presence of the
cariboo. At all times of the year its colour is so similar
to the pervading hues of the woods, that the animal,
when in repose, is exceedingly difficult of detection: in
winter, especially, when standing amongst the snow-
dappled stems of mixed spruce and birch woods, they are
so hard to see, and their light gray hue renders the judg-
ing of distance and aim so uncertain, that many escape
the hunter’s bullet at distances, and under circumstances,
which should otherwise admit of no excuse for a miss.

And now let us proceed to our hunting ground.

The first light snow had just fallen after two or three

CARIBOO HUNTING. 137

piercingly cold and frosty days towards the close of
November, when our party, consisting of us two and our
attendant Indian, the faithful John Williams, (than
whom a more artful hunter or more agreeable companion
in camp never stepped in mocassin) arrived at the little
town of Windsor, at the head of the basin of Minas,
whence embarking in a small schooner, we were to cross
to the opposite side to hunt the cariboo in the neighbour-
hood of Parsboro’. The distance across was but a matter
of thirty miles or so, and with light hearts we stepped on
board, and stowed our camping apparatus, bags of pro-
visions, blankets and rifles in the hold of the “Jack
Easy,’ when presently the rapidly ebbing tide bore us
swiftly down the course of the Avon into the dark-
coloured waters of the arm of the Bay of Fundy.

The first part of the voyage was pleasant enough ; a
light though freshening breeze from the eastward filled
the sails ; and we swept on with the surging tide of red
mud and water past the great dark headland of Blomidon
with its snow-streaked furrows and crown of evergreen
forest, enjoying both our pipes and the prospect, and
recalling the various interesting traditions of this famed
location of the old Acadians whose memory has been so
beautifully perpetuated by Longfellow. But on leaving
the cape and standing across the open bay, we soon
encountered a rougher state of affairs. The dark murky
clouds now commenced discharging a heavy fall of damp
snow, which froze upon everything as soon as it fell,
rendering the process of reefing, which had become neces-
sary from the increasing breeze, very difficult. of accom-
plishment. The sheets were coated with a film of ice,
and frozen stiffly in the blocks, and the deck became so

138 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

wet and slippery that we were glad to retire below into
the close little cabin. We had embarked at sunset, as
the tide did not suit until then, and not even a small
schooner of the dimensions of the “Jack Easy” can leave
the Windsor river until the impetuous tide of this curious
bay sweeps up, and, rising to the height of forty feet,
bears up all the craft around the wharves from their soft
repose in the red mud. It was now dark, and the storm
increased ; the wind, being against tide, raised a tumul-
tuous sea. Presently there were two or three vivid flashes
of lightning, followed by increased violence of the wind
and dense driving hail, and the little schooner lay heavily
over. We, the passengers, were huddled together in a
cabin so small that it was with difficulty we could keep
‘our knees from touching the stove round which we
crowded. Everyone smoked, of course, and the strong
black tobaceo of the settlers vied with the rushes of
smoke, driven by the wind down the stove-pipe, in pro-
ducing in the den a state of atmosphere threatening
speedy suffocation, and we were glad to grope our way
into the dark hold and seek an asylum amongst the tubs,
barrels, and potato sacks which were rolling about in
great uneasiness. At last it was over: a quieter state of —
affairs, a great deal of stamping and slipping on deck,
and, finally, the long rattle of the cable, told us we were
anchored off Parsboro——a fact which was corroborated.
by the captain opening the hatch and lowering him-
self amongst us, one mass of ice and snow ; his clothes
rattled and grated as he moved as though they were
constructed of board. There was no shore bed for our
aching bones that night; the tide did not suit to reach
the wharf, the village was a mile and a half away, and

reply.

OARIBOO HUNTING. 139

the night was still stormy, so we again sought soft spots
on the inexorable benches around the stove in our den.

“ Hurrah, John!” said I, as we followed the Indian
up the ladder, and emerged into the cold morning air ;
“here’s snow enough in all conscience—just the thing for
our hunting—step out now for the village, and let’s try
and scare up a breakfast somewhere.”

It was still snowing heavily, and the country looked
as wintry as it could do even in North America. In the
distance appeared the little white wooden houses and
church of the village, and behind them rose up the great
orey form of the Cobequid Hills. ‘The brisk walk
through the snow soon recalled warmth to our benumbed
frames, and, the village inn once reached, it was not
long ere the ample breakfast of ham and eggs and pota-
toes, pickles and cheese, cold squash-pie, and strong black
tea, was arranged before us.

“ Will the Indian make out with you, gents?” asked
the exceedingly pretty innkeeper’s daughter. We all
glanced at John, who laughed as he anticipated our

“Oh, of course, yes ; we are all on the same footing
this morning, we guess. Come on, John, sit up and give
us some ham.”

The landlord—who affected to be a bit of a sportsman,
of course—told us there were lots of cariboo back in the
hills, and some moose, which he reckoned would be the
ereat object of our hunting; for, in this part of Nova
Scotia, the moose has only recently made his appearance,
and the settlers look upon him as far nobler game than
the common cariboo. Presently a sleigh with a stout
pony appeared for us at the door, and, loading it with

140 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

our baggage, we left to the tune of a peal of merry bells

which the pony carried attached to different parts of the
harness. |

Our road lay through a valley, skirted by the lofty
wooded slopes of the Cobequids. These hills are the
ereat stronghold of the cariboo, and his last resort in
Nova Scotia; they extend through the isthmus which
connects the province with that of New Brunswick, and
are covered with large hard-wood forests of sugar and
white maple, birch, and beech. On their broad tops and
sides the cariboo has an unbroken range of more than a
hundred miles, and their eastern spurs, descending into
a flat district of dense fir forests, with numerous chains
of lakes, offer secure retreats in the breeding season.

The country was new to us, and its features novel:
the evergreen forest, so characteristic of the greater por-
tion of the province, here almost entirely gave way to
hard-woods, narrow lines of hemlock or spruce springing
up from some deep gorge on the mountain side, here and
there showing their dark summits, and coursing like
veins through the great rolling sea of maples. The latter
part of the storm had been unaccompanied by wind, and
the snow lay in heavy masses on the trees, giving the
forest a most beautiful aspect ; it covered every branch
and every twig, and was thickly spattered against the
stems, and all the complicated tracery of the denuded
branches was brought to notice, even in the deepest
recesses, by the white pencil of the snow-storm. In the
fir forest the effect of newly-fallen snow is very fine also,
but the very masses which cover the broad and retentive
branches of the evergreens and clog the younger trees
until they seem like solid cones of snow, hinder and

.

to ee

CARIBOO HUNTING. — 141

choke the view; whereas in these lofty hard-woods,
under which grows nothing but slender saplings, a most
extensive glimpse of their furthest depths is obtained,
and thousands of delicate little ramifications, before un-
noticed, now stand out in bold relief in the grey gloom
of the distance. And then, when the storm has passed
by, and that beautiful blue tint of a wintry sky, coursed
by light fleecy scud, succeeds the heavily laden cloud,
how exquisitely the scene lights up! what a soft warm
tint is thrown upon the light-coloured bark of the maples
and birches, and upon the prominent dottings and lines
of snow which mark their forms, and how lovely is that
light purple shade which continually crosses the road,
marking the shadows! As the sun increases in warmth,
or a passing gust of wind courses through the trees,
avalanches of snow fall in sparkling spray, and the new
snow glitters in myriads of little scintillations, so that
the eye becomes pained by the intensity of briliancy
pervading the face of nature.

We stopped the sleigh opposite a group of Indian bark
wigwams, which stood a short distance from the road ;
the noise of voices and curling wreaths of smoke from
their tops proved them to be occupied, and, as we re-
quired a second Indian hunter, particularly one who was
well acquainted with the neighbourhood, we followed the
track which led up to them, and entered the largest.
The head of the family, who sat upon a spread cariboo-
skin of gigantic proportions, was one of the finest old
Indians I ever saw—one of the last living models of a
race now so changed in physical and moral development
that it may be fairly said to be extinct. An old man of
nearly eighty winters was this aged chief, yet erect, and

142 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

with little to mark his age save the grizzly hue pervading
the long hair which streamed over his broad shoulders,
and half concealed the faded epaulettes of red scalloped
cloth and bead-work. A necklace of beads hung round
his neck, and, suspended from it, a silver crucifix lay on

his bare expansive chest. His voice, as he welcomed us, —

and beckoned us to the post of honour opposite to the
fire and furthest from the door, though soft and melo-
dious, was deep-toned and most impressive. Williams,
our Indian, greeted and was greeted enthusiastically ; he
had found an old friend, the protector of his youth,
in whose hunting camps he had learnt all his science;
the old squaw, too, was his aunt, whom he had not seen
for many years.

The chief was engaged in dressing fox-skins: he had
shot no less than twenty-three within the week or two
preceding, and whilst we were in the camp a couple of
traders arrived, and treated with him for the purchase of
the whole, offering two dollars a-piece for the red foxes,
and five or six for the silver or cross-fox, of which there
were three very good specimens in the camp. The skin
of the fox is used for sleigh robes, caps, and trimmings.
The valuable black fox is occasionally shot or trapped by
the Indians, and the skin sold, according to condition
and season, from ten, even as high as twenty pounds.
The coat of a good specimen of the black fox in winter
is of a beautiful jet black colour, the hair very long, soft,
and glossy ; and, as the animal runs past you in the sun-
shine on the pure snow, and a puff of wind ruffles the
long hair, it gleams like burnished silver. It appears that
the whole of the black fox-skins are exported to Russia,
and are there worn by the nobility round the neck, or as

| 2

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Ne" hp an NE a OP ie A TE ER Sm

CARIBOO HUNTING. 143

collars for their cloaks ; the nose is fastened by a clasp
to the top of the tail, the rest of which hangs down in
front.

The old man told us of the curious method he used in
obtaining his fox-skins. He would go off alone into the
moonlit forest, to the edge of some little barren, which
the foxes often cross, or hunt round its edges at night.
Here he would le down and wait patiently until the
dark form of a fox appeared in the open. A little shrill
squeak, produced by the lips applied to the thumbs of
the closed hands, and the fox would at once gallop up
with the utmost boldness, and meet his fate through the
Indian’s gun.

He regretted that he was too old to accompany us
himself, but advised us to take a young Indian who was
at that time encamped on the ground to which we were
proceeding ; and we left the old man’s camp, and re-
sumed our trudge on the main road, after seeing him
make a successful bargain for his fox-skins.

That afternoon we had reached our destination ; the
last few miles of the road had been more and more wild
and uneven, and at last we drew up before a tenement
and its outbuildings which stood on the brow of a hill
and overlooked a wide extent of country. It was the
house of the last settler, and those great undulating
forests before us were to be the arena of our sport.
Buckling on the loads, we dismissed the sleigh, and
turned at once into their depths.

We had not far to carry our loads, for the Indian
camp was erected on a hard-wood hill, within reach of
the sounds of the last settler’s clearing. This we found
afterwards to be a great comfort, as we often called on

144 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

him for the loan of his sleigh and trusty yoke of oxen,
and drew large supplies of fine mealy potatoes from his
cellar ; great luxuries they are, too, and valuable addi-
tions to the camp fare, though they often have to be
omitted, when the distance of the hunting country from

the settler’s house precludes any extra weight in the

apportioned loads.

Noel Bonus, the owner of the camp, was at home, just
returned from his hunting, for an early dinner, and to
him we applied direct to act as our landlord and hunter.
I never saw a dirtier or more starved-looking Indian ;

selfishness and cunning were plainly stamped on his —
tawny face, which was topped by the shaggiest mass of ©

long black hair conceivable; he seemed irresolute for
- some moments as to whether he should admit us, and
take the dollar per diem and his share of the meat, or
whether he should continue to hunt on his own account,
and leave us to shift for ourselves.

We did not urge the point, for we had a first-rate
hunter, John Williams, with us, and though he did not
know the country, he would soon master that difficulty ;
and, as to a camp, we had all the requisite appliances for
quickly setting up on our own account. This became
eradually evident to Master Noel, who at last motioned
us to take off our loads and come in—a proceeding
which we politely declined doing until a thorough reno-
vation and cleansing had taken place, and the dirty
bedding of dried shrivelled fir-boughs, strewed with
bones and bits of hide and hoof, had been swept out
and replaced by fresh. It was a capital camp, strongly
built, and quite rain-proof, standing on a well-timbered
hard-wood hill, the stems of the smaller trees affording

; - ;
Fo ee ee

£
7
q
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Ls
i
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CARIBOO HUNTING. 145

an unlimited supply of fuel; a small spring trickled
down the hill-side close by.

As we unpacked our bundles to get at the ammunition
(for we were determined to have a cruise around before
dark), Noel told us that he had, early that same morning,
missed a cariboo not more than a mile from camp. We
started in different directions, | with Noel, and my
comrade with the older hunter. It was a bright, frosty
afternoon, very calm, and the beautiful woods still re-
tained their oppressive loads of heavy snow, rendering it
very difficult to see game between the thickly-growing
evergreens. Noel first followed a line of marten traps of
his own setting—little dead-falls occurring every fifty
yards or so in a line through the woods for nearly a mile.
There was nothing in them, though I saw several tracks
of marten on the snow. Fox-tracks, and those of the
little American hare, commonly called the rabbit, on
which the fox preys, were exceedingly numerous, and
there was a fair sprinkling of the other tracks which are
usually found on the snow in the forest, such as lucifee
or wild cat, porcupine, partridge, and squirrel. Pre-
sently Noel gave a satisfactory grunt, and pointed to the
surface of the snow ahead, which was evidently broken
by the track of some large animal.

“Fresh track, caliboo,* thees mornin’,’ whispered he,
as we came up to the trail of two cariboo, which had
gone down wind, and in the direction of some large
barrens which Noel said lay about a mile away. We
might yet have a chance by daylight, so on we went
pretty briskly, though cautiously. Noel pointed out
several times small pieces which had been. bitten off the

* The Indians pronounce the letter r as 1.
L

146 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

lichens growing on the stems of the hard-wood trees, of
which they had taken a passing mouthful. Who but an
Indian could have detected such minute evidences of their
actions ? There was no doubt but that they were making
for the barrens, or they would have stopped at these
tempting morsels longer, and here and there perhaps”
deviated from the line of march. Probably they knew
of companions, and were going to a rendezvous, or
preferred the reindeer moss amongst the rocks on the
barren. .

The tall forest of maples and birches was presently
succeeded by a dense growth of evergreens, which be- —
came more and more stunted as we approached the —
barren, and here and there opened out into moist swampy
- bogs, into which we sank ankle-deep at every step:
finally, we brushed through the thick shrubbery, drenched
with the snow dislodged plentifully over us en passant,
and stood on the edge of a most extensive barren.

Such a scene of desolation is seldom witnessed, except
in these great burnt and denuded wastes of the North
American forest. As far as the eye could reach was a
wild undulating wilderness of rocks and stumps ; a deep —
indigo-coloured hill showed the limits of the barren, and
where the heavy fir forest again resumed its sway. It
appeared to be some ten miles or so in length, and to
slope from us in a gentle declivity towards the west-
ward. The average breadth might be four or five miles.
Little thickets and groves of wood dotted it in all diree-
tions ; sometimes a clump of spruce, against which the
white stem of the birch stood out in bold relief ; or, at
others, a patch of ghost-like rampikes ; whilst the brooks
in the valleys were marked by fringing thickets of alder.

4
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3

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CARIBOO HUNTING. 147

Boulders of rock and fallen trees were strewed over the
whole surface of the country in the wildest confusion ;
and the dark, snow-laden sky cast a shade over the
scene, investing it with the most forbidding and gloomy:
appearance imaginable.

Carefully scanning the surrounding country, and not
perceiving any signs of the game, we proceeded on their
tracks, which were soon increased in number by those of
three other cariboo, joining in from the southward. They
led us through some dense thickets, where we had to
proceed with the greatest caution, there being no wind,
and on account of the uncertainty of the moment or
place where we might come upon them. I was getting
tired of the whole proceeding, when, as we were crossing
an open spot amongst rocks and sparsely-growing spruce
clumps of about our own height, I saw Noel, who was
ahead, suddenly stop, with his hand held back, and
slowly subside in the snow, which proceedings of course
I followed, without question as to the cause or necessity.

“What is it, Noel?” said I, gaining his side by slowly
worming along in the snow, with difficulty keeping the
muzzle of my rifle above the surface.

“ Caliboo lying down,” he replied. “ You no see them
now? Better fire, I think.”

I could not for my life see the cariboo, although I
looked along the barrel of his gun, which he pointed for
me in the right direction. They are most difficult ani-
mals to recognise unless moving, being so exceedingly
similar in colour to the rocks and general features of the
barren, that only the eye of the Indian can readily detect
them when lying down. Noel had at once seen the herd ;

and here was I, unable to perceive them amongst the
L 2

148 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

rocks and bushes, though pointed to the exact spot, and
knowing that they were little more than one hundred
yards distant. At last I saw the flapping of one of their
ears, and gradually the whole contour of the recumbent
animal nearest to me became evident.

I now did a very foolish thing, and was determined to -
have my shot at the nearest cariboo, lying down. The
animal was in a hollow, deeply bedded in the snow, so
that very little of the back could be seen, and I aimed at
the lowest part visible above the snow. I pulled—a spirt
of snow showed that the dazzling surface had deceived
me, and the bullet ricochetted ee over the back —
of the cariboo. |

Up they jumped, five of them, apparently rising from
- all directions around us, and, after a brief stare, made off
In long graceful bounds. I at once seized the old musket
which the Indian carried, but the hammer descended on
harmless copper—the cap was useless. “This is bad,’
thought I; for I hate missing the first shot on a hunt-
ing excursion, particularly with game to which one is
not accustomed, as there is still more fear of becoming
unsteady, and missing, on the next chance presenting |
itself ; and I watched the cariboo with longing eyes, and
a feeling of great disappointment, as they settled down
into a long, swinging trot, and wound in file over the
barren, towards the line of forest on the north side. As
for the hungry-looking Indian, I did not know whether
to have at him on the score of his excessive ugliness, or
for not carrying better caps for his gun.

“Get back to camp, Noel, as quick as you can,” said
I; “it will be dark in half an hour. Why didn’t you
put up the cariboo on their legs for me before I fired ?”

CARIBOO HUNTING. 149

“Gentleman just please himself,’ replied the Indian.
“You did very foolish ; nice lot of caliboo, them. Maybe
other gentleman get shot, though.”

“Oh, it’s the fresh steak for supper you are thinking
of,” thought I to myself, feeling as discontented and
generally uncharitable as possible. ‘I hope sincerely
they have not, though ;” and I trudged after the Indian
homewards in an unenviable mood. Fortunately there
was an old road leading across the barren towards the
settlements, and, presently striking it, we obtained easy
walking. A couple of hours, the latter part by moon-
light, brought us to our camp. No smoke issued from
the top, and everything was as we left it. The others
had not returned, and we made up a fire and cooked the
meal we so much needed.

“Twas almost afraid you were lost, John,” said I, as
the blanket which covered the entrance was withdrawn
by the returning hunter and my companion, very late in
the evening ; “any sport ?”

“ Never fear,” replied Williams, laughing, as he lugged
in a great sack of potatoes, and produced a bottle of new
milk, and some loaves of home-made bread ; “ here’s our
game. We just had first-rate dinner at settler’s; good
old man, that old Harrison.”

They, too, had fired at cariboo, and wounded a young
one slightly. It had led them a race of some miles, and
finally, having joined a fresh herd, had escaped through
the confusion of tracks. However, we retired to our
repose on the soft bed of fir-boughs that night, quite
satisfied and hopeful. We were in a fine country, evi-
dently full of game, and we looked forward to our future
shots with confidence, satisfied, from what we had seen,

150 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

that the cariboo was one of the finest deer, for sport, in
the wide world.
What a hearty meal is breakfast in the winter camp of
a party of hunters in the American backwoods! The
pure air which enters freely and circulates round the
camp, heated by the great log fire in the centre, round —
which we range ourselves for sleep, regardless of the cold
without (except, perhaps, on some especially severe
passage of cold, when actual roasting on one side will
scarcely keep the opposite from freezing), conduce to
sound and healthy repose, and a feeling of wonderful
freshness and activity on awakening and throwing off the
blanket or buffalo robe early in the morning. 3
The Indians are already up, one cleaning the guns, or
- “fixing” a moccasin, whilst the other is holding the long-
handled frying-pan, filled with spluttering slices of bacon,
over the glowing embers. Their toilet amounts to nil ;
when well they always look clean, though they seldom
wash ; though they never use a comb their long, shining,
raven-black hair is always smooth and unruffled. We,
with our combs, brushes and towels, step out into the
cold morning air and betake ourselves to the little brook
for ten minutes or so, and then return with appetites
whetted either for venison or the flesh of pig, washed
down by potations of strong black tea, which has
simmered by the embers, perhaps, for the last half-
hour. |
“John,” said J, as we reclined on our blankets at
breakfast the morning after our unsuccessful cariboo
hunt, “did you hear the wild geese passing over to the
southward last night? I heard their loud ‘honk! honk!’
several times, and the whistling of their wings as they

ee BS at pe ay

CARIBOO HUNTING. , 151

flew over the camp. It froze pretty sharp, too; the trees
cracked loudly in the forest.”

“T hear ’um, sure enough,” replied the Indian. “Guess
winter set in pretty hard up to nor’rerd. I got notion
some of us have luck to-day, capten. I dreamin’ very
hard last night. When I dream so always sure sign we
have luck next day. I think it will be you; me and the
other gentleman must go back and try to get the
wounded caliboo calf.”

“Very well, then: Noel hunts with me again to-day,”
said I, looking at the younger Indian, who nodded assent
and drew on his moccasins. “Come on, Noel; put a
biscuit in your pocket, and let us be off for the barrens.”

It was a lovely morning when we left the camp; not
a breath of wind, and the sun shone through the trees,
lighting with extraordinary brilliancy the sparkling snow
which had been sprinkled during the night with rime
frost. All nature seemed to rejoice at the warming
influence of the sun’s rays. The squirrel raced up the
stems with more than usual activity, and the little chick-
adee birds darted about amongst the spruce boughs in
merry troops, dislodging showers of snow, and con-
tinuously uttering the cheerful cry which has given them
their local sobriquet. The tapping of the woodpecker
resounded through the calm forest, and the harsh warning

' note of the blue jay gave notice of our approach to his

comrades and the forest denizens in general. Here and
there a ruffed grouse started with boisterous flight from
our path, as we disturbed his meditations on some sunlit
stump; and, soon after entéring the barren, a red fox
jumped from the warm side of a clump of bushes where
he had been basking, and made off at racing speed—a

152 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

far handsomer animal than our English Reynard, whose
fur is quite dingy compared with the bright orange-red
coat of the American.

“Ah! I don’t like to see this,” said Noel, pointing out
some large tracks in the snow; “these brutes been
huntin’ about here some time. You see that track ?—
that wolf-track—two of them; them tracks we seen
yesterday, when we thought dogs were chasing moose,
them was wolf-tracks.”

The day before we had noticed the tracks of what we
chen thought had been dogs chasing a young calf-moose.
At one place—a very deep, swampy bog—they had
nearly run into him, for, on the snow, we saw hair which
they had pulled from his flanks. It seems that about ten
years ago wolves made their appearance in this province
in considerable numbers from New Brunswick, and their
nightly howlings caused the farmers to look closely after
the safety of their stock and folds for some time in certain
settlements. They are, however, now rarely heard of.

We had not been long on the barren ere we came on
last night’s tracks of five cariboo, and we at once com-
menced creeping in earnest. Presently we found their
beds, deeply sunk in the snow, the surface quite soft, and
evidently just quitted. Their tracks showed that they
had, on rising, commenced feeding along very leisurely
on the mosses of the barren; to get at which they had
scraped away the snow with their broad hoofs. It was
now a capital morning for creeping, as the surface of the
snow on the barren was quite soft, loosened by the power
of the sun. Now we enter a little bog, with scattering
clumps of spruce growing from its wet, mossy surface ;
at every step we sink ankle deep into the yielding moss,

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CARIBOO HUNTING. 153

and the chilling snow-water soaks into our feet. We
look anxiously ahead for the game, but they have crossed
the bog ; nor are they on the next, which we can scan
from our present position. They must be in that dark
patch of woods just beyond, which skirts the barren,
for we have followed them up to its northern edge.
What a pity! for the snow under the shade of the
forest is still hard and crusted, and its crunching
sound, under the pressure of our moccasins, step we
ever so lightly, cannot escape the ear of the cariboo.
Yes, they have entered the wood, and just as we
prepare to follow them, and gently open our way
through the outlying thickets, | hear a light snap
of a bough within, which sends my heart nearly to
my mouth. Another step, and Noel at once points to
game, and I see some shadowy forms moving among the
trees, at about fifty yards’ distance. Now is the time ; an
instant more and we should be discovered, and the
cariboo bound off scatheless, with electric speed. The
quick crack of my rifle is followed by the roar of the
Indian’s gun (which I afterwards ascertained contained
two balls, and about four drachms of powder), and the
branches loudly crash in front as the herd starts in
headlong flight.

There was blood on the snow, as we came up to the
spot whence they had fled: a broad trail of it led from
the spot where the animal I had fired at had been stand-
ing. Presently I saw the cariboo ahead, going very
slowly, and making round for the barren again, having
left the herd. The poor creature’s doom was sealed ; for,
as we emerged from the woods, we saw it lying down,
and a fawn, which had accompanied it, made quickly off

154 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

on seeing us approach. | would have spared the latter,
but the Indian brought it down at once by a good
shot at eighty yards. Mine proved to be a very
fine doe, with a dark glossy skin, and in excellent
condition.

“Plenty fresh meat in camp now,” says Noel, who
really looked as if he could have eaten the whole cariboo
then and there. He did roast a good junk of it as soon
as he could get a fire alight, and the fellow had brought
out some salt in a piece of paper in case of an emergency
like the present. Whilst Noel was making up the meat
with the assistance of the little axe and hunting-knife
which are invariably suspended from the hunter’s belt, I
lighted my pipe and heaped on the dead logs, which lay
‘everywhere under the surface of the snow, until we had
a roaring fire that would have roasted a cariboo whole
with great ease and dispatch. J never saw fatter meat
than that of the largest cariboo when the hide was re-
moved ; the whole saddle was snow-white with fat,
which covered the meat to the depth of an inch and a
half. Having stacked the quarters in a compact pile, and
deeply covered them with a coating of snow, we started
for home, leaving the offal for the Canada jays and crows;
the former.were exceedingly impudent, hopping about
within a few yards of us, and screaming most impatiently
for our departure. Noel of course carried a goodly load
of the meat, including many delicate morsels for our
camp frying-pan.

Numerous droves of cariboo had crossed the barren
since the morning, and, as we were on our way, we saw
a small drove of four passing across at a distance of about
500 yards from us. They appeared scared, walking very

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CARIBOO HUNTING. 155

briskly, and occasionally breaking into a trot. Most
probably they had been started by the rest of the party
in the woods to the southward. One of them was of a
very light colour—the lightest, I think, I ever saw—
being of a pale, tawny hue all over; the others were, as
usual, dull grey, variegated with dingy white. Sport
must have fallen to the lot of anyone who had remained
concealed in some central thicket on the barren this
afternoon, from the number that must have passed at |
different times, as appeared by their tracks. Though it
was still early in December we had only as yet seen one
buck who retained his horns; the does still wore theirs.
The one I had just killed had an exceedingly neat little
pair, which, but for her untimely end, would have graced
her until the ensuing March.

On return to camp, I found that my friend had not
been so fortunate; they had not been able to discover
the wounded cariboo, and had started two herds without
getting a shot. This was owing to the frozen state of
the snow in the woods. We had determined to exchange
Indians next morning; but, in consequence of his not
yet having had success, | agreed to start again with the
second hunter, Noel, and leave to my friend the undis-
turbed possession of the barrens, my direction being the
Buctégun plains, which were distant some eight miles or
so to the westward. Noel, of course, ate until he could
eat no more that night—in fact, | never saw such
sluttony as was displayed by this Indian whenever he
got a chance. ‘The settler’s wife had told me, a few days
since, that he made a common practice of going into one
house after another along the road, and at each represent-
ing himself as starving. His appearance not generally

156 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

belying his assertion, he has succeeded in getting a dinner
at each of four different places on the same day. “But,”
she said, “they found him out ; and he finds it rather hard
to get asked out, or rather in, to dinner now-a-days.” On
one occasion, on returning with me to camp, after an
unsuccessful morning, a good deal before the usual time
for dining, he complained of a severe attack of indiges-
tion, and adopted, as an unfailing remedy, a hearty meal
of fried pork—the fattest he could pick out of the bag.
He expressed himself to the effect that lubrication was
the best remedy for such complaints.

The owls hooted most dismally in the forest that night
—a, sure sign, as Williams said, of an approaching storm ;
and, as the sky looked threatening all the latter part of
the day, we retired to sleep, trusting to see a fall of fresh
snow in the morning, which was much wanted, to
obliterate the old tracks, and soften the surface of the
crust. ,

Fresh falls of snow are necessary to continue and
ensure sport in the winter hunting-camp, especially in—
the earlier part of the season. A few bright days thaw
the surface so that the night-frost produces a disagreeable
crust, which crunches and roars under the moccasin most
unmusically ; and then, unless the forest trees are shaken
by little short of a gale, you may give up all idea of
getting within shot of game. Day after day is often
thus spent listlessly in camp; the same calm, frosty
weather continuing to prevent sport, and the evil of the
crust on the snow gradually becoming worse; the
Indians shaking their heads at the proposition to hunt
and uselessly disturb the country, and betaking them-
selves to cutting axe-handles, mending their moccasins,

CARIBOO HUNTING. 157

or constructing a hand-sled perhaps, whilst you lazily fall
back amongst the blankets, and snooze away far into the
bright morning, till the noon-day sun strikes down on your
face through the aperture in the top of the camp. Then
you are told by the dusky cook and steward of the camp
that the “pork’s giving out,” or the “sweetening is
getting short,” and all things remind you that “it’s hard
times,’ and no fresh meat, and all for want of a nice little
fall of snow. However, there lies a great ball of a thing,
all covered with quills, like a hedgehog, in the cook’s
corner, and the cook recommends that a “bilin” of soup
should be instituted ; so Master Porcupine is scraped,
and skinned, and chopped, and, with an odd bone or two
which turns up from the larder, a little rice, and lots of
sliced onions, he is converted into a broth, and another
day in the woods is cleared by the pork thereby saved.
At last, when the bitter reflection of having to return
from the woods empty-handed presents itself to you some
morning on awakening, the joyous flakes are seen gently
falling through the top of the camp, and hissing as they
meet the embers of the fire. “Now’s your time,” says
the party all round, and the camp is all bustle and
animation—such tying on of moccasins, and buckling on
of ammunition-belts, and knives, and axes ; not forgetting
to provide for the mid-day refreshment, by filling of
flasks, and stowing away of biscuits and lumps of cheese.
Presently the wind rises, and the storm thickens; the
new covering of snow seems to draw out the frost from
the old crusted surface, and the moccasin now steps
noiselessly in the tracks of the game. That day, or on
the next, there is no need of porcupine soup, for huge
steaks hang from the camp-poles, and a rich and savoury

158 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

odour pervades the camp, whilst the hissing frying-pan
tops the logs.

The want of a fresh fall of snow had thus interrupted
our sports in the Parsboro’ country for some days, when
the welcome flakes at last came down one wild stormy
night, and covered the forest and barren with a clean —
mantle of three or four inches, obliterating the old tracks,
and softening the crust so that it again became practicable
to stalk the wary cariboo. Many times had we started
small herds on the barren, and in the greenwoods, with-
out sighting them; the first token of their proximity,
and of their having taken alarm, being the crashing of
the branches which they breasted in flight.

It was a beautiful hunting morning on which, after
‘the new fall of the previous night, we trudged along the
forest-path leading from our camp to the barrens, and
made sure of shots during the day, for the change of
wind, and the storm, would cause a movement among the
deer. A mile or so from camp. the snow was ploughed
up by a multitude of fresh tracks ; a herd of cariboo had
just crossed it; there could not have been less than
thirty of them, all going south from the barrens. We at
once struck into the woods after them, and followed for
about an hour, when the herd divided into two streams.
One of these we followed, the tracks every moment be-
coming fresher, until, on passing through a dense alder
thicket which grew over water, treacherously covered
with raised ice, the ice gave way with a crash, and we at
the same moment heard the game start. We rushed on
as fast as possible, for they had not seen or winded us,
and might possibly think the noise proceeded merely
from the ice falling in, .as it often does when suspended

CARIBOO HUNTING. 159

over water and laden with snow. Presently the tracks
showed they were walking, and on entering a thick
covert of young spruces, whose lower branches, thickly
covered with snow, prevented our seeing far ahead, the
Indian said, “'There—fire !” and a bounding form or two
flashed through an opening in the bush with such
rapidity that we could scarcely say that we had seen
them. Our barrels were levelled and discharged, but, as
might be expected, without effect. The deer had been
lying down, and had seen our legs under the lower
branches before the Indian was aware of their pre-
sence. »

Williams said, “I ’most afraid we couldn’t get shot.
Caliboo very hard to creep when shiftin’ their ground :
don’t stop and feed much, and when they lie down they
watchin’ all the time, and then up agen ’most directly.
I know them caliboo makin’ for some big barrens, five or
six mile away.” .

We then turned back to the northward, and, recrossing
the road, made for the barrens where my dead cariboo
were lying. The place was marked by the great pile of
snow which we had shovelled over them, and by the
skins suspended on a rampike hard by ; no wild animals
had disturbed the meat, though great numbers of moose-
birds and jays were screaming around, apparently dis-
tressed that the fresh snow had covered up their little
pickings in the shape of offal, which had been left around.
Here we sat down on a log, after clearing off the snow,
to eat our biscuit and broach the flasks (for we had
trudged many miles since breakfast, and the sun was
past the south)—the Indian, always restless, and perhaps
anxious to take a survey of the country unimpeded by

160 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

followers, going off towards the greenwoods, distant a few
hundred yards, munching as he went.

“A capital fellow is old John,” said I to my comrade.
“Tl bet you what you like he comes back with some
news. I’ve often seen him go off in this manner whilst
you are eating, or resting, or smoking, and ‘uncertain —
what to do, and come back in half an hour or so, appa-
rently having learnt more of the whereabouts of the game
than he had when in your company during the whole
morning’s hunt.”

We were not detained very long, however—indeed,

had hardly finished the biscuit—when, on looking to- ~~

wards the edge of the forest, which he had entered a few
minutes previously, we saw John emerge, and make his
‘way back to us with unusual celerity ; and, seeing there
was game afoot, we picked up the guns and advanced to
meet him.

‘Come on,” says John, “just see three or four of ’em
walking quietly along inside the woods—didn’t start ’em,
I guess. Be easy, now; lots of time.” And off we go
after John, as quietly as he would have us, and soon find
the track of the cariboo. John leads rapidly forward,
bending almost double to get a glimpse of them through
the branches ahead ; but no, they have left the woods,
and taken to the open again, and we follow into a swamp
thickly sprinkled with little fir trees of about our own
height. The bog is very wet, having never frozen, and
we sink up to our knees in the swamp, through the
wet surface-snow, withdrawing our feet and legs at each
step, with a noise like drawing a cork. It is hard work
getting along, and already we are rather out of breath ;
but we must keep on, for cariboo are smart walkers, and

CARIBOO HUNTING. 161

until they come to a place where they have an inclination
to loiter and browse, are apt to lead one a dance for many
hours, particularly when they have taken a notion to
shift their country. Ha! there goes one of them ; his
black muzzle and dusky back just showing above the
bushes at the further end of the swamp—and another,
and another. “Bang” goes a barrel a-piece from each
of us (we are in échelon), and the nearest one falters,
either wounded or confused, as they sometimes become
by the firmg. He is again making off, and passing an
opening ; the other guns floundering forward in hopes of
getting nearer, when, steadying myself, and taking good
aim, he falls instantaneously to my second barrel. John,
with a yell, rushes up, and getting astride of the
struggling beast, quickly terminates his existence with
his long hunting-knife. It was a fine doe cariboo, with
a very dark hide, and in fair condition. The others
having never been fairly within shot, we were satisfied,
and after the usual process returned to camp, our path
being enlivened by the bright rays of a lovely moon,
We all agreed that no finer sport could be obtained
amongst the larger game than cariboo-shooting. This
deer is so wary, such a constant and fast traveller, and
so quick in getting up and bounding out of range when
started in the woods, that an aim as rapid and true as in
cock-shooting is required ; and, when he is down, every
pound of the meat repays for backing it out of the woods,
being, in my opinion, far finer wild meat than any other
venison I have tasted.

The next day I walked with the other Indian (Noel)
to the Buctouktéegun plains, some ten miles distant from

our camp—great plains of miles and miles in extent,
M

162 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

covered with little islands of dwarf spruces of a few feet
in height. This is a great place of resort for cariboo ;
they come out from the forest on to the plains on fine —
sunny mornings, and scrape up the snow to get at the
moss. Having passed a night in a lumberer’s camp, we
proceeded next morning to the plains, which the Indian
would scan from a tall spruce, to see if there were game
on them; and having bagged my cariboo, and given
part of it to the lumberers, who seemed very thankful,
we made up the hind quarters and hide into two loads,
and arrived in camp the same evening. My companion,
whose shots I had heard the day previous, had had ~
excellent sport on the barrens, having killed four cariboo;
and the following day I killed a magnificent buck, which
- weighed nearly four hundred-weight, after a long chase
of six miles through the green woods from the spot
where I had first wounded him, the Indian (it was
Williams) keeping on his track, though it had passed
through multitudes of others, with unerring perseverance.
Then comes the hauling out the meat. Old H , the
last settler, whose house is not far from our camp, is sent
for, and contracts for the job, and one fine morning his
voice, as he urges on his patient bullocks towards the
camp, and the grating of the sled upon the snow, are
heard as we sit at breakfast. Leaving his team munch-
ing an armful of hay in the path, he comes to the camp |
door, and, pushing aside the blanket which covers the
entrance, accosts us,—

“ Morning, gents. Ah! Ingines, how d’ye make out—
most ready to start? We've got a tidy spell to go for
the cariboo by all accounts, and my team aint noways
what you may call strong. However, I suppose we must

CARIBOO HUNTING. 163

manage it somehow, and accommodate a gentleman like
you appear to be.”

“All right, my good man, we are ready; and John
and Noel will go ahead and haul out the cariboo from
the barren to the road ;” and off we go, a merry party,
following the ox sled, whilst the old settler shouts un-
ceasingly to his cattle, “ Haw! Bright—Gee ! Diamond ;
what are ye ‘bout there, ye lazy beasts?” and the great
strong animals go steadily forward, occasionally bringing
their broad foreheads in violent contact with a tree ; but
_ proceeding, on being set right, with perfect unconcern,
till we come to the edge of the barren. Here the Indians
had already hauled out two of the cariboo by straps
fastened to the horns, drawing the carcases easily over
the surface of the snow, and in a couple of hours we were
again en route for home, with everything packed up,
ouns in case, and nine cariboo as trophies.

The frozen carcases were pitched down into the hold of
the little schooner, the same one which had brought us
across before; and in a few hours, with a fresh breeze
following us, we grated safely through the floating field
of ice which nearly blocked up the basin of Minas, and
landed at Windsor, Nova Scotia, and so to Halifax.

M 2

CHAPTER VII.

LAKE DWELLERS.

Seen aan
THE BEAVER.

TE number and extent of its lakes, scattered through-
out the extent of this picturesque province, invariably
-surprise the visitor to Nova Scotia. Of every variety of
size and form, and generally containing groups of little
wooded islands, they occupy almost every hollow, and, |
often connected, stretch away in long chains through the
interior, presenting the most charming scenery to those
who seek sport or the picturesque through the back
country. Lake Rossignol, in the western portion of the
province, is the largest ; the waters which pass through
it rise near Annapolis on the Bay of Fundy, and,
accumulating in a long series of lakes, issue from Rossig-
nol as a large river which falls into the Atlantic at the
town of Liverpool. By this line of water communication,
almost crossing the province, the most secluded recesses.
of the wild country can be reached by means of the
Indian canoe, an easy and delightful mode of progression
on the smooth lake, though it involves some danger
among the rocks and rapids of the river, which, if insur-
mountable, entail the “portage,” and a weary tramp,

ea

LAKE DWELLERS. 165

perhaps, through a long stretch of forest with canoe,
commissariat, and luggage.

To the eye of the naturalist one of the most interesting
points in connection with the chain of lakes referred to
is, that on their banks are the houses of the few families
of beaver left in the province; for though their works
and the fruit of their labours attest their presence
formerly in every direction, not a beaver exists from the
Port Medway River—afew miles eastward of the
Rossignol waters—and the eastern end of Cape Breton.
This animal was formerly abundant throughout the
British Provinces, and a large portion of the United
States, from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, and would
ere this have totally disappeared from the maritime
provinces, but for the caprice of fashion in hats which,
substituting silk for the beaver-nap, arrested its destruc-

tion, and thereby, as Mr. Marsh suggests, in “ Man and

Nature,” involved possible alterations in the physical
features of a continent. Nova Scotia abounds in all the
conditions necessary to its existence—rivers, brooks and
swampy lakes—and its former abundance is attested by
the prevalence of such names as “ Beaverbank,” “ Beaver
Harbour,” and the numerous “Beaver Lakes” and
“Beaver Rivers” scattered round the Province. The
market being so near, and its haunts so accessible and
easy of observation, it is surprising that its extermination
in this part of America has not been long since effected.
Indeed, the animal now appears to be on the increase.

In past times, undoubtedly, the beaver has had much
to do with the formation of the “wild meadows,” as
they are locally termed, which are of frequent occurrence
in the backwoods, and from which the settler draws

166 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

plentiful supplies for feeding his stock in winter, and the
following was evidently the process. Wherever a brook
trickled through a valley, the beaver would bar its course
by its strong compact dam, thus securing sufficient back-
water to form a pond, on the edge of which to build its
dome-shaped house. Large spaces in the woods thus
became inundated, the drowned trees fell and decayed,
and freshets brought accessions of soil from the hills.
At length the pond filled up, and the colony migrated,
or were exterminated, The water drained through the
unrepaired dam; and on the fine alluvial soil exposed,
sprang up those rich waving fields of wild grass, monu-
ments of the former industry of the beaver, and now a
source of profit to its thankless destroyers.

To return, however, to Lake Rossignol and its beavers.
Attracted thither by the charms of a canoe voyage on the
lakes at the commencement of the glorious fall, and
anxious to inspect the houses and dams of these curious
animals, we hired our two frail barks and the services of
three Indians at the town of Liverpool, Nova Scotia, and,
avoiding the ascent of the rapid river as too arduous a
mode of access, sent canoes and luggage by a cross road.
to a line of waters which flowed evenly into the great
lake, and where we embarked for our explorations. The
following notes from my Camp Journal will give a nar- .
ration of our observations and progress :-—

“ AUGUST 28.

“ Encamped comfortably in a cove of the second lake
of the Rossignol Chain, which was reached late in the
evening, vid the Sixteen-Mile Lakes, where the canoes
were embarked. ‘The unwonted exercise of the first long
day’s paddling has somewhat unsteadied the hand for

Se
nS ac a ag

LAKE DWELLERS. 167

writing up the notes. The scenery on the above-named
lakes very pretty, and the water in good order for canoe-
ing, a light breeze following us and cooling the air.
Lunched on an island, and, leaving the lakes, entered a
small rapid stream. Here the shade of the maples, which
completely overhung the brook, was most grateful, and
the light green of the sunlit foliage reflected in the water,
with masses of king-fern, and a variety of herbaceous
plants growing luxuriously on the banks, grey rock

_ boulders with waving crowns of polypodium rising from

the stream, and reflected on its smooth though swiftly-
gliding surface, and the moss-covered stems of fallen
trees which continually bridged it over, formed an ever-
changing panorama, which evoked many expressions of
delight as we quietly glided down the brook—a beau-
tiful realisation of Tennyson’s idyll. The water was
clear as crystal, and covered golden gravel, and there
were frequent ‘silvery water-breaks,’ caused by trout
jumping at the multitudes of small blue and green
ephemerze which danced above. Here we first saw the
works of beaver. Pointing towards the bank, on sud-
denly rounding a turn in the brook, our head Indian
Glode whispered, ‘There beaver-house ;’ and we held
by a’projecting rock to examine the structure for a few

- moments. I confess I was disappointed. Instead of the

regular mud-plastered dome I had expected and seen
depicted in all works of natural history, the house
appeared merely as an irregular pile of barked sticks,
very broad at the base compared with its height, and
looking much like a gigantic crow’s nest inverted, and
formed without any apparent design. It was in present
occupation, for the tall surrounding fern was beaten

168 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

down all around. ‘All pretty much same,’ said Glode
in answer to our question, as we again dropped down
the stream. Presently the rippling of water ahead
showed a slight fall, and on arriving at the spot the bow
of the canoe grated on submerged bushes. It was the
dam—always placed below—belonging to the house, and
was evidently in course of construction, a process which
we were unavoidably compelled to defer, by standing on
a flat rock, and, hauling out bushes by the armful, to
open a passage for the canoes. Several other houses
were passed, at intervals, of about a quarter of a mile, all
similar in appearance, and some of great size. Our
anxiety to get to the big lake prevented us, however,
from examining the structure closely. On this brook I
‘first saw the blossoms and tendrils of a beautiful climb-
ing plant which grew up luxuriantly amongst the bushes,
and encircled small stems to a considerable height—the
Indian potato-plant (Apios tuberosa)—one of the sources

of food used by the old Indians before they left the woods

and their forest fare for the neighbourhood of civilization,
and adopted its food, clothing, and depraving associa-
tions. The flowers are like those of the sweet pea, and
arranged in a whorl, possessing a pleasant though rather
faint smell. The cluster of bulbs at its root, called
potatoes, are of about the average size of small new
potatoes, and have a flavour like a chestnut.”

I'wo or three miles further, through an open country
covered with the bleached stems of a burnt forest,
brought us to the middle lake of the Rossignol Chain,
which we quickly crossed to camp.

On the following afternoon we entered Rossignol after

some rather stiff paddling. ‘Two large lakes, affording

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LAKE DWELLERS. 4 169

no shelter of rocks or islands, were crossed in the teeth
of a strong breeze, and the bows of our canoes were fre-
quently overtopped by the waves. For security the
paddlers crouched in the bottom instead of sitting, as is
usual, on the thin strips of ash which constitute the
thwarts in the bow and stern. Perfect in symmetry,
and capable of conveying four persons, the canoes were
of the smallest construction compatible with safety on
the rapid river or its broad lakes. They were eighteen feet
in length, and weighed but sixty pounds each. From an
end-on point of view, the paddlers seemed supported by
almost nothing—the bark sides projecting but a few
inches beyond the breadth of their bodies, and the oun-
wale nearly flush with the water. But we were “old
hands,” and were determined to camp that night on the
big lake ; and the light barks, impelled by strokes which
made the handles of the paddles bend like reeds, forged
ahead through chopping seas till we reached the shelter
of the rocky islands at the foot of Lake Rossignol. Here
the lakes were connected by a rapid run, where, beaching
the canoes, we enjoyed capital trouting for a couple of
hours—killing over five dozen fish averaging one pound
—and dined on shore, picking a profuse dessert of blue
and huckle berries. A glorious view was unfolded as we
left the run and entered the still water of the lake. The
breeze fell rapidly with the sun, and enabled us to steer
towards the centre, from which alone the size of the lake
could be appreciated, owing to the number of its islands.
These were of every imaginable shape and size—from the
grizzly rock bearing a solitary stunted pine, shaggy with
Usnea, to those of a mile in length, thickly wooded with
maple, beech, and birches, now wearing the first pure

170 “FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

tints of autumnal colour. From near its centre was un-
folded a -view of the greatest expanse of water. The
distant shores were enveloped in haze, but appeared.
fringed with a dark fir forest to the water’s edge. Here
and there a bright spot of white sand formed a beach
tempting for a disembarkation; and frequent sylvan
scenes of an almost fairy-land character opened up as
we coasted along the shores—little harbours almost
closed-in from the lake, overgrown with water-lilies,
arrow-heads, and other aquatic plants, with mossy banks
backed by bosky groves of hemlocks ; cool retreats which
the soft moss covering the soil, and the perfect shade of
the dense foliage overhead, indicated as most desirable
spots for camping. The wild ery of the loon resounded ~
-all over the lake, and mergansers and black ducks
wheeled overhead as they left their feeding-grounds for
their accustomed resting-places. Only one sight re-
minded us of civilization. On the crest of a distant
hill, the rays of the setting sun lighted on a little patch of
cleared ground and glanced on the window of a solitary
dwelling. Our Indians said it was a settler’s house in New
Caledonia, on the forest road from Liverpool to Annapolis.

Warned at length by the mellowing light which
seemed to blend lake and sky into one, we steered the
canoes into a sheltered cove, and lighted our first camp
fire on the shores of Lake Rossignol. ‘This was our head-
quarters ; and here for a week we gave ourselves up to
the dreamy pleasures of a life in the woods, Our easy
mode of travel enabling us to take every desirable luxury,
we ate our trout with Worcester sauce, and baked our
bread in an Indian oven ; we fished in the runs, bathed
in the sandy coves, visited and were visited. by the lum-

Soe athe, ee ee ae eee Cinema’ WA soo

ae oo dh
all a Tees

LAKE DWELLERS. 171

berers, who were rafting their logs down to the sea, and
made frequent excursions up the affluent waters of the
lake in search of beavers and their works. With regard
to the latter, I will here again introduce a few pages of
my journal :—
“ AuGuST 30TH.

“A bright morning, very hot. After breakfast as-
cended the Tobiaduc stream at the north-west end of
the lake. Here the scenery becomes very beautiful. The

‘river is broad and still ; the woods on either side much

inundated ; and the maple brightly coloured with orange
and scarlet-—probably more from unhealthiness produced
by the high water than by early frosts. Pass some
exquisite island scenery ; the reflections perfect. A
snake swims across under the bows of my canoe, its
head carried an inch above the surface. Passing a steep
bank, a beaver rushes out of a dense patch of king-fern,
and takes to the water with a plunge ; and we follow his
track, faintly indicated on the surface, towards an old
beaver-house a few rods up stream. ‘I heard him dove,’
observed Glode, on arriving : the animal had mistrusted
the strength of his fortress ; and pursuit was hopeless.

“ Hive or six miles from the lake, we come to the ecar-
rying place or portage, whence a woodland path leads by
a short cut to Tobiaduc lake, and saves many a mile of
heavy poleing against the rapids of the river. The road
lay through a dark mossy forest of hemlocks, soft and
pleasant walking when unencumbered by loads, but very
fatiguing under the weight of canoes and all the para-
phernalia of a camp. ‘Indian mile, long and narrer,
drily observed old Glode, on our casual inquiry as to
how much further we had to trudge. The forest gloom

172 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

at length lightens, and the gleam of water ahead brings
us to the Tobiaduc lakes, where a couple of ruffed grouse,
shot en route, were cooked @ la spatch-cock, and we
dined on a service of birch-bark dishes.

“Late in the afternoon, our canoes, leaving the lakes,
entered the Tobiaduc brook, a picturesque stream similar
to the sixteen-mile brook before mentioned. The lovely
scenery of these forest streams must be seen to be fully
appreciated. The foliage in spots is almost tropical ;
wild vines and creepers crowd the water's edge, with
towering clumps ef royal fern (Osmunda regalis) ; airy
oroves of birches with stems of purest white are suc- —
ceeded by fir-woods, under which the graceful moose-—
wood and swamp maple brighten the gloom as their
- broad leaves catch the sunlight; the pigeon berry

(Cornus canadensis) bedizens the moss with its well-
contrasting clumps of scarlet berries ; and great boulders
of grey rock, circled over with concentric lichens, moss
covered, and their crannies filled with pollypods and
oak-fern, overhang the water in stern and solitary gran-
deur. Every rock projecting from the stream is seized
upon by moss, whence grow a few ferns or seedling .
maples ; and the play of the sunlight as it breaks
through the arched foliage above and lights up these
little groups produces most exquisite effects. This is the
home of the beaver and the kingfisher. The ferns and
grasses on the banks are trodden down by the former
in its paths, and the latter flits from bush to bush with
loud rattling screams as the canoe invades its piscatorial
domains.

“ At length there was an obstruction in the stream over
which the waters fell evenly. It was a beaver-dam—a

BEAVER-DAM ON THE TOBIADUC.

a en ee ee “
. > ’

LAKE DWELLERS. 173

solid construction of interwoven bushes and poles, dam-
ming up the water behind to a height of between three
and four feet, and completely altering the features of the
brook, which from this point was all still water. We
landed on the top to open out a portion, and therehy
facilitate the’ canoes being lifted over. Some of the
work was quite fresh, and green leaves tipped the ends
of projecting branches ; whilst on the shore lay a pile of
water-rotted material that had been removed, and evi-
dently considered unserviceable, Stones and mud were
plentifully intermixed with the bushes, which were
mostly cut into lengths of twelve to eighteen feet, and
woven together across the stream. The top, which
would support us all without yielding, was about two
feet broad, and the dam thickened below the surface.
Some stout bushes leaned against the construction in
front. They were planted in the bed of the stream;
and, as Glode said, were used as supports in making the
dam. Above was a long meadow of wild grass to which
the white gaunt stems of dead pines, drowned ages since
by the heightened level of the stream, imparted a deso-
late appearance, and near the head of which the beavers

had their habitations.”

This dam, and one or two others which I had an
opportunity of observing, was built straight across the
stream, but it is a well authenticated fact that in larger
works, where the channel is broader, and liable to heavy
waters, the dam is made convex to the current. Some-
times a small island in the centre is taken advantage of,
and the dam built out to it from either bank, as in-
stanced by a very large one noticed on the Sable river, a
few miles west of Rossignol, where the sticks used in its

174 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

construction were often three inches in diameter, and the
country above, on either side, flooded to the extent of
nearly two fect, covering about one thousand acres of
meadow land. These dams possess great strength and
durability. In old and deserted works trees spring from
the soil, which is plentifully mixed with the brushwood
and grass covers the embankment.* Many such monu-
ments of the former labours of the beaver are to be seen
in Nova Scotia, in districts long since untenanted.

As the beaver residing on the lakes does not build a
dam in the vicinity of his dwelling, the reason of the
strong instinct implanted in this animal to produce these
marvellous constructions under other circumstances be- —
comes apparent.t Whenever, from the situation or nature
of the water, there is a probability of the supply becom-
ing shortened by drought, and to ensure sufficient water
‘to enter his dwelling from beneath the ice in winter, the
beaver constructs a dam below to maintain the supply of
water necessary to meet either of these contingencies.
In former years, when beaver abounded in all parts of

* Mr. Thompson, whose writings are preserved in Canada as most valuable
and authentic, speaking of a beaver-dam which he saw, states: “On a fine
afternoon in October, 1794, the leaves beginning to fall with every breeze,
my guide informed me that we should have to pass over a long beaver-dam.
I naturally expected that we should have to lead our horses carefully over it.
When we came to it, we found it a stripe of apparently old solid ground,
covered with short grass, and wide enough for two horses to walk abreast.
The lower side showed a descent of seven feet, and steep, with a rill of
water from beneath it ; the side of the dam next the water was a gentle
slope. To the southward was a sheet of water of about one mile and a half
square, surrounded by low grassy banks. The forests were mostly of poplar
and aspen, with numerous stumps of the trees cut down, and partly carried
away by the beavers. In two places of this pond were a cluster of beaver-
houses like miniature villages.”

+ I have, however, seen the outlet of very small lakes dammed up,
evidently to raise the level of the surface to some eligible site near the
. Inargin, which has offered some advantage or other.

ge ee a

LAKE DWELLERS. 175

the Province, it is evident from the numerous beaver
meadows now left dry, that they took advantage not
only of valleys traversed by small brooks, but even of
swampy lands occasionally inundated by heavy rains.
The beaver-house is constructed of the same materials
as the dam. Branches of trees and bushes, partially
trimmed and closely interwoven, are mixed with stones,
gravel or mud, according to the nature of the soil; and
on the outside are strewed the barked sticks of willow,
poplar, or birch, on which the animal feeds. As before
stated, it looks like a huge bird’s nest, turned upside
down, and is generally located in the grassy coves of
lakes, by the edge of still-water runs or of artificial
ponds, and, less frequently, by a river side, where a bend
or jutting rocks afford a deep eddying pool near the
bank. The house rests on the bank, but always overlaps
the water, into which the front part is immersed ; and,
as a general rule, the bottom of the stream or lake is
deepened in the channel approaching the entrance by
dredging, thereby ensuring a free passage below the ice.
In these channels or canals, easily found by probing
with the paddle, the hunter sets his iron spring-traps.
The following passages from my camp notes describe the
construction of the beaver-house, as shown in all the
habitations which we examined in these waters :—

“Foot or Rossteanon, September 4.
““Camped on a beautiful spot, the effluence of the
river from the lake, in Indian parlance, the ‘ seeedwick,’
always a favourite camping ground. It was a decided
oak opening, an open grove of white oaks, with a soft
sward underneath ; the trees were grouped as in a park,

176 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

A few low islands covered with ferns partially broke the
breadth of the river, which here left the smooth expanses
of the lake on its race to the Atlantic, about twenty
miles below; and here our rods bent incessantly over
the struggles of trout, frequently two at a time. We
intend staying here several days to rest after the long
weary journey up and down the Tobiaduc stream ; and
as it is now September, a brace or two of ruffed grouse, or
even a moose steak, may add to our hitherto scanty forest
fare of porcupine and trout. Beneath these white oaks
repose the sires of the Micmacs of this district; it was
once a populous village, of which the only remaining ~
tokens are the swelling mounds covered with fern, and
the plentiful bones, the produce of the chase, scattered
_ over the ground. Our canoe-men seemed quite subdued,
perhaps a little overcome by superstitious awe on pitch-
ing our camp here on the site of their ancestors’ most
favoured residence. With a road through to the town
of Liverpool, this lovely spot will one day, ere long,
become a thriving settlement. I would desire no more
romantic retreat were I to become a settler ; but always
bear in mind the lesson inculcated for all intending mili-
tary settlers who may be carried away by their enthu-
siasm for the picturesque scenery of the summer and fall
in Nova Scotia, to try their luck away back from civyili-
zation, in the well-told and pathetic story of ‘ Cucumber
Lake, by Judge Haliburton. To-day Glode and I walked
back from the lake about three miles, through thick
woods, to see a beaver-house on a brook of which he
knew. We found it without difficulty, as the grass and —
fern for some distance below was much trodden down,
and proceeded to make a careful investigation of its

LAKE DWELLERS. 177

structure. Its site was a dismal one. The surrounding
forest had been burnt ages since, for there was no char-
coal left on the stems, which were bleached and hard as
adamant. A few alders, swamp maples, and _briers
fringed the brook, the banks of which were overgrown
with tall grass, flags, and royal fern. Moose had re-
cently passed through, browsing on the juicy stems of
the red maples. It was a large house ; its diameter at
the water line nearly eighteen feet, and it was nearly
five feet in height. On the outside the sticks were
thrown somewhat loosely, but, as we unpiled them and
examined the structure more closely, the work appeared
better, the boughs laid more horizontally, and firmly
bound in with mud and grass. About two feet from the
top we unroofed the chamber, and presently disclosed the
interior arrangements.

“The chamber—there was but one—was very low,
scarcely two feet in height, though about nine feet in
diameter. It had a gentle slope upwards from the water,
the margin of which could be just seen at the edge.
There were two levels inside, one, which we will. term
the hall, a sloping mudbank on which the animal emerges
from the subaqueous tunnel and shakes himself, and the
other an elevated bed of boughs ranged round the back
of the chamber, and much in the style of a guard-bed—
2.e., the sloping wooden trestle usually found in a military
guard-room. The couch was comfortably covered with
lengths of dried grass and rasped fibres of wood, similar
to the shavings of a toy-broom. The ends of the timbers
and brushwood, which projected inwards, were smoothly
gnawed off all round. There were two entrances—the
one led into the water at the edge of the chamber and

N

178 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

let in the light, the other went down at a deeper angle
into black water. ‘The former was evidently the summer
entrance, the latter being used in winter to avoid the
ice. The interior was perfectly clean, no barked sticks
(the refuse of the food) being left about. These were all
distributed on the exterior, a fact which accounts for the
bleached appearance of many houses we have seen. In —
turning over the materials of the house, I picked up
several pieces of wood of but two or three inches in
length, which from their shortness puzzled me as to the
wherefore of so much trouble being taken by the beaver
for so (apparently) small a purpose. My Indian, how-
ever, enlightened me. ‘The side on which a young tree
is intended to fall is cut through, say two-thirds, the
_ other side one-third, and a little above. The tree slips
off the stem, but will not fall prostrate, owing to the
‘intervention of branches of adjacent trees. So the beaver
has to gnaw a little above to start it again, exactly on
the plan adopted by the lumberer in case of a catch
amongst the upper branches, when the impetus of another
slip disengages the whole tree. The occupants of the
house were out for the day, as they generally are
throughout the summer, being engaged in travelling up
and down the brooks, and cutting provisions for the
winter’s consumption. Returning to camp by another
route through the woods, we had to cross a large wild
meadow now inundated—a most disagreeable walk
through long grass, the water reaching above the knees.
At the foot, where Glode said a little sluggish brook ran
out, we found a beaver-dam in process of construction—
the work quite fresh, and accounting for the inundation
of the meadow above.”

ry

ate A Pee Pe

‘i n.2 Se ea & ——s

ie

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LAKE DWELLERS. 179

“SEPTEMBER 5.

“Glode and I tried creeping moose, back in the woods,
this morning, but without success. No wind and an
execrable country ; all windfalls and thick woods, or else
burnt barrens. Follow fresh tracks of an enormous bull,
but are obliged to leave them for want of a breeze to
cloak our somewhat noisy advance amongst the tall
huckleberry bushes. Indians are particularly averse to
starting game when there is no chance of killing. It
scares the country unnecessarily. Disturb a bear revel-
ling amongst the berries, and hear him rush off in a
thick swamp. Lots of bear signs everywhere in these
woods. In the evening proceed up the lake with one of
the canoes. The water calm, and a most lovely sunset.
Passing a dark grove of hemlocks, we hear two young
bears calling to one another with a sort of plaintive moan.
The old ones seldom cry out, being too knowing and
ever on the watch. At the head of a grassy cove stood
a large beaver-house ; and, as it was now the time of day
for the animals to swim round and feed amongst the
yellow water-lilies, we concealed ourselves and canoe
amongst the tall grass for the purpose of watching.
But for the mosquitoes, which attacked us fiercely,
it was a most enjoyable evening. The gorgeous sunset
reflected in the lake vied with the shadows of the crim-
son: maples; and every bank of woods opposed to the
sun was suffused with a rich orange hue. The still air
bore to our ears the sound of a fall into the lake, some
three miles away, as if it were close by, and the ery of
the loon resounded in every direction. Wood-ducks and
black ducks flew past in abundance, and within easy

range of our hidden guns ;. and long diverging trails in the
N 2

180 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

mirror-like surface showed the passage of otter or musk-
rats over the lake. Presently the water broke some sixty
yards from us, and the head and back of a beaver
showed above the surface, whilst another appeared almost
simultaneously farther off. After a cautious glance
around, the animal dived again with a roll like that
of a porpoise, reappearing in a few minutes. He was
feeding on the roots of the yellow lilies (Nuphar advena).
Probably three minutes elapsed during each visit to the
bottom. Taking advantage of one of these intervals,
the Indians pushed the canoe from the concealment
of the grass, and with a few noiseless yet vigorous
strokes of the paddle made towards the spot where we
supposed the animal would rise. As the head reappeared,
-we let fly with the rifle, but missed the game, the report
echoing from island to island, and evoking most discordant
yells from the loons far and near. Of course we had
seen all that was to be seen of the animals for the
night ; ‘and so,’ as Mr. Pepys would say, ‘disconsolate
back to camp.’”

During the excursion we had opportunities of examining
many beaver-houses, placed in every variety of situation
—by the lake shore, by the edge of sluggish “ still
waters,’ on the little forest brook, or on the brink of
the rapid river. They all presented a similar appear-
ance—equally rough externally, and all similarly con-
structed inside. Neither could we observe anything
like a colony of beavers, their houses grouped in close
proximity, as so frequently noticed by travellers. The
beaver of Eastern. America appears, indeed, quite un-
sociable in comparison with his brethren of the West.
We saw none but isolated dwellings either on lake or

=

i lit 8k see IN

ee re

LAKE DWELLERS. 181

river-shore, and these placed at several hundred yards
apart from each other.

With respect to the number of animals living together
in the same house, our Indians, who had lived in this
neighbourhood and hunted beaver from their youth,
corroborated the fact, often stated by naturalists, of
three generations living together—the old pair, the last
progeny, and the next eldest (they generally have two
at a birth) ; the latter leaving every summer to set up
for themselves.

At the time of our visit the beavers were returning
from the summer excursions up and down the rivers, and
setting to work to repair damages both to houses and
dams. This work is invariably carried on during the night ;
and the following is the modus operandi :—Repairing
to the thickets and groves skirting the lake, the beaver,
squatting on his hams, rapidly gnaws through the stems
of trees of six or even twelve inches diameter, with its
powerful incisors. These are again divided, and dragged
away to the house or dam. The beaver now plunges into
the water, and brings up the mud and small stones from
the bottom to the work in progress, carrying them closely
under the chin in its fore paws. The vulgar opinion that
the broad tail of the beaver was used to plaster down the
mud in its work, has long since been pronounced as erro-_
neous. Its real use is evidently to counterpoise, by an
action against the water in an upward direction, the
tendency to sink head foremost (which the animal would
otherwise have) when propelling itself through the water
by its powerful and webbed hind feet, and at the same
time supporting the load of mud or stones in its fore
paws under the chin. Our Indians laughed at the idea

182 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

of the trowel story. That, and the assertion that the
tail is likewise used as a vehicle for materials, may be
considered as exploded notions.

The food of the beaver consists of the bark of several
varieties of willow, of poplar, and birch; they also feed
constantly durmg summer on the roots and tendrils of
the yellow pond lily (Nuphar advena). They feed in the
evening and throughout the night. For winter supplies
the saplings of the above-mentioned trees are cut into
lengths of two or three feet, and planted in the mud
outside the house. Lengths are brought in and the bark
devoured in the hall, never on the couch, and when
peeled, the sticks are towed outside and used in the spring
to repair the house.

The house is approached from the water by long
trenches, hollowed out to a considerable depth in the
bottom of the lake or brook. In these are piled their
winter stock of food, short lengths of willow and poplar,
which, if left sticking in the mud at the ordinary level of
the bottom below the surface, would become impacted in
the ice. The beaver travels a long distance from his
house in search of materials, both for building and food.
I saw the stumps of small trees, which had been felled at
least three-quarters of a mile from the house. Their
towing power in the water, and that of traction on dry
land, is astonishing. The following is rather a good
story of their coolness and enterprise, told me by a friend,
who was a witness to the fact. It occurred at a little
lake near the head waters of Roseway river. Having
constructed a raft for the purpose of poling round the
edge of the lake, to get at the houses of the beaver, which
were built in a swampy savannah otherwise inaccessible,

LAKE DWELLERS. 183

it had been left in the evening moored at the edge of the
lake nearest the camps, and about a quarter of a mile
from the nearest beaver house, the poles lying on it.
Next morning, on going down to the raft the poles were
missing, so, cutting fresh ones, he started with the Indians
towards the houses. There, to his astonishment, was one
of the poles, coolly deposited on the top of a house.

Besides the house, the beaver has another place of
residence in the summer, and of retreat in the winter,
should his house be broken into. In the neighbourhood
of the house long burrows, broad enough for the beaver
to turn in with ease, extend from ten to twenty feet in
the bank, and have their entrance at a considerable depth
below the surface of the water. To these they invariably
fly when surprised in their houses.

One of the principal causes which have so nearly led
to the extermination of the beaver, was the former demand
for the castoreum, and the discovery that it could be used
as an unfailing bait for the animal itself. This substance
is contained in two small sacs near the root of the
tail, and is of an orange colour. Now seldom em-
ployed in pharmacology for its medicinal properties
(stimulant and anti-spasmodic), being superseded by
more modern discoveries, it is still used in trapping the
animal, as the most certain bait in existence.* It is said

* Erman thus notices it in his Siberian travels :—“ There is hardly any
drug which recommends itself to man so powerfully by its impression on
the external senses as this. The Ostyaks were acquainted with its virtues
from the earliest times ; and it was related here (Obdorsk) that they keep a
supply of it in every yurt, that the women may recover their strength more
quickly after child-birth. In like manner the Kobaks and Russian traders
have exalted the beaver-stone into a panacea.

“To the sentence ‘God arose, and our enemies were scattered,’ the Sibe-
rians add, very characteristically, the apocryphal interpolation, Cand we are
free from head-ache.’ To ensure this most desirable condition, every one

184 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

to be likewise efficacious in trapping the wild cat, which
is excessively fond of the odour. Mr. Thompson, a
Canadian writer, thus speaks of it :—“A few years ago
the Indians of Canada and New Brunswick, on seeing
the steel trap so successful in catching foxes and other
animals, thought of applying it to the beaver, instead of
the awkward wooden traps they made, which often failed.
At first they were set in the landing paths of the beaver,
with about four inches of water over them, and a piece
of green aspen for a bait, that would allure it to
the trap. Various things and mixtures of ingredients
were tried without success ; but chance made some try if
the male could not be caught by adding the castoreum,
beat up with the green buds of the aspen. A piece of
. willow about eight inches in length, beat and bruised
fine, was dipped -in this mixture. It was placed at the
water edge about a foot from the steel trap, so that the
beaver should pass direct over it and be caught. ‘This
trap proved successful ; but, to the surprise of the Indians,
the females were caught as well as the males. The secret
of this bait was soon spread ; every Indian procured from
the trader four to six steel traps ; all labour was now at an
end, and the hunter moved about with pleasure, with his
traps and infallible bait of castoreum. Of the infatuation
of this animal for castoreum I saw several instances. A
trap was negligently fastened by its small chain to the
stake, to prevent the beaver taking away the trap when
caught ; it slipped, and the beaver swam away with the
trap, and it was looked upon as lost. Two nights after

has recourse, at home or on his travels, and with the firmest faith, to two
medicines, and only two, viz., beaver-stone, or beaver efflux as it is here
called, and sal-ammoniac.”

ie a 4a

' LAKE DWELLERS. 185

he was taken in a trap, with the other trap fast on his
thigh. Another time a beaver, passing over a trap to get
the castoreum, had his hind leg broken ; with his teeth
he cut the broken leg off, and went away. We concluded
that he would not come again ; but two nights afterwards
he was found fast in a trap, in every case tempted by the
castoreum. ‘The stick was always licked or sucked clean,
and it seemed to act as a soporific, as they always re-
mained more than a day without coming out of their
houses.”

And yet the beaver is an exceedingly wary animal,
possessing the keenest sense of smell. In setting the
large iron traps, without teeth, which are generally used
in Nova Scotia, and placed in the paths leading from the
house to the grove where he feeds, so careful must be the
hunter not to leave his scent on the spot, that he gene-
rally cuts down a tree and walks on its branches towards
the edge of the path, afterwards withdrawing it, and
plentifully sprinkling water around.

The presence of the beaver in his snow-covered house
is readily detected by the hunter in winter by the appear-
ance (if the dwelling is tenanted) of what is called the

“smoke hole,’ a funnel-shaped passage formed by the

warm vapour ascending from the animals beneath.

With regard to specific distinction of the beavers of
America, Europe, and Asia, the remarks of Professor
Baird, of the Smithsonian Institute, in his report of the
mammals of the Pacific railroad routes, summing up the
evidence of naturalists on the comparative anatomy of
the Castors of the Old and New Worlds, appear worthy of
note as establishing a satisfactory result.

The question has been elaborately discussed, and the

186 FOREST LIFE IN ACADTE.

results of many comparisons show considerable difference
of arrangement of bones of the skull, a slight difference
as regards size and colour, and an important one as
regards both the form of the castoreum glands, and the
composition of the castoreum itself, Professor Owen,
Bach, and others agreeing on a separation of species.*
Hence, instead of being termed Castor Fiber (Var. Ameri-
canus), the American Beaver now, (and but recently),
is designated as Castor Canadensis, so termed rather than
C. Americanus, from the prior nomenclature of Kuhl.

THE MUSK RAT (Fiber Zibethicus of Cuvier) is so
like a miniature beaver, both in conformation and habit,
that Linnzeus was induced to class it amongst the Castors.
. Like that of the latter animal its tail is flattened, though
vertically and to a much less extent, and is proportionally
longer. It is oar-shaped, whilst the form of the beaver’s
tail has been aptly compared to the tongue of a mammal.
Both animals have the same long and lustrous brown-red
hair, with a thick undercoat of soft, downy fur, which, in
the musk rat, is of a blueish gray or ashes colour, in the
beaver ferruginous. The little sedge-built water hut of
the rat is similarly constructed to the beaver’s dome
of barked sticks and brushwood, and both have burrows
in the banks of the river side as summer resorts.

The range of the musk rat throughout North America
is co-extensive with the distribution of the beaver, and it

* Dr. Brandt, who has written a most elaborate exposition on the differ-
ences of the beavers of the Old and New Worlds, states the castoreum-bag
of the American to be more elongated and thinner skinned than that of the
European ; and that in the secretion of the latter species there is a much
larger proportion of etherial oil, castorine, and castoreum-resinoid.—Vide
Baird’s Mammals of Pacific Route.

oe Sie a) nel ny, lila he oA my 4
- on eee ieuns

LAKE DWELLERS. 187

still continues plentiful in Eastern America in spite of
the immense numbers of skins exported every year. The
Indians are ever on the look-out for them on the banks
of the alluvial rivers entering the Bay of Fundy, in which
they especially abound, and in every settler’s barn may be
seen their jackets expanded to dry.

Their little flattened oval nests, composed of bents
and sedges, are of frequent occurrence by lake margins ;
and very shallow grassy ponds are sometimes seen dotted
with them quite thickly. On the muddy banks of rivers
their holes are as numerous as those of the Europedn
water-rat, the entrance just under the surface of the
water, and generally marked by a profusion of the shells
of the fresh-water mussel. They are vegetable feeders,
with, I believe, this solitary exception, though I am sorry
to have to record, from my own experience, that can-
nibalism is a not unfrequent trait when in confinement.

To the canoe-voyageur, or the fisherman on the forest-
lakes, the appearance of the musk rat, sailing round in
the calm water on the approach of sunset, when in fine
summer weather the balmy west wind almost invariably
dies away and leaves the surface with faithful reflections
of the beautiful marginal foliage of the woods, is one of
the most familiar and pleasing sights of nature. Coming
forth from their home in some shady, lily-bearing cove,
they gambol round in the open lake in widening circles,
apparently fearless of the passing canoe, now and then
diving below the surface for a few seconds, and re-
appearing with that grace and freedom from splash, on
leaving and regaining the surface, which characterise the
movements both of this animal and of the beaver.

Travelling down the Shubenacadie and other gently-

188 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

running forest-streams in day-time, I have often seen
them crossing and re-crossing the surface in the quiet
reaches through dark overhanging woods, carrying in
their mouths pieces of bracken, probably to feed on the
stem, though it seemed as if to shade themselves from
the sunbeams glancing through the foliage.

The Micmac calls this little animal “ Kewesoo,” and is |
not impartial to its flesh, which is delicate, and not unlike
that of rabbit. |

I have heard of a worthy Catholic priest who most
conveniently adopted the belief that both beaver and
musk rat were more of a fishy than a fleshy nature, and
thus mitigated the rigours of a fast-day in the backwoods
by a roasted beaver-tail or savoury stew. By the Indians
. of Nova Scotia or New Brunswick the flesh of the former
animal is rarely tasted, but to the wilder hunters of New-
foundland it is the primest of forest meats. The musk
rat will readily swim up to the call of the hunter—a sort
of plaintive squeak made by chirping with the lips applied
to the hollow of closed hands. |

The acclimatisation of both these rodents in England ©
has been frequently advocated of late. In the case of
the beaver, which in historic times was an inhabitant of
Wales and Scotland, according to Giraldus, its introdue-
tion must be at the expense of modern cultivation, from
its tendency to destroy surrounding growths of young
forest trees, and-to make ponds and swamps of lands
already drained. The musk rat, | am inclined to think,
in concurrence with Mr. Crichton’s opinion, would prove
a valuable addition to the bank fauna of sluggish English

streams.
I have thus classed together as true lake dwellers these

LAKE DWELLERS. 189

two first-cousins, as they appear to be, the beaver and
the musk rat,* yet, as the heading is somewhat fanciful,
and my object is to notice the water-frequenting mam-
malia of the woods, I will proceed to mention other
animals which prowl round the margins of lakes or
brooks, more or less taking to the water, under the sub-
divisional title of “dwellers by lake shores.”

THE OTTER of Eastern America (Lutra Canadensis),
(there is a distinct species found on the Pacific slope,)
differs from the European animal in colour, size, and con-
formation. ‘The former is much the darkest coloured, a
peculiarity attached to many North American mammals
when compared with their Old-World congeners. It is
also the largest. Taken per se, but slight importance
would attach to such variations ; and it is on the grounds
of well-ascertained osteological differences only that the
separation of species in the case of both the beaver and
the otter of America has been agreed on.

The Canadian otter measures from nose to tip of tail,
in a large specimen, between four and a-half and five feet;
its colour is a dark chestnut brown or liver, and its fur is
very close and lustrous. Under the throat and belly it is
lighter, approaching to tawny. The breeding season is in
February and early March (of wild cat and fox, ibid), and
the she otter brings forth in May a litter of three or four
pups. The clear whistle of the otter is a very common
sound to the ear of the occupant of a fishing camp, and
the Indians frequently call them up by successful imita-
tion of their note. The skin is valuable and much sought

* The musk-rat is often found as an occupant of an old beaver-house
deserted by the latter animal.

190 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

after in the manufacture of muffs, trimmings, and espe-
cially of the tall ornamental fur caps generally worn as
part of the winter costume in Canada. ‘The price of the
skin varies according to season, good ones bringing from
four to six dollars each.

They are most frequently taken in winter by traps—
dead-falls placed over little forest brooks trickling be-
tween lakes, and steel-traps submerged at a hand’s
depth close to the bank, where they come out from
under the ice to their paths and “rubs.” These re-
sorts are readily detected by the tracks and stains on
the snow, and the smooth, shining appearance of the
frozen bank where they indulge in their curious amuse-
ment of sliding down, after the manner of the pas-
time termed in Canada “trebogining.” Even in con-
finement the animal is full of sport, and gambols

like a kitten. The term “otter-rub” is applied to the
place where they enter and leave the water, from
their habit of rubbing themselves, like a dog, against a
stump or root on emerging from the water. The
otter 1s a very wary animal, and | have rarely come
upon and shot them unawares, though in cruising up and
down runs in a canoe in spring I have often seen their
victims, generally a goodly trout, deserted on hearing the
dip of our paddles, and still floundering on theice. Fresh-
water fish, including trout, perch, eels and suckers, form
their usual food; they will also eat frogs. They have
paths through the woods from lake to lake, often ex-
tending over a very considerable distance, and the
shortest cuts that could be adopted—a regular bee-line,
Their track on the snow is most singular. After a yard
or two of foot impressions there comes a long, broad trail,

~~ ha

LAKE DWELLERS. 191

as if made by a cart-wheel, where the animal must have
thrown itself on its belly and slid along the surface for
several yards.

THE FISHER, Black Cat, or Pecan (Mustela Pen-
nantii), the largest of the tree martens, a somewhat
fox-like weasel, which lives almost constantly in trees,
is another dweller by lake shores, though not in the
least aquatic in its habits, and, not being piscivorous,
quite unentitled to the name first given. Its general
colour is dark brown with uncertain shades, a dorsal
line of black, shining hair reaching from the neck to the

extremity of the tail, The hair underneath is lighter,

with several patches of white. The eye is very large,
full and expressive.

The skin possesses about the same value as that of the
otter. Squirrels, birds and their eggs, rabbits and grouse,
contribute to its support. The Indians all agree as to its
alleged habit of attacking and killing the porcupine.
“The Old Hunter” informs me that “it is a well-known
fact that the fisher has been often—very often—trapped
with its skin and flesh so filled with quills of this animal
that it has been next to an impossibility to remove the
felt from the carcass. Im my wanderings in the woods in
winter time, I have three times seen, where they have
killed porcupine, nothing but blood, mess, and quills,
denoting that Mr. F. had partaken of his victim’s flesh. I
searched, but could not find any place where portions of
the animal might have been hidden; this would have
been a circumstance of course easy to ascertain on the
snow. Now what could have become of that for-
midable fighting tail and the bones? I know that a

192 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

small dog can neither crack the latter, nor those of
the beaver.”

Mr. Andrew Downs, the well-known Nova Scotian
practical naturalist, says he has often found porecu-
pine-quills in the fisher’s stomach on skinning the
animal.

The fisher is becoming rare in the forests of Acadie.
According to Dr. Gilpin, a hundred and fifty to two hun-
dred is the usual annual yield of skins in Nova Scotia,
and these chiefly come from the Cobequid range of hills
in Cumberland.

The length of the animal, tail included, is from forty
to fifty inches, of which the tail would. be about
eighteen. ’

THE MINK (Putorius vison, Aud. and Bach.) is much
“more a water-side frequenter than the last described
animal, and indeed is quite aquatic in its habits, being
constantly seen swimming in lakes like the otter, which
it somewhat resembles in its taste for fish and frogs.
The mink has, moreover, a strong propensity to maraud
poultry yards, and is trapped by the settler, not-only in
self-defence, but also on account of the two, three, or
even five dollars obtainable for a good skin. The general
colour is dark, reddish-brown, and the fur is much used
for caps, boas and muffs. It is a rich and beautiful fur,
finer though shorter than that of the marten.

The droppings of the mink may be seen on almost
every flat rock in the forest brook, and where their runs
approach the water's edge, perhaps leading through .a gap
between thickly-growing fir stems, are placed the nume-
rous traps devised to secure the prize by settlers and

LAKE DWELLERS, 193

Indians. Fish, flesh, or fowl alike may form the bait;
a piece of gaspereau, or the liver of a rabbit or porcupine,
is very enticing. With its half-webbed feet and aquatic
habits, the American mink appears to have a well-marked
European representative in the lutreola of Finland.

CHAPTER VIII.

CAVE LODGERS.

THE BLACK BEAR.

(Ursus Americanus, Pallas.)

THIs species has a most extensive range in North ©
America, is common in all wooded districts from the
. mouths of the Mississippi to the shores of Hudson’s

Bay, from the Labrador, Newfoundland, and the islands
of the Gulf, to Vancouver, and is found wherever
northern fir-thickets or the tangled cane-brakes of more
southern regions offer him a retreat.

In the Eastern woodlands the black bear (here the
sole representative of his genus) is the only large wild
animal that becomes offensive when numerous, as he is —
still in all the Lower Provinces. He is a continual source
of anxious dread to the settler, whose cattle, obliged to
wander into the woods to seek provender, often meet
their fate at the hands of this lawless freebooter, who
will also burglariously break into the settler’s barn, and,
abstracting sheep and small cattle, drag them off into
the neighbouring woods. And he is such an exceed-
ingly cunning, wide-awake beast that it is very seldom
he can be pursued and destroyed by the bullet, or
deluded into the trap or snare; and hence he is not

z
4
§

=

CAVE LODGERS. 195

so often killed as his numbers and bad character might
warrant.

Compared with the U. Arctos—the common brown
bear of Kurope—the black bear shows many well-marked
distinctions, the grizzly (U. horribilis) claiming a much
closer relationship with the former. Professor Baird
points, however, to important dental differences between
them ; and considers the invariably broader skulls of the
brown bear conclusive as to identity. Perhaps the
greater size of the grizzly might be merely regarded as
owing to geographical variation ; but, taken in conjunc-
tion with the above and other osteological differences,
and the longer claws and shorter ears of the American,
we can only regard them as representative species.

The black bear grows to some six feet in length. from
the muzzle to the tail (about two inches long), and
stands from three to three and a half feet in height at
the shoulder. ‘The general colour is a glossy black, the
sides of the muzzle pale brown; there is no wool at the
base of the hair. Jn many specimens observed in Nova
Scotia I have seen great differences both as regards
colour of the skin and length of leg—even in breadth of
the skulls. Some animals are brown all over, others glossy
black, and wanting the cinnamon patch at the muzzle.
There are long and low bears, whereas others have short

_ bodies and great length of limb. The settlers, of course,

as they do in the case of other animals, insist upon two
species: my own conclusion is that the species is very -
susceptible of variation. They have a mythical bear
called “the ranger,’ which does not hybernate, and is
known by length of limb, and a white spot on the breast.

This latter peculiarity I have seen in several skins, but
0 2

196 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

have only noticed tracks of bears on the snow. in winter,
when a sudden and violent rainstorm, or a prolonged
thaw has flooded their den, and sent them forth to look
for fresh shelter, as they cannot endure a wet bed during
hybernation.

The bear is very particular in choosing a comfortable
dormitory for his long winter's nap. In walking through —
the woods, you will find plenty of caves—likely looking
places for a bear’s den—but “ Bruin,” or rather “ Mooin,”
as the Indians call him (a name singularly like his Euro-
pean sobriquet in sound) would not condescend to use
one in a hundred, perhaps. He must have a nice dry ©
place, so arranged that the snow will not drift m on his |
back, or water trickle through; for he grumbles terribly,
' when aroused from his lair in mid-winter, either by the

-hunter’s summons or unseasonable weather. And then
he is so cautious—the Indians say “ he think all the same
as a man”’—that he will not go into it if there are any
sticks cut in the vicinity by the hands of man, or
any recent axe-blazings on the neighbouring trees.
Another thing he cannot endure, is the presence of the
porcupine. ‘The porcupine (Erethizon dorsatus) lives in
rocky places, full of caves, and often takes possession of
large roomy dens, which poor Mooin, coming up rather
in a hurry, having stopped out blueberry picking rather
later than usual, and till all was blue, might envy, but
would not share on any account. The porcupine is not
over-cleanly in his habits, besides not being a very
pleasant bedfellow apropos of his quills; but to which
of these traits the bear takes objection I cannot say—
perhaps both. The quills are very disagreeable weapons,
and armed with a little barbed head; when they pierce

CAVE LODGERS. 197

the skin they are very difficult of extraction, and a

portion, breaking off in the wound, will traverse under

the surface, reappearing at some very distant point.
Having determined on his winter's residence, and

cleaned it out before the commencement of winter (the

extra leaves and rubbish scraped out around the entrance
being a sure sign to the hunter that the den will afford
him one skin at least, when the winter’s snow shall have
well covered the ground), Mooin, finding it very difficult
to procure a further supply of food, and being, moreover,
in a very sleepy frame of mind and body—fat as a prize
pig from recent excessive gorging on the numerous berries
of the barren, or mast under the beechwoods—turns in
for the winter ; if he has a partner, so much the better
and the warmer. He lies with his fore-arms curled
around his head and nose, which is poked in under-
neath the chest. Here he will sleep uninterruptedly
till the warm suns late in March influence his som-
niferous feelings, unless his sweet mid-winter repose
be cut short by a sharp poke in the ribs with a pole,
when he has nothing for it but to collect his almost
lost power of reflection, and crawl out of his den—
saluted, as he appears, by a heavy crushing blow over
the temples with the back of an axe, and a volley of
musket balls into his body as he reels forward, which
translates him into a longer and far different state of
sleep.

There has been great uncertainty as to what time the
female brings forth her young; some say that it is not

until she leaves her winter quarters in the early spring,

and that though the she-bear has been started from her
den in winter, and two little shapeless things found left

198 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

behind, these are so absurdly small as to appear pre-
mature. And then comes the old story of the little ones
being produced without form; and afterwards licked into
shape in the den. Even the Indians possess many dif-
ferent ideas on this subject, often affirming that the old
bear has never been shot and discovered to be with
young. Now all this is great nonsense, and as I know of ~
an instance in which a bear was shot, a few years since,
on the 14th of February, suckling two very little ones in
an open primitive den, formed merely by a sheitering
windfall, and also have consulted the testimony of tra-
vellers on the habits of hybernating bears of other —
descriptions, capping all by the reliable evidence of my ©
old Indian hunter, John Williams, I am convinced that
- the following is the true state of the case :—The she-
bear gives birth to two cubs, of very small dimensions
—not much larger than good-sized rats—about the
middle of February, in the den; and here she subsists
them, without herself obtaming anv nourishment, until
the thaws in March. A few years ago a cub was brought
to me in May by a settler, who had shot the mother and
kidnapped one of her offspring; it was a curious little ©
animal, not much larger than a retriever pup of a few
weeks old, and a strange mixture of fun and ferocity.
The settler, as [ handed him the purchase money—one
dollar—informed me that it was as playful as a kitten ;
and, having placed it on the floor, and given it a basin of
bread and milk, which it immediately upset—biting the
saucer with its teeth as though it suspected it of trying
to withhold or participate in the enjoyment of its con- ~
tents—it commenced to evince its playful disposition by
gambolling about the room, climbing the legs of tables,

CAVE LODGERS. 199

hauling off the covers with superincumbent ornaments,
and tearing sofa covers, until I was fain to end the
scene by securing the young urchin. But I got such
a bite through my trowsers that I never again admitted
him indoors. I never saw such a little demon; when
fed with a bowl of Indian meal porridge, he would bite
the rim of the bowl in his rage, growling frantically, and
then plunge his head into the mixture, the groans and
orowls still coming up in bubbles to the surface, whilst
he swallowed it like a starved pig. I afterwards gave
him to a brother officer going to England, and whether
(as is the usual fate of bears in captivity) he after-
wards kiiled a child, and met a felon’s death, I never
heard.

The growth of bears is very slow; they do not reach
their full size for four years from their birth.

On entering his den for hybernation the bear is in
prime order; the fat pervades his carcase in exactly the ©
same manner as in the case of the pig, the great bulk of
it lying, as in the flitch, along the back and on either
side ; this generally attains a thickness of four inches,
though in domesticated specimens, fed purposely by North
American hairdressers, it has reached a thickness of eight
inches. Itis by the absorption of this fat throughout
the long fast of four months that the bear is enabled to
exist. Of course evaporation is almost at a stand-still,
and a plug, called by the Norwegians the “tappen,” is
formed in the rectum, and retained until the spring.
Should this be lost prematurely, it is said that the animal
immediately becomes emaciated.

A large bear at the end of the fall will weigh five and
even six hundred pounds; this has been increased in

200 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

domesticated specimens by oatmeal feeding to over seven
hundred.

Having awoke at last, the genial warmth of a spring
day tempts him forth to try and find something to
appease the growing cravings of appetite. What is the
bill of fare ? meagre enough generally, for the snow still
covers the dead timber (where he might find colonies of
ants), the roots, and young shoots and buds; but he
bethinks himself of the cranberries in the open bogs from
which, unshaded by the branches of the dark fir-forest,
the snow has disappeared, disclosing the bright crimson
berries still clinging to their tendrils on the moss-clumps
and rendered tender and luscious by the winter's frost.
Even the rank marsh-grass forms part of his diet; and, as
. the snow disappears, he turns over the fallen timber to
look for such insects as ants or wood-lice, which might
be sheltered beneath. Although so large an animal, he
will seek his food patiently; and the prehensile nature of
his lips enables him to pick up the smallest insect or
forest berry with great dexterity. The runs between the
forest lakes also afford him early and profitable spring
fishing; and he may be seen lying on the edge of the ice,
- fishing for smelts (Osmerus), which delicate little fish
abound in the lakes, near their junction with harbours,
throughout the winter, tipping them out of the water on
to the ice behind him in a most dexterous manner with
his paws. Later in the spring he continues his fishing pro-
pensities, and makes capital hauls when the gaspereaua,
or alewives (Alosa vernalis),—a description of herring—
rush up the forest brooks in countless multitudes, carry-
ing an ample source of food to the doors of settlers living
by the banks in the remotest wilds. Works on natural

a

Saas -

ee Ee ae

a

iO Te es TO oe Le ee

CAVE LODGERS. 201

history supply abundant evidence of his general confor-
mation as a member of the plantigrade family, of the
adaptation of the broad, callous soles of his feet for walk-
ing, sitting on his haunches, or standing erect, and of
the long but not retractile claws fitted for digging, by
which he can easily ascend a tree, or split the fallen
rampike—like a Samson as he is—striking them into
its surface, and rending it in twain, in search of ants;
and what a fearful weapon the fore-hand becomes, armed
with these terrible claws, when they are sent home into
the flesh of an enemy or intended victim, whenever the
rascal takes a notion of laying aside his frugivorous
propensities to satisfy a thirst for stronger meat !

Having noticed his tastes as a herbivorous and pisci-
vorous animal, we have yet to mention this, in which,
though it has been but slightly implanted in him by
nature, he sometimes indulges, and which, once indulged
in, becomes a strong habit, and stamps him as being also
carnivorous. Poor Mooin! still unsatisfied, and _half-
starved—perhaps unsuccessful in his spring-fishing, or
in berrying—hears the distant tinkling of cattle-bells
as the animals wander through the woods from some
neighbouring settlement. Nearer and nearer they come ;
and he advances cautiously to meet them, keeping a
sharp look-out in case they might be attended by a
human being, of whom he has a most wholesome dread.
By a little careful manceuvring he drives them into a
deep, bogey swamp where he can at leisure single out
his victim, and, jumping on its back, deals it a few such
terrific blows across the back and shoulders, that the
poor animal soon succumbs, and falls an easy prey.
Stunned, torn, and bemired, it is then dragged back to

202 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

the dry slopes of the woods and devoured. ‘The settlers
say that the bear, while killing his victim (which moans
and bellows piteously all the while he is beating it to
death in the swamp), will every now and then retire
to the woods behind and listen for any approaching
sions of rescue, prior to returning and finishing his
work. This wicked appetite of his. often leads to his
destruction ; for a search being entailed for the missing
beast, and the remains found, the avenger, on the follow-
ing evening, armed with a gun, goes out to waylay the
bear, who is sure to revisit the carcase. It would never
do to remain in ambush near the spot, for the villain
always comes back on the watch, planting his feet
as cautiously as an Indian creeping on moose, with all
. his senses on the qua vive. So the man, finding by his
track in whigh direction he had retreated from the car-
case, goes back into the woods some quarter of a mile or
so, and then secretes himself; and Mooin, not suspecting
any ambuscade at this distance from the scene of his
recent feasting, comes along towards sundown, hand over
hand, and probably meets his just fate. Young moose,
too, often fall victims to the bear, though he would
never succeed in an attempt on the life of a full-grown
animal. .

The bear is conscious of being a villain, and will never
look a man in the face. This I have observed in the
case of tame animals, and marked the change of expres-
sion in their little treacherous black eye) about the size
of a small marble) just before they were about to do
something mischievous. In their quickness of temper, and
in the suddenness with which the usually perfectly dull
and unmeaning eye is lighted up with the most wicked

an a ee ey

: oo )

ee ee
ae?

CAVE LODGERS. 203

expression imaginable, immediately followed by action,
they put me much in mind of some of the monkey
tribe.

The strength of the bear is really prodigious, fully
equal to that of ten men, as was once proved by a tame
bear in this province hauling a barrel which had been
smeared with molasses, and contained a little oatmeal,
away from the united efforts of the number of men
mentioned, who held on to a rope passed round the
barrel. The bear walked away with it as easily as pos-
sible. The same bear, having nearly killed a horse, and
scalped a boy, was afterwards destroyed by his owner.
The way he tried to do for the animal was curious
enough; he approached the horse, which was loose in
the road, from behind; on its attempting to kick, the
bear caught hold of its hind legs, just above the fetlocks,
with the quickness of lightning ; the horse tried to kick
again, and the bear, with the greatest apparent ease,
shoved its hind legs under till the horse was fairly
brought on its haunches, when the rascal at once jumped
on its back, and, with one tremendous blow, buried its
powerful claws into the muscle of the shoulder, and the
horse, trembling and in a profuse perspiration, rolled
over and would have been killed if the affair had not
been witnessed and the bear at this juncture driven
away.

I have been told by an Indian of a scene he once wit-
nessed in the woods when resting on the shore of a lake
before proceeding across a portaye with his canoe. A
crashing of branches proclaimed the rapid advance of a
large animal in flight. In a few moments a fine young
moose, about half grown, dashed from the forest into the

204 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

lake, carrying a bear on its shoulders, and at once struck
out into deep water. The two were soon separated, and
the Indian at the same time launching his canoe, succeeded
in wounding the bear, which, seeing the man, had turned
back for the shore. The moose escaped on the opposite
side.

In the spring the old she bear, accompanied by her.
brace of little whining cubs, ‘is almost sure to turn on a
human being if suddenly disturbed, though, if made aware
of coming danger in time, she will always conduct them
out of the way. I have known many instances of settlers,
out trouting by the lakes near home, being chased out of
the woods and nearly run into, by the she bear in spring-
time. |

In June, likewise, in the running season, it is not safe
to be back in the woods unarmed or alone. A whole
gang will go together, making the forest resound with
their hideous snarling and loud moaning cries. Hearing
the approach of such a procession, the sojourner in camp
piles fuel on the fire, and keeps watch with loaded
gun. In old times, before they acquired the dread of
fire-arms, the Indians say these animals were much
bolder.

The bear is readily taken in a dead-fall trap with a bait
composed of almost anything: a bundle of birch-bark
tied up, and smeared over with a little honey, molasses,
or tallow, answers very well.

They travel through the woods and along the water-
side in well defined paths, which afford excellent walking
to the hunter. Bear-traps are placed at intervals in the
vicinity of their roads, and many a rascal loses his jacket
to the settlers in summer time in return for his audacious

> |
i
|
f]

AeA SE See

CAVE LODGERS. 205

raids on the cattle, to obtain which he will sometimes
break in the side of a barn.

The skin realises from four to twelve dollars, according
to size and condition.

The fall is the best time for bear hunting—“ the berry-
ing time,” as it is designated by the settlers, when he is

engaged in laying in a stock of corpulency, the material

whereof shall stick to his ribs during the long fast of the
coming winter. So intent is he now on his luscious feast
on blue and whortle berries, that he does not keep as good
a look-out for foes as at other times, and may be easily
detected in the early morning by the observant hunter,
who knows his habits and meal times, and hunts round
the leeward edges of barrens.

Later still, in a good season for beechmast, he may be
hunted in hard-wood hills. A little light snow will not
send him home to bed, whilst it materially aids the
hunter in tracking the animal. Sometimes the bear will
go aloft for the mast, and even construct a rough platform
amongst the upper branches, where he can rest without
holding on. I have seen many such apparent structures,
and could in no other way account for their appearance,
and to this I may add the testimony of the Indian.

The bear takes a deal of killing, and will run an in-
credible distance with several mortal wounds. A singular
trait, approaching almost to reflective power, is his habit
of stopping in his flight. to pick up wet moss in a swamp
wherewith to plug up the wound.

I but once surprised a bear in the wood in the act of
feeding, unconscious of my approach. My Indian saw
a portion of his black hair moving just above the side of
a large fallen tree, and in a moment we both lay prostrate.

206 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

The animal presently rose from his hitherto recumbent
position and sat up, munching his mouthful of beech-nuts
with great apparent satisfaction—a magnificent specimen,
and black as a coal.

We should now have fired, but at this juncture, as luck
would have it, a red fox, which our tracks below had
probably disturbed, raced up behind and induced us to —
look round. The bear at once sank quietly down behind
the log, and, worming along, bounded over a precipice into
a thick spruce swamp before we were aware that we were
discovered. This fox must have been his good genius.

Notwithstanding the value of the skin and the standing
grievance between the settler of the back-woods and the
black bear, the latter is apparently increasing in numbers
- in many parts of the Lower Provinces. In Nova Scotia
there is no bounty on their noses, though the wolf (a rare
visitor) is thus placed under a ban. In Anticosti bears
are exceedingly numerous, and a well-organised bear
hunt on this island would doubtless show a wonderful
return of sport; but then—the flies !

THE CANADA PORCUPINE.

' (Erethizon dorsatus, Cuvier.)

This species is common in the woodland districts of
Eastern North America, from Pennsylvania to the Arctic
Circle. West of the Missouri, according to Baird, it is
replaced by the yellow-haired porcupine (E. epixanthus).

A cave-dwelling animal, choosing its residence amongst
the dark recesses of collocated boulders, or the holes at
the roots of large trees, it spends much of its time abroad.

ae et is _. —

CAVE LODGERS. 207

It is sometimes seen sluggishly reposing in tree tops, where
it gnaws the bark of the young branches; and is often
(especially in the season of ripe berries) found in the open
barren, though never far away from its retreat. A porcu-
pine’s den is easily discovered, both by the broad trail or
path which leads to it, and by the quantity of ordure by
which the entrance is marked. From the den the paths
diverge to some favourite feeding ground—perhaps a
grove of beech, on the mast of which the animal revels in
the fall ; or, if it be winter time, to the shelter of a tall
hemlock spruce. The marks of the claws on the bark are
a ready indication of its whereabouts ; and as the Indian
hunter passes in search of larger game, he knows he is
sure of roast porcupine if venison is not procurable, and
probably tumbles him down on return to camp by a
bullet through the head.

The spines of the Canadian porcupine are about three
inches long, proceeding from a thick coat of dark brownish
hair, mixed with sooty-coloured bristles. They are largest
and most abundant over the loins, where the animal, when
brought to a stand, sets them up in a fan-like are, and
presents a most formidable array of points always turned
towards its opponent. . It endeavours at the same time to
strike with its thick muscular tail, leaving, where the
blow falls, a great number of the easily-detached quills
firmly sticking in, rooted by their barbed points.

A porcupine can gallop or shuffle along at a good pace,
and often, when surprised in the open, makes good its
retreat to its rocky den, or gains a tree, up which it
scrambles rapidly out of reach.

The spines are of a dull white colour, with dusky tips.

To the forest Indians of Acadie the porcupine is an

208 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

animal of considerable importance. It is a very common
article of food, and its quills are extensively employed by
the squaws in ornamentation. Stained most brilliantly
by dyes either obtained from the woods or purchased in
the settlements, they are worked in fanciful patterns into
the birch-bark ware (baskets, screens, or trays), which
form their staple of trade with the whites.

All the holes, hollow trees, and rocky precipices in the
neighbourhood of an encampment are continually explored
by Indian boys in search of a porcupine’s den.

The Indians commonly possess little cur dogs, which
greatly assist them in discovering the animal’s retreat ;
they will even draw them forth from their holes without —
injury to themselves—a feat only to be accomplished by
. getting hold of them underneath.
_ It is a curious fact that the settler’s dogs in general
evince a strong desire to hunt porcupine, notwithstanding
the woeful plight, about the head and forelegs, in which
they come out of the encounter, and the long period of
inflammation to which they are thereby subjected. The
Indian’s porcupine-dog, however, goes to work in a far”
more business-like manner—seldom giving his master
occasion to extract a single quill. ‘The Old Hunter”
tells me as follows :—“I once knew an instance of an
Indian’s dog, quite blind, that was particularly great on
porcupines, so much so, that if they treed, the little
animal would sit down beneath, occasionally barking, to
inform its master where lodged the ‘fretful’ one. Another
dog belonging to an Indian I knew, was not to be beaten
when once on porcupine. _ If the animal was in den, in
he went and, if possible, would haul it out by the tail.
If not strong enough, the Indian would fasten his hand-

CAVE LODGERS. 209

kerchief round his middle, and attach to it a long twisted
withe. The dog would go in, and presently, between
the two, out would come the porcupine.” |

The porcupine becomes loaded with fat in the fall by
feasting on the numerous berries found on the barrens.
The latter half of September is their running season.
The old ones are then very rank, and not fit to eat.
Their call is a plaintive whining sound, not very dis-
similar to the cry of a calf moose. At this season, when
hunting in the woods, I have frequently found old males
with bad wounds on the back-—the skin extensively
abraded by, apparently, a high fall from a tree on the
edge of a rock. My Indian says with regard to this, “he
make himself sore back, purpose so as to travel light, and
get clear of his fat.”

The female brings forth two at a birth in the den very
early in the spring.

It is a remarkable fact that, though abundant in Nova
Scotia, the porcupine is not found in the island of Cape
Breton, separated only by the Gut of Canso in places

“but a few hundred yards across. Frequent attempts have
_ indeed been made by Indians to introduce the animal in

Cape Breton by importation from the south side, but have
always ended in failure. Though the vegetable features
of the island are identical with those of Nova Scotia
proper, the porcupine will not live in the woods of the
former locality. This is*a well-ascertained fact, and no
attempt at explanation can be offered.

Again, though it is found on the Labrador, and at the
Straits of Belle Isle, the great island of Newfoundland,
which is thus separated from the mainland, contains no

porcupine.
3g

210 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

The marmot of the eastern woodlands (Arctom:
monax), and the striped ground-squirrel, or “ chip ze uk
(Tamias striatus, Baird), are more properly burrowi
animals than cave-dwellers, under which heading
class only the bear and the Porenpiney

CHAPTER IX.

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING.

ek See

THE BROOK TROUT.
Salmo Fontinalis (Mitchell.)

Tue following description of this fish—and I believe
the latest—appears in the “Transactions of the Nova
Scotian Institute of Natural Science for 1866,” and is
due to Dr. J. Bernard Gilpin, M.D. :—

“The trout, as usually seen in the lakes about Halifax,
are in leneth from ten to eighteen inches, and weight
from half a pound to two pounds, though these measure-
ments are often exceeded or lessened. The outline of
back, starting from a rather round and blunt nose, rises
gradually to the insertion of the dorsal fin, about two-
thirds of the length of the head from the nose ; it then
gradually declines to the adipose fin, and about a length
and a half from that runs straight to form a strong base
for the tail. The breadth of the tail is about equal to
that of the head. Below, the outline runs nearly straight
from the tail to the anal fin; from thence it falls rapidly.
to form a line more or less convex (as the fish is in or
out of season), and returns to the head. The inter-max-
illary very short, the maxillary long with the free end

sharp-pointed, the posterior end of the opercle is more
P 2

212 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

angular than in the 8. Salar, the lower jaw shorter than
upper when closed, appearing longer when open. ‘The
eye large, about two diameters from tip of nose; nostrils
double, nearer the snout than the eye. Of the fins, the
dorsal has ten or eleven rays, not counting the rudimen-
tary ones, in shape irregularly rhomboid, but the free

edge rounded or curved outward: the adipose fin varies, |
some sickle-shaped with free end very long, others
having it very straight and short. The caudal fin gently
curved rather than cleft, but differing in individuals. Of
the lower fins they all have the first ray very thick and
flat, and always faced white with a black edge, the other —
rays more or less red. The head is blunt, and back
rounded when looked down upon. The teeth are upon ~
- the inter-maxillary bone, maxillary bones, the palatine,
and about nine on the tongue.. There are none so-called
vomerine teeth, though now and then we find one tooth
behind the arch of the palate, where they are sometimes
irrecularly bunched together. The colour varies; but
through all the variations there are forms of colour that,
being always persistent, must be regarded as typical.
There are always vermilion spots on the sides; there
are always other spots, sometimes decided in outline,
in others diffused into dapples, but always present. The
caudal and dorsal fins are always spotted, and of the
prevailing hue of the body. The lower fins have always
broad white edges, lined with black and coloured with
some modification of red. The chin and upper part of
the belly are always white. With these permanent mark-
ings, the body colour varies from horn colour to greenish-
grey, blue-grey, running into azure, black, and black
with warm red on the lower parts, dark green with lower

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 213

parts bright yellow; and, lastly, in the case of young
fish, with vertical bands of dusky black. The spots
are very bright and distinct when in high condition or
spawning ; faint, diffused, and running into dapples
when in poor condition. In the former case all the
hues are most vivid, and heightened by profuse nacre.
In the other the spots are very pale yellowish-white,
running on the back into vermicular lines. The iris in
all is dark brown. I have seen the rose or red-coloured
ones at all times of the year. The young of the first
year are greenish horn colour, with brown vertical stripes
and bright scarlet fins and tail, already showing the
typical marks and spots, and also the vermilion specs.
Fin rays D. 13, P. 13, V. 8, A. 10; gill rays 12. Scales
very small; the dorsal has two rudimentary rays, ten or
eleven long ones, varying in different fish. ‘T'ypical
marks—axillary plate nearly obsolete, free end of maxil-
lary sharp, bars in young, vermilion specs, both young
and adult lower fins red with white and black edge.”

To the above description I would add that the nume-
rous yellow spots which prevail in every specimen of
S. Fontinalis vary from bright golden to pale primrose,
that the colour of the specs inclines more to carmine
than vermilion, and that in bright, well-conditioned fish,
the latter are surrounded by circlets of pale and purest
azure.

It will thus be seen that the American brook trout is
one of the most beautiful of fresh-water fishes. Just taken
from his element and laid on the moist moss by the edge
of the forest stream, a more captivating form can scarcely
be imagined. His sides appear as if studded with gems.
The. brilliant brown eye and bronzy gill-covers reflect

214 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

golden light; and the gradations of the dark green back,
with its fantastic labyrinthine markings, to the soft
yellow beneath, are marked by a central roseate tinge
inclining to lavender or pale mauve.

This species abounds throughout the Northern States
‘and British provinces, showing a great variety as to
form and colour (both external and of the flesh) accord- —
ing to locality. In the swampy bog-hole the trout is
black ; his flesh of a pale yellowish-white, flabby and
insipid. In low-lying forest lakes margined by swamp,
where from a rank soft bottom the water-lilies crop
up and almost conceal the surface near the shores, he
is the same coarse and spiritless fish. Worthless for —
the camp frying-pan, we leave him to the tender mercies
_ of the mink, the eel, and the leech. The bright, bold
trout of the large lakes, is a far different fish. His com-
paratively small and well-shaped head, followed by an
arched, thick shoulder, depth of body, and_ brilliant
colouring ; the spirited dash with which he seizes his prey,
and, finally, the bright salmon-pink hue of his delicate
flesh, make him an object of attraction to both sportsman
_ and epicure. Such fish we find in the clearest water,
where the shores of the lake are friged with granite
boulders, with beaches of white sand, or disintegrated
oranite, where the rush and the water-weeds are only
seen in little sheltered coves, where the face of the lake
is dotted with rocky, bush-covered islands, and where
there are great. cool depths to which he can retreat
when sickened by the heat of the surface-water at mid-
summer.

Though more a lacustrine than a river fish, seldom
attaining any size if confined to running water between

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 215

the sea and impassable falls, the American trout is found
to most perfection and in greatest number in lakes which
communicate with the sea, and allow him to indulge
in his well ascertained predilection for salt, or rather
brackish tidal-water. A favourite spot is the débouchure
of a lake, where the narrowing water gradually acquires
velocity of current, and where the trout lie in skulls and
give the greatest sport to the fly-fisher.

In a recent notice of S. Fontinalis from the pen of an
observant sportsman and naturalist appearing in “ Land
and Water,” this fish is surmised to be a char. Its claim
to be a member of the Salveline group is favoured by
reference to its similar habits in visiting the tidal por-
tions of rivers on the part of the char of Norway and
Sweden, its similar deep red colouring on the belly,
and general resemblance. I am quite of “ Ubique’s”
opinion touching this point, and think the common
name of the American fish should be char. Indeed,
I find the New York char is one of the names it
already bears in-an American sporting work, though no
comparison is made. Besides its sea-going propensities,
its preferring dark, still waters, to gravelly shallow
streams, and its resplendent colours when in season, a
most important point of resemblance to the char would
seem to be the minuteness of its scales.

The American trout spawns in October and November
in shallow water, and on gravel, sand, or mud, ac-
cording to the nature of the soil at the bottom of his
domains.

In fishing for trout through the ice in winter to add
to our camp fare, I have taken them at the “run in” to
a large lake, the females full of spawn apparently ready

216 -- FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

to drop at the end of January, and all in firm condition.
This would seem a curious delay of the spawning season :
my Indian stated that trout spawn in early spring as
well as in. the fall. They congregate at the head of a
lake in large numbers in winter, and readily take bait, a
piece of pork, or a part of their own white throats, let
down on a hook through the ice. In such localities they
get a good livelihood by feeding on the caddis-worms
which crawl plentifully over the rocks under water.

TROUT FISHING.

Before the ice is fairly off the lakes—and then a
few days must be allowed for the ice-water to run off—
there is no use in attempting to use the fly for trout
fishing in rivers or runs, though eager disciples of Walton
may succeed in hauling out a few ill-fed, sickly looking
fish from spots of open water by diligently tempting with
the worm at an earlier date. Indeed trout may be taken
with bait through the ice throughout the winter, but they
prove worthless in the eating. But after the warm rain.
storms of April have performed their mission, and the
soft west wind has coursed over the surface of the water,
then may the fisher proceed to the head of the forest
lake and cast his flies over the eddying pool where the
brook enters, and where the hungry trout, aroused to
appetite, are congregated to seek for food.

“Now, when the first foul torrent of the brooks,
Swell’d with the vernal rains, is ebbed away,
And, whitening down their mossy-tinctur’d stream
Descends the billowy foam : now is the time,
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile,
To tempt the trout.”

—— Oe ee

a. 7 ae

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 217

About the 10th of May in Nova Scotia, when warm
hazy weather occurs with westerly wind, the trout in all
the lakes and streams (an enumeration of which would
be impossible from their extraordinary frequency of
occurrence in this province) are in the best mood for
taking the fly ; and, moreover, full of the energy of new
found life, which appears in these climates to influence
such animals as have been dormant during the long
winter, equally with the suddenly outbursting vegetation.
A few days later, and the great annual feast of the trout
commences—the feast of the May-fly. Emerging from
their cases all round the shores, rocky shallows, and
islands, the May-flies now cover the surface of the lakes in
multitudes, and are constantly sucked in by the greedy
trout, which leave their haunts, and disperse themselves
over the lake in search of the alighting insects. Although
the fish thus gorge themselves, and, for some days after
the flies have disappeared, are quite apathetic, they derive
much benefit in flesh and flavour therefrom. The abun-
dance of fish would scarcely be credited till one sees the
countless rises over the surface of the water constantly
recurring during the prevalence of the May-fly. “It’s
a steady boil of them,” says the ragged urchin with a
long “ troutin’-pole,” as he calls his weapon, in one hand,
and a huge cork at the end of a string with a bunch of
worms attached, in the other.

There is now no one more likely place than another
for a cast. Still sport may be had with the artificial
May-fly, especially in sheltered coves, where the fish
resort when a strong wind blows the insects off the open
water. Some anglers of the more patient type will take
fish at this time on the lake by sitting on rocks, and

218 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

gently flipping out a very fine line with minute hooks,
to which the living May-fly is attached by means of a
little adhesive fir balsam, as far as they can on the
surface of the water, where they float till some passing
fish rises and sucks in the bait. However the best sport
is to be obtained on the lakes a few days after the
“ May-fly glut,” as it is termed, is over.

The May and stone flies of America, which make their
appearance about the same time, much resemble the
ephemeral representatives of their order found in the old
country. The May-fly of the New World is, however,
different to the green drake, being of a glossy black
colour. -

With the exception of these two insects, we have no
representatives of natural flies in our American fly-books.
The scale is large and the style gaudy; and, if the bunch
of bright feathers, which sometimes falls over the head
of Salmo fontinalis, were so presented to the view of a
shy English trout, I question whether he would ever rise
to the surface again. Artificial flies are sold in most pro-
vincial towns in the Lower Provinces, and are much sought
for by the rising generation, who, however, often scorn
the store-rod, contenting themselves with a good pliable
wattle cut in situ. It is surprising to see the bunches of
trout the settlers’ “sonnies” will brmg home from some
little lake, perhaps only known to themselves, which
they may have discovered back in the woods when
hunting up the cows; and the satisfaction with which
the little ragged urchin will show you barefoot the way
to your fishing grounds, skipping over the sharp granite
rocks strewed in the path, and brushing through fir
thickets with the greatest resolution, all to become pos-

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 219

sessed of a bunch of your flies and a small length of
old gut.

The cast of flies best adapted for general use for trout-
fishing in Nova Scotia consists of the red hackle or palmer,
a bright bushy scarlet fly, with perhaps a bit of gold twist
or tinsel further to enhance its charms, a brown palmer,
and a yellow-bodied fly of wool with mallard wings. The
latter wing on a body of claret wool with gold tinsel is
also excellent. Many other and gaudier flies are made
and sold to tempt the fish later on in the year: they
are quite fanciful, and resemble nothing in nature. [
cannot recommend the artificial minnow for use in this
part of the world, though trout will take them. They
are always catching on submerged rocks, and are very
troublesome in many ways. The most successful minnow
I ever used was one made on the spot by an Indian who
was with me after moose—a common large trout-hook
thickly bound round with white worsted, a piece of
tinfoil covering the under part, and a good bunch of
peacock’s herl inserted at the head, bound down along
the back, and secured at the end of the shank, leaving
a little projection to represent the tail. It was light as
a feather, and could be thrown very accurately any-
where—a great advantage when you find yourself back
in the woods and wish to pull a few trout for the camp
frying-pan from out a little pond overhung with bushes.
The fish took it most greedily.

The common trout is to be met with in every lake,
or even pond, throughout the British Provinces. One
cannot walk far through the depths of a forest district
before hearing the gurgling of a rill of water amongst
stones beneath the moss. Following the stream, one

220) FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

soon comes on a sparkling forest brook overhung by
waving fern fronds, and little pools with a bottom of
golden gravel. The trout is sure to be here, and on
your approach darts under the shelter of the projecting
rocts of the mossy bank. A little further, and a winding
lane of still water skirted by graceful maples and birches,
leads to the open expanses of the lake, where the gloom
of the heavy woods is exchanged for the clear daylight.
This is the “run in,” in local phraseology, and here the
lake trout resort as a favourite station at all times of the
year. A basket of two or three dozen of these speckled
beauties is your reward for having found your way to
these wild but enchanting spots. |

Though, as has been observed, the trout of America is
more a lake than a river fish, yet the gently running water
at the foot of a lake just before the toss and tumble of a
rapid is reached is a favourite station for trout. Such
spots are excellent for fly-fishing ; I have frequently taken
five dozen fine fish in an hour, in the Liverpool, Tangier,
and other noble rivers in Nova Scotia, from rapid water,
weighing from one to three pounds.

Towards midsummer the fish begin to refuse fly or
bait, retiring to deep pools under the shade of high rocks,
sickened apparently by the warmth of the lake water.
As, however, the woods, especially in che neighbourhood
of water, are at this season infested with mosquitoes
and black flies, a day’s “outing” by the lake or river
side becomes anything but recreative, if not unbearable.
The twinge of the almost invisible sand-fly adds, too, ©
to our torments. In Nova Scotia the savage black-
fly (Simulium molestum) disappears at the end of June,
though in New Brunswick the piscator will find these

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 221

wretches lively the whole summer. ‘They attack every-
thing of life moving in. the woods, being dislodged from
every branch shaken by a passing object. No wonder
the poor moose rush into the lakes, and so bury them-
selves in the water that their ears and head are alone
seen above the surface. In Labrador the flies are yet
worse, and travelling in the interior becomes all but
impracticable during the summer.

In August the trout recover themselves under the
cooling influence of the frosty atmosphere which now
prevails at night, and will again take the fly readily, con-
tinuing to do so until quite late in the fall, and even in
the spawning season.

THE SEA TROUT.
Salmo Canadensis (Hamilton Smith).

Closely approximating to the brook trout in shape
and colouring—especially after having been some time
in fresh water—the above named species has been pro-
nounced distinct. They have so near a resemblance that
until separated by the careful comparison of Dr. Gilpin,
I always believed them to be the same fish, especially
as the brook trout as aforesaid is known to frequent
tidal waters at the head of estuaries. The following
description of the sea trout is taken from Dr. Gilpin’s
article on the Salmonide before alluded to, and is the
result of examination of several fish taken from fresh
water, and in the harbour :—

“Of those from the tide-way, length from twelve to
fourteen inches; deepest breadth, something more than

222 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

one quarter from tip of nose’to insertion of tail. The
outline rounds up rather suddenly from a small and
arched head to insertion of dorsal; slopes quickly but
gently to adipose fin; then runs straight to insertion
of caudal; tail gently curved rather than cleft; lower
line straight to anal, then falling rather rapidly to make
a very convex line for belly, and ending at the gills.
The body deeper and more compressed than in the
brook trout. The dorsal is quadrangular; the free edge
convex ; the lower fins having the first rays in each
thicker and flatter than the brook trout. The adipose
fin varies, some with very long and arched free end, in
others small and straight. The specimen from the fresh
water was very much longer and thinner, with head
proportionally larger. The colour of those from the
tide-way was more or less dark greenish blue on back
shading to ash blue and white below, lips edged with
dusky. They all had faint cream-coloured spots, both
above and below the lateral line. With one exception,
they all had vermilion specs, but some only on one side,
others two or three. In all, the head was greenish horn
colour. The colour of the fins in pectoral, ventral, and
anal, varied from pale white, bluish-white, to pale
orange, with a dusky streak on different individuals.
Dorsal dusky with faint spots, and caudal with dusky
tips—on some a little orange wash. The lower fins had
the first ray flat, and white edged with dusky. In the
specimen taken on September the 10th from the fresh
water, the blue and silver had disappeared, and dingy
ash colour had spread down below the lateral line ; the
greenish horn colour had ‘spread itself over the whole
gills except the chin, which was white. The silvery

————— ee

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 223

reflections were all gone, the cream-coloured dapples
were much more decided in colour and shape, and the
vermilion specs very numerous. ‘The caudal and all the
lower fins had an orange wash, the dorsal dusky yellow
with black spots, the lower fins retaining the white flat
ray with a dusky edging, and the caudal a few spots.
The teeth of all were upon the inter-maxillary, maxil-
laries, palatine, and the tongue; none on the vomer
except now and then one tooth behind the arch of palate.
Fin rays, D. 13, P. 13, V. 8, A. 10; gill rays 12. Axil-
lary scale very small. Dorsal, with two rudimentary
rays, ten or eleven long ones, free edge convex ; first ray
of lower fins flat, scales very small, but rather larger
than those of brook trout.”

Dr. Gilpin sums up as follows on the question of its
identity with brook trout :—

“We must acknowledge it exceedingly closely allied
to Fontinalis—that it has the teeth, shape of fins, axillary
plate, tail, dapples, vermilion specs, spotted dorsal, alike;
that when it runs to fresh water it changes its colour,
and, in doing this, approximates to its red fin and dingy
green with more numerous vermilion specs, still more
closely. Whilst, on the other hand, we find it living
apart from Fontinalis, pursuing its own laws, attaining a
greater size, and returning year after year to the sea.
The Fontinalis is often found unchanged under the same
circumstances. The former fish always preserves its more
arched head, deeper and more compressed body, and
perhaps shorter fins. In giving it a specific name, there-
fore, and using the appropriate one given by Colonel
Hamilton Smith—so far as I can discover the first de-
scriber-—I think I will be borne out by all naturalists.” —

904 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

The size attained by this fish along the Atlantic coasts
rarely exceeds five pounds: from one to three pounds
is the weight of the generality of specimens. The
favourite localities for sea trout are the numerous har-
bours with which the coasts of the maritime provinces
(of Nova Scotia in particular) are frequently indented.
First seen in the early spring, they affect these harbours
throughout the summer, luxuriating on the rich food
afforded on the sand flats, or amongst the kelp shoals.
On the former localities the sand-hopper (Talitrus) seems
to be their principal food; and they pursue the shoals of
small fry which haunt the weeds, preying on the smelt
(Osmerus) on its way to the brooks, and on the caplin
(Mallotus) in the harbours of Newfoundland and Cape
- Breton, They will take an artificial fly either in the
harbour or in fresh water.

When hooked by the fly-fisherman on their first
entrance to the fresh water, they afford sport second
only to that of salmon-fishing. No more beautiful fish
ever reposed in an angler’s basket. The gameness with
which they prolong the contest—often flinging them-
selves salmon-like from the water—the flashing lights
reflected from their sides as they struggle for life on
removal of the fly from their lips, their graceful form,
and colouring so exquisitely delicate—sides molten-silver
with carmine spangles, and back of light mackerel-green
—and, lastly, the delicious flavour of their flesh when
brought to table, entitle the sea trout to a high conside-
ration and place amongst the game-fish of the provinces.

In some harbours the trout remains all the summer
months feeding on its favourite grounds, but in general
it returns to its native fresh water at distinctly marked

—

= eran

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 225

_ periods, and in large detachments. In the early spring,

before the snow water has left the rivers, a few may
be taken at the head of the tide—fresh fish from the
salt water mixed with logies, or spent fish that have
passed the winter, after spawning in the lakes, under
the ice. The best run of fish occurs in June—the
midsummer or strawberry run, as it 1s locally called—the
season being indicated by the ripening of the wild straw-
berry. As with the salmon, there is a final ascent,
probably of male fish, late in the fall. The spawning
fish remain under the ice all winter in company with the
salmon, returning to sea as spent fish with the kelts
when the rivers are swelled by freshets from the melting
snow.

SEA TROUT FISHING.

A more delightful season to the sportsman than
“strawberry time” on the banks of some fine river
entering an Atlantic harbour and well known for its
sea trout fishing, can hardly be imagined. With rivers
and woods refreshed by recent rains, the former at a
perfect state of water for fishing, and the river-side
paths through the forest redolent with the aroma of the
summer flora, and the delicious perfume of heated fir
boughs, the angler’s camp is, or should be, a sylvan
abode of perfect bliss. Or even better—for then ©
we are free from the persistent attack of mosquito
or black fly —is the cabin of a comfortable yacht,
in which we shift from harbour to harbour, anchoring
near the mouth of the entering river. The flies and
sea fog are the only drawbacks to the pleasant holiday

Q

226 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

of a trouting cruise along shore. The former seldom .

venture from land (even on the forest lake they leave
the canoe or raft at a few yards’ distance from the shore)
and, if the west wind be propitious, the cold damp
fog is driven away to the north-east, following the
coast line, several miles out to sea.

Nothing can exceed the beauty of scenery in some of

the Atlantic harbours of Nova Scotia; their innumer-
able islands and heavily-wooded shores fringed with the
golden kelp, the wild undulating hills of maple rising
in the backeround, the patches of meadow, and the

neat little white shanties of the fishermen’s clearings, are

the prettiest and most common details of such pictures,
which never fade from the memory of the lover of
. nature. How easily are recalled to remembrance the
fresh clear summer mornings enjoyed on the water ;
the fir woods of the western shores bathed in the
morning sunbeams, the perfect reflections of the islands
and of the little fishing schooners, the wreaths of blue
smoke rising from their cabin stoves, and rendered
distinct by the dark fir woods behind, and the
roar of the distant rapids, where the river joins the
harbour, borne in cadence on the ear, mingled with the
cheerful sounds of awakening life from the clearings.
The bald-healed eagles (H. leucocephalus) sail majes-
tically through the air, conspicuous when seen against
the line of woods by their snow-white necks and tails.
The graceful little tern (Sterna hirundo) is incessantly
occupied, circling over the harbour, shrilly screaming,
and ever and anon dashing down upon the water to
clutch the small fry; whilst the common kingfisher, as
abundant by the sea-shore as in the interior, thinking

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MUSQUODOBOIT HARBOUR.

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 227

all fish, salt or fresh water, that come to his net, equally
good, shoots over the harbour with jerking flight, and
uttering his wild rattling cry ; now and then he makes
an impetuous downward dash, completely burying himself
beneath the surface in seizing his prey.

If there is a run of trout, and we wish to fish the
river, we go to the sea-pools, which the fish enter with the
rising tide, and where we may see their silvery sides
flashing as they gambol in the eddies under the appa-
rently delightful influence of the highly-aérated water
of a large and rapid stream, or as they rush at the
dancing deceit which we agitate over the surface of the
pool. Here, in their first resting-place on their way up
the river, they will always take the fly most readily; and
with good tackle, a propitious day, and the by no means
despicable aid of a smart hand with the landing-net, the
mossy bank soon glitters with a dozen or two of these
delicious fish.

Should they not be running, or shy of rising in the
fresh water from some of the many unaccountable
humours in which all game fish are apt to indulge,
harbour fishing is our resource, and we betake ourselves
to the edge of the sand flats where the fish, dispersed
in all directions during high water, now congregate
and lie under the weeds which fringe the edge of the
tide channels. Half-tide is the best time, and the trout
rush out from under the kelp at any gaudy fly, tempt-
ingly thrown towards the edge, with a wonderful dash,
and may be commonly taken two at a time. The trout-
beaches in Musquodoboit Harbour, lying off Big Island,
of which an engraving is given, may be a pleasant

remembrance to many who may read these lines.
Q 2

228 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

A deserted clearing, with soft grassy banks positively
reddened with wild strawberries, is a most tempting spot
for a picnic, and we go ashore with pots and pans to
bivouac on the sward. “Boiled or fried, shall be the
trout?” is the question; we try both. Perhaps the
former is the best way of cooking the delicate and
salmon-flavoured sea trout (especially the larger fish), but
in camp we generally patronise a fry, and this is our
mode of proceeding. The fire must be bright and low,
the logs burning without smoke or steam; the frying-
pan is laid on with several thick slices of the best
flavoured fat pork, and, when this is sufficiently melted
and the pan crackling hot, we put in the trout, split
and cleaned, and lay the slices of pork, now sufficiently
‘bereft of their gravy, over them. A little artistic
manoeuvring, so as to lubricate the rapidly browning
sides of the fish, and ‘they are turned so soon as the
under surface shows of a light chestnut hue. Just
before taking off, add the seasoning and a tablespoonful
of Worcester. The tin plates are now held forth to
receive the spluttering morsels canted from the pan, and
we fall back on the couch of maple boughs to eat in
_the approved style of the ancients, whilst the fresh mid-
day breeze from the Atlantic modifies the heat, and
drives away to the shelter of the surrounding bushes
the fisherman’s most uncompromising foes—the mos-
quitoes and black flies.

In Nova Scotia the best localities for pursuing this
attractive sport are the harbours to the eastward of
Halifax—Musquodoboit, Tangier, Ship, Beaver, Liscomb,
and Country harbours. In Cape Breton the beautiful
Margarie is one of the most noted streams for sea trout,

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 229

and its clear water and picturesque scenery, winding
through intervale meadows dotted with groups of witch
elm, and backed by wooded hills over a thousand feet
in height, entitle it to pre-eminence amongst the rivers of
the Gulf.

Prince Edward’s Island affords some good sea-trout
fishing, and, further north, the streams of the Bay of
Chaleurs and of both shores of the St. Lawrence are so
thronged with this fish, in its season, near the head of
the tide, as seriously to impede the salmon fisher in his
nobler pursuit, taking the salmon fly with a pertina-
city against which it is useless to contend; nor is he
free from their attacks until a cascade of sufficient
dimensions has intervened between the haunts of the
two fish.

THE SALMON.
(Salmo Salar.)

The Salmon of the Atlanti¢ coasts of America not
having been as yet specifically separated from the Kuro-
pean fish, a scientific description is unnecessary, and we
pass on to note the habits of this noble game fish of our
provincial rivers. |

From the once productive rivers of the United States
-—with the exception of an occasional fish taken in the
Penobscot, or the Kennebec in Maine—the salmon has
long since been driven, the last recorded capture in the
Hudson being in the year 1840. Mr. Roosevelt, a well-
known American sportsman and author, states that
“the rivers flowing into Lake Ontario abounded with
them, even until a recent period, but the persistent

4

230 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.’

efforts at their extinction have at last prevailed ; and,
except a few stragglers, they have ceased from out our
waters.”

Cape Sable being, then, the south-easternmost point
in the salmon’s range, we first find him entering the
rivers of the south coast of Nova Scotia very early in
March, long before the snow has left the woods; thus
disproving an assertion that he will not ascend a river
till clear of snow water. At this time he meets the
spent fish, or kelts, returning from their dreary residence
under the ice in the lakes, and these gaunt, hungry fish
may be taken with most annoying frequency by the
angler for the new comers.

As a broad rule, with, however, some singular excep-
tions, the run of salmon now proceeds with tolerably
progressive regularity along the coast to the eastward
and northward, the bulk of the fish having ascended the
Nova Scotian rivers by the middle of June. The excep-
tions referred to occur in the case of a large river on the
eastern coast of Nova Scotia—the Saint Mary—and some
of the tributaries of the Bay of Fundy, in which there is
a run of fish in March, as on the south-eastern coast.
This fact militates somewhat against the theory of the
salmon migrating in winter to warmer waters to return
in a body in early spring and ascend their native rivers,
entering them progressively.

In the Bay of Chaleurs the season is somewhat more
delayed ; the fish are not fairly in the fresh water before
the middle of June, which is also the time for their
ascending the rivers of Labrador. —

At midsummer in Nova Scotia, and in the middle of
July higher up in the gulf, the grilse make their appear-

ACADIAN: FISH AND FISHING, 231

ance in fresh water in company with the sea trout.
They are locally termed jumpers, and well deserve the
title from their liveliness when hooked. With a light
rod and fine tackle they afford excellent sport, and take
a small bright, yellowish fly with great boldness.

- The American salmon spawns very late in the fall, not
before November, and for this purpose affects the same
localities as his European congener—shallow waters run-
ning over beds of sand and gravel. The spawning grounds
occur not only in the rivers, but around the large parent
lakes, at the entrance of the little brooks that feed them
from the forest, and where there are generally deltas
formed of sand, gravel, and disintegrated granite washed
down from the hills. The spent fish, as a general rule,
though some return with the last freshets of the year,
remain all winter under the ice (particularly if they have
spawned in lakes far removed from the sea), returning
in the following spring, when numbers of them are taken
by the settlers fishing for trout with worm in pools where
the runs enter the lakes. They are then as worthless and
slink as if they had but just spawned. In May the young
salmon, termed smolts, affect the brackish water at the
mouth of rivers, and fall a prey to juvenile anglers in
immense numbers—a practice most destructive to the
fisheries, as these little fish would return the same season as
orilse of three or four pounds weight. The salmon of the
Nova Scotian rivers vary in weight from seven to thirty
pounds, the latter weight being seldom attained, though
a fair proportion of fish brought to market are over
twenty pounds. Those taken in the St. Mary are a
larger description of fish than the salmon of the southern
coast. In the Bay of Chaleurs, in the Restigouche,

232 FOREST LIFE IN ACADITE.

salmon of forty and fifty pounds are still taken; in
former years, sixty pounds and over was not an uncom-
mon weight. The salmon of the Labrador rivers are
not remarkable for size : the average weight of two hun-
dred fish taken with the fly in the river St. John in
July, 1863, was ten pounds, the largest being twenty-
three ; and the largest salmon ever taken by the rod on
this coast weighed forty pounds.

The average weight of the grilse taken in Nova Scotia
and the Gulf appears to be four pounds. Fish of seven
or eight pounds which I have taken in American rivers
are, to my thinking, salmon of another year’s growth,
and present an appreciable difference of form to the slim
and graceful grilt. In the latter part of November, the
time when the salmon in the fresh water are in the act
of spawning, a run of fish occurs along the coast of Nova
Scotia. They are taken at sea by nets off the headlands,
and are, as affirmed by the fishermen, proceeding to the
southward. Brought to market, they are found to be
nearly all females, in prime condition, with the ova
very small and in an undeveloped state, similar to that
contained in a fish on its first entrance into fresh water.
Where can these salmon be going at the time when the
rest of their species are busily engaged in reproduction ?
Another of- the many mysteries attached to the natural
history of this noble fish! In fresh running water the
salmon takes the artificial fly or minnow, whether from
hunger or offence it does not clearly appear; in salt
water he is not unfrequently taken on the coast of Nova
Scotia by bait-fishing at some distance from shore, and
in sixty or seventy fathoms water. The caplin, smelt,
and sand-eel, contribute to his food.

i

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 233

Dr. Gilpin, of Nova Scotia, speaking of many instances
of marvellous captures of salmon, tells the following
authentic story; the occurrence happened in his own
time and neighbourhood—Annapolis :—

“Mr. Baillie, grandson of the ‘ Old Frontier Mis-
sionary, was fishing the General’s Bridge river up stream
for trout, standing above his knees in water, with an old
negro named Peter Prince at his elbow. In the very act
of casting a trout fly he saw, as is very usual for them, a
large salmon lingering in a deep hole a few yards from
him. The sun favoured him, throwing his shadow behind.
To remain motionless, to pull out a spare hook and pen-
knife, and with a bit of his old hat and some of the grey
old negro’s wool to make a salmon fly then and there, he
and the negro standing in the running stream like statues,
and presently to land a fine salmon, was the work of but
afew moments. This fly must have been the original of

>9)

Norris’s killing ‘ silver grey.

THE RIVERS OF NOVA SCOTIA AND THE
GULF.

Rivers and streams of varying dimensions, but nearly
all accessible to salmon, succeed each other with wonder-
ful frequency throughout the whole Atlantic Sea-board. of
Nova Scotia. In former years, when they were all open
to the ascent of migratory fish, the amount of piscine
wealth represented by them was incalculable. The
salmon literally swarmed along the coast. Their only
enemy was the spear of the native Indian; and the
earlier annals of the province show the prevalence of a

234 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

custom with regard to the hiring of labourers similar to
that once existing in some parts of England—a stipulation
that not more than a certain proportion of salmon should
enter into their diet. Now, the salmon having passed the
ordeal of bag-nets, with which the shores of the long
harbours are studded, and arrived in the fresh water,
vainly loiters in the pool below the monstrous wooden
structure called a mill-dam, which effectively debars his
progress to his ancestors’ domains in the parent lakes,
and before long falls a prey to the spear or scoop-net of
the miller. From wretchedly inefficient legislation the
salmon of Nova Scotia is on the verge of extinction,
with the gaspereaux and other migratory fish, which
once rendered the immense extent of fresh water of
.this country a source of wealth to the province and of
incalculable benefit to the poor settler of the backwoods,
whose barrels of pickled fish were his pret stand-by for
winter consumption.

One of the noblest streams of the Nova Scotian
coast is the Liverpool river, in Queen’s County, which
connects with the largest sheet of fresh water in the
province, Lake Rossignol, whence streams and brooks
innumerable extend in all directions through the wild
interior, nearly crossing to the Bay of Fundy. All
these once fruitful waters are now a barren waste. The
salmon and gaspereaux are debarred from ascent at the
head of the tide, where a series of utterly impracti-
cable mill-dams oppose their progress to their spawning-
grounds. A pitiful half dozen barrels of salmon taken
at the’ mouth is now shown against a former yearly
take of two thousand.

A few miles to the eastward we come to the Port

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 235

Medway river, nearly as large as the preceding, which,
not being so completely closed against the salmon, still
affords good sport in the beginning of the season, in
April and May. This is the furthest river westwardly
from the capital of the province—Halifax—to which the
attention of the fly-fisher is directed. There are some
excellent pools near the sea, and at its outlet from the
lakes, twenty miles above. The fish are large, and have
been taken with the fly in the latter part of March.
The logs going down the stream are, however, a great
hindrance to fishing.

Proceeding to the eastward, the next noticeable
salmon river is the La Have, the scenery on which is
of the most picturesque description. ‘There are some
excellent pools below the first falls. The run of fish is
rather later than at Port Medway, or at Gold River,
which is further east. On the 4th of May, when excel-
lent sport was being obtained in these waters, I have
found no salmon running in the La Have. About the
10th of May appears to be the beginning of its
season.

We next come to Mahone Bay, an expansive indenta-
tion of the coast, studded with islands, noted for its
charms of scenery, and likewise commendable to the
visitor in search of salmon-fishing. About six miles
west of the little town of Chester, which stands at its
head, is the mouth of Gold River. Until very re-
cently this was the favourite resort of sportsmen on
the western shore. Its well-defined pools and easy stands
for casting added to its inducements; and a throng of fish
ascended it from the middle of April to the same time
in May. ‘The increase of sporting propensities amongst

235 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

the rising generation of the neighbouring villages proves
of late years a great drawback to the chances of the
visitor. The pools are continually occupied by clumsy
and undiscerning loafers, who infest the river to the
detriment of sport, and do not scruple to come alongside
and literally throw across your line. Though dear old
Isaac might not possibly object to rival floats a yard
apart, another salmon-fly careering in the same pool is
not to be endured, and of course spoils sport. Still,
however, without such interruptions, fair fishing may be
obtained here, and a dozen fish of ten to twenty pounds
taken by a rod on a good day. Excessive netting in
the salt water is, however, fast destroying all prospects of
sport here as elsewhere.

There are two fair sized salmon rivers entering the
next harbour, Margaret’s Bay, which, being the nearest
to the capital of the province, are over-fished. With the
exception of a pretty little stream, called the Nine-mile
River, which is recovering itself under the protection of
the Game and Fish Preservation Society, these conclude
the list of the western-shore rivers of Nova Scotia.

_ The fishing along this shore is quite easy of access by
the mail-coach from Halifax, which jolts somewhat
roughly three times a week over the rocks and fir-
pole bridges of the shore-road through pretty scenery,
frequently emerging from the woods, and skirting the
bright dancing waters of Margaret's Bay and Chester
Basin. The woodland part of a journey in Nova Scotia
is dreary enough; the dense thickets of firs on either side
being only enlivened by an occasional clearing with its
melancholy tenement and crazy wooden out-buildings, and
by the tall unbarked spruce-poles stuck in a swamp or

a CE Nite

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 237

held up by piles of rocks at their base, supporting the
single wire along which messages are conveyed through
the province touching the latest prices afloat of mackerel,
cod-fish, or salt, on the magnetic system of Morse.

Indian guides to the pools, who are adepts at camp-
keeping, canoeing, and gaffing the fish for you, as well as
at: doing a little stroke of business for themselves, when
opportunities occur, with the forbidden and murderous
spear, reside at the mouths of most of thesé rivers. Their
usual charge, as for hunting in the woods, is a dollar per
diem.

The flies for the western rivers of Nova Scotia are of
a larger make than those used in New Brunswick and
Canada, owing to the turbidity of the water at the season
when the best fishing is to be obtained. They may be pro-
cured in several stores in Halifax, where one Connell ties
them in a superior style, and will forward them to order
anywhere in the provinces orin Canada. A claret-bodied
(pig’s wool or mohair) with a dark mixed wing is good
for the La Have. Green and grey are good colours for
Gold River. With the grey body silver tinsel should
be used, and wood-duck introduced into the wing. An
olive body is also good. There is no feather that sets off
a wing better than wood-duck. It is im my estimation
more tempting to fish than the golden pheasant tippet
feather. Its broad bars of rich velvety black and purest
white give a peculiarly attractive and soft moth-like
appearance to the wing.

The harbour of Halifax, nearly twelve miles in
length, has but one stream, and that of inconsiderable
dimensions, emptying into it. The little Sackville river
was, however, once a stream affording capital sport at

238 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

Midsummer, its season being announced, as the old
fisherman who lived on it and by it, generally known
as “Old Hopewell,” told me, by the arrival of the fire-
flies. He has taken nineteen salmon, of from eight to
eighteen pounds weight, in one morning with the fly.
It offers no sport to speak of now; the saw mills and —
their obstructive dams have quite cut off the fish from
their spawning grounds.

To the eastward, between Halifax and Cape Canseau,
occurs a succession of fine rivers, running through the
most extensive forest district in the province. The
salmon rivers of note are the Musquodoboit, Tangier
river, the Sheet Harbour rivers, and the St. Mary’s.
There are no important settlements on the sea-coast,
‘which is very wild and rugged to the east of Halifax,
and consequently they are less looked after and more
poached. Formerly they teemed with salmon. Besides
the mill-dams, they are netted right across, and the pools
are swept and torched without mercy by settlers and
Indians. The St. Mary’s is the noblest and most beau-
tiful river in Nova Scotia, and its salmon are the largest.
The nets overlap one another from either shore through-
out the long reaches of intervale and wild meadow,
dotted with groups of elm, which constitute its noted
scenic charms, and the lumbermen vie with the Indians
in skill in their nightly spearing expeditions by the light
of blazing birch-bark torches. |

There are many other fine rivers besides those men-
tioned discharging into the Atlantic, which the salmon
has long ceased to frequent, being completely shut out,
and which would swell the dreary record of the ruin of the
inland fisheries of Nova Scotia. In these waters, at a

ay

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 239

distance from the capital, “ Halifax law,” as the settlers
will tell you, is “no account.” The spirit of wanton
extermination is rife ; and, as it has been well remarked,
it really seems as though the man would be loudly
applauded who was discovered to have killed the last
salmon.

Salmon are abundant in the Bay of Fundy, which
washes a large portion of Nova Scotia, but its rivers
are generally ill adapted for sport. Running through
flat alluvial lands, and turbid with the red mud, or
rather, fine sand, of the Bay shores, they are generally
characterised by an absence of good stands and salmon
pools. The Annapolis river was once famous for
salmon fishing. On its tributary, the Nictaux, twenty
or thirty might be taken with the fly im an after-

noon; and the Gaspereau, a very picturesque stream

entering the Basin of Minas at Grand Pré, the once
happy valley of the French Acadians, still affords fair
sport.

We will now turn to the rivers of the Gulf which
enter it from the mainland on the shores of New Bruns-
wick, Lower Canada, and Labrador, commencing with
those of the former province.

Proceeding along the eastern shore of New Brunswick
from its junction with Nova Scotia, we pass several fine
streams with picturesque scenery and strange Indian
names, which, once teeming with fish, now scarcely afford
the resident settler an annual taste of the flesh of salmon.
The Miramichi, however, arrests our attention as being
a noble river; its yield and exportation of salmon is
still very large. Winding sluggishly through a beautiful
and highly cultivated valley for nearly one hundred

240 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE. ©

miles from the Atlantic, the first rapids and pools where
fly-fishing may be practised occur in the vicinity of
Boiestown ; here the sport afforded, in a good season, is
little inferior to that which may be cbtained on the
Nepisiguit. One of its branches, also, the north-west
Miramichi, is worth a visit; and I have known some
excellent sport obtained on it in passing through to the ~
Nepisiguit, from which river the water communication
for a canoe is interrupted but by a short portage through
the forest. |

It is, however, on entering the southern expanses of
the beautiful Bay of Chaleurs that we first find the
paradise of the salmon-fisher; and here still, despite
of many foes—innumerable stake-nets which debar his
. entrance, the sweeping seine in the fresh water, the torch
and spear of the Indian tribes, and lastly, and perhaps
the least destructive agent, the tackle of the fly-fisher-
man—the bright foamy waters of the Nepisiguit, the
Restigouche, the Metapediac, and many others, repay the
visitor and sportsman, whence or how farsoever he may
have come, by the sport which they afford, and by the
wild scenery which surrounds their long course through
the forests of New Brunswick. |

And, first, of the Nepisiguit. This now famous river,
which of late years has attracted from their homes
many visitors, both English and American, to spend a
few weeks in fishing and pleasantly camping-out on its
banks, discharges its waters into the Baie des Chaleurs
at Bathurst, a small neat town, easily accessible from
either Halifax, St. John, or Quebec, and by various
modes of conveyance—coach, rail, and steamboat. Rising
in the centre of northern New Brunswick, in an elevated

<Emt missed,

- a =

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 241

lake region which gives birth to the Tobique and Upsal-
quitch, rivers of about equal size, the Nepisiguit has an
eastward course of nearly one hundred miles through
a wilderness country, where not even a solitary Indian
camp may be met with. It is one of the wildest of
American rivers; sometimes contracted between cliffs
to the breadth of a few yards, coursing sullenly and
darkly below overhanging forests, and sometimes, though
rarely, expanding into broad reaches of smoothly-gliding
water—its most common feature is the ever-recurring
cascade and rapid. |

The adventurous fisherman will do well to supplement
his sport on the river by embarking on a long journey
through the solitudes of the interior to its parent lakes.
A short portage of a couple of miles, and the canoe
floats on the Tobique lakes, and thence descends the
Tobique through another hundred miles of the wildest
and most beautiful scenery imaginable. At the junction
of this latter river with the broad expanse of the upper
St. John, civilisation reappears ; the traveller changes his
conveyance for the steamer or coach, and the frail canoe
returns, with her hardy and skilful sons of the river, to
battle with the rocks and rapids of the toilsome route.

The whole of this tour is, however, fraught with
interest to the sportsman and lover of wild scenery.
Moose, cariboo, and bear are invariably met with; the
two former being generally seen bathing in the water
in the evenings, whilst a visit from a bear at night is
by no means an uncommon occurrence at some camp or
another on the way; or, perchance, Bruin may be sur-
prised when gorging in the early morning, breakfasting
amongst the great thickets of wild raspberries which

R

242 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

abound on the banks. A little search up the tributary
brooks will discover the wonderful works of beaver now
in progress ; and other frequenters of the river, mink,
otters, and musquash, are plentiful, and frequently to
be seen. In July and August the young flappers of
many species of duck form an agreeable change in the
daily bill of fare ; and though salmon do not ascend the —
Nepisiguit beyond the Grand Falls, twenty-one miles
from Bathurst, they may be taken at the head waters
of the Tobique; whilst river trout of large size, and
affording capaient sport, will greedily rise at an almost
bare hook throughout the whole extent of water.

Reclining in the bottom of the canoe, the position of —
the traveller is most comfortable, and he may make
_ notes or sketches, as fancy leads him, with ease; indeed,
from the facility with which all necessaries and even
luxuries may be conveyed, but little hardship need be
anticipated in a canoe voyage through the rivers of
northern New Brunswick.

The length of the journey just denenibie much
depends on the state of the water and the number of
the party. With good water a canoe will get through
with two sportsmen, two canoe men, and all their goods
—camps, blankets, and provisions—in ten or twelve
days ; but should the rivers be low, two canoes must
be employed by the same number. A few years since I
took a still more northern route to the upper St. John,
vid the Restigouche and Grand River; the head-waters
were so shallow that we literally had to drag our canoe,
fixed on long protecting slabs of cedar, for some days
over the rocky bed; we were, moreover, nearly starved,
and occupied nearly three weeks in reaching Fredericton

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 243

on the St. John, down whose broad, deep stream, how-

ever, we paddled at the rate of fifty miles a day.

The scenery on this line of water-communication with
the St. John, is grander, but not so wild as on the former
route, which I recommend as possessing many advan-
tages, particularly in the way of sport.

Mais revenons & nos sawmons—to describe the capa-
bilities of the Nepisiguit to afford sport to the salmon-

. fisher, and direct the visitor. The ascent of salmon

in this river is restricted to twenty-one miles of water
by an insuperable barrier—the Grand Falls; but from
the head of the tide, two miles above the town, to this
point, are a succession of beautiful pools with every
variety of water, so stocked with fish, and with such
picturesque surrounding scenery, that the eye of the
sportsman who may happily combine the love of nature
with the lust of sport drinks in constant and ever-
varying delight as he is introduced to these bewitching
spots. And now of the pools serzatim.

Two miles above Bathurst we come to the “ Rough
Waters,” where there is good fishing. No camp is
needed here ; for it is so near the accommodation of a
comfortable hotel, that I question whether any one would

* care to experiment, except for novelty. It is a pretty

spot, and the dark water here and there breaks into pure
white foam as it passes over a ledge which crosses the
channel from the steep red sandstone cliffs opposite. A
short distance above are the “ Round Rocks,” with little
falls and intervening pools, where the river begins to
show its true character ; and here, as at the last-men-
tioned spot, a good day’s fishing may be obtained from

_ the town. But one is now-a-days liable to interference,

R 2

244 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

however, for of late years the little ragged urchins from
-the Acadian settlement on the south shore have imbibed
a strong love of sport in addition to their hereditary
poaching propensities, and with a rough pole, a few
yards of coarse line, and a bait m appearance anything
but a salmon fly, they will hook some dozen or more
salmon in a day when they are running freely, of ©
course losing nearly every fish.

Distant eight miles from Bathurst, and accessible by
a fair waggon road, are the Pabineau Falls, one of the
choicest fishing stations on the river. The scenery here
is most beautiful ; the forest has now claimed the banks,
and, as the stranger emerges from its shade, and stands
on the broad, smooth expanses of light grey and pink
_ rocks which slope from him towards the brink of the
stream, viewing its clear grass-green waters rolling in
such fierce undulations over long descents, and thun-
dering, enveloped in mist, through various contracted
passes into boiling pools, with congregated masses of
foam ever circling over their black depths, he becomes
impressed withthe idea of irresistible power, and is
constrained to acknowledge that he stands in the pre-
sence of no ordinary stream, but of a mighty river.

I have here stood by the margin of the water, where
hundreds of tons momentarily rushed past my feet in
a compact. mass, and watched the bright gleam of the —
salmon as they would dart up from below like arrows to
encounter the fall ; a slight pause as they near the head;
another convulsive effort, and they are safely over ; but
many fall back, at present unequal for the contest, into
the dark pool.

There are several well-built bial shanties on the rocks

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—_——==SSSSSS

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THE PABINEAU FALLS,

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ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 245

above the falls, for the fine scenery, and the ease with
which the numerous pools in the neighbourhood of the
Pabineau can be fished, have made this a favourite haunt
for anglers.

Two miles above are the Beeterbox Pools, where there
is some swift, deep water at a curve in the river, and at
the foot of a long reach of rapids. It is a very good
station to fish, en passant, but not of sufficient extent to
induce more than an occasional visit.

“ Mid-landing” is the next spot where good sport may
be obtained, particularly at the end of July, when the
river becomes low. ‘The great depths of water here,
shaded by high rocks, induce large fish to remain long in
these cool retreats. Very small, dark flies, and the most
transparent gut must be used; and with these pre-
cautions, when other pools have been failing in a dry
season, I have taken half a dozen salmon a day from the
deep waters of Mid-landing, and from the long, rough
rapid which runs into the pool.

Three miles above are the “Chains of ,Rocks,” the
great and the little. A camp below the last fall of the
lower chain will command all the pools. This range of
pools contains an abundance of fish. Below the fall is a
long expanse of smooth water, at the head of which
salmon congregate in great numbers preparatory to
ascending the rough water above; they lie in several
deep, eddying pools, where projecting ledges narrow the
channel, and may be seen flinging themselves out of
water throughout the day. Above this long series of
eascades which fall over terraces of dark rocks, for
hearly half a mile, there is some evenly-gliding water,
in which fish may be taken from stands on the left

246 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

bank. Here, and at the little chain just above, is
my favourite resort at this part of the river; there is
excellent camping-ground in the tall fir-woods on the
north shore, and bold jutting rocks command the pools
admirably.

Between this spot and the Basin, two miles above,
there are but few spots where the fly may be cast pro- —
fitably ; and, taking the bush-path which skirts the river,
we may now shoulder our rods, and trudge up to the
Grand Falls, our canoes following, spurting through the
rapid water in long strides-as they are impelled by the
vigorous thrusts of the long iron-shod fir-poles. The ~
Basin is a broad and deep expansion of the river, and a —
reservoir where the salmon congregate in multitudes,
. ultimately spawning at the entrance of numerous gravelly

brooks which flow into it from the surrounding forest,
and daily making sorties to the Falls, a mile above, to
enjoy the cool water which flows thence to the lake
between tall, overhanging cliffs, sometimes completely
shaded from the sunlight save during a very limited
portion of the day.

In this mile of deep swift water, which winds in a
dark thread from the Basin to the foot of the falls
between lofty walls of slate rock, salmon lie during the
day in thousands ; there are certain spots which they
prefer, found by experience to be the best pools, where
the splash of the fish and the voice of the angler awaken
echoes from the cliffs throughout the season. ine
fishing, and fine tackle for these—aye, and a good
temper, too—for it is the most favoured resort for rods,
and we may often be compelled to cease awhile from our
sport, whilst a canoe (here the only mode of. conveyance

72 —— - =

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 247

from pool to pool) with its scarlet-shirted paddlers,
creeps through the water by the opposite shore.

There are but one or two places in the cliffs here
where a camp may be pitched, and, if these are occupied,
we must drop down-stream again to some less-frequented
locality. The best of these is a green sloping bank, over
which a cool brook courses between copses of hazel and
alder into the river below. It is a charming situation,
and from a grassy plateau overhanging the river, where
the camps are usually placed, we may look down into a
clear pool, some seventy feet below, and watch the
salmon which occupy it, dressed in distinct ranks.

The Grand Falls are rather more than 100 feet in
height. The river, here greatly contracted, descends
into a deep boiling pool, first by a succession of headlong
tumbles, and then in a compact and perpendicular fall of
forty feet. The first fishing pool is just below the
eddying basin at the foot of the fall, which is seldom
entered by the canoe men, as currents both of air
and water sweep round it towards the pitch; besides,
the fish here are so engaged in battling with the heaving
water, in their vain attempts to surmount the falls, that
they will not regard the fly.

All this portion of the Nepisiguit must be fished from
a canoe, excepting a few rocky stands, where almost
every cast is made at the risk of the hook snapping
against the cliffs behind ; and this leads -us to say a few
words on the canoe men of the river. They are a hardy
and generally intelligent race of Acadian-French, appa-
rently a good deal crossed with Indian blood, exceedingly
skilful in managing their bark canoes, and in getting
fish for the sportsman; they have great experience in

248 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

the requirements of a camp in the woods, and are,
withal, very merry, companionable fellows. For a
fishing camp anywhere above the Pabineau, a canoe and
three men (one to act as cook and camp-keeper), are
indispensable ; and on arriving at Bathurst, the services
of any of the followimg men of good character should be
secured : The Chamberlains, the Vineaus, David Buchet> —
Joe Young, and others; Baldwin, the landlord of the
little hotel, knows them all well. Their wages are a
dollar a day for the canoe men ; the cook may be hired
for half a dollar, but he will grumble, and most likely
succeed in getting three shillings. If a voyage through
to the St. John, wd the Nictaux and Tobique lakes, be
contemplated, selection should be made of those men
. who have taken parties through before. All provisions
necessary for a sojourn on the river—everything, from
an excellent ham to a tin of the best chocolate—are to
be had at the store of Messrs. Ferguson, Rankin, and Co.,
in Bathurst, obliging people, very moderate and liberal;
- they will deduct for all the cooking utensils, supplied
by them, which may be returned on coming down the
‘river. |
Notwithstanding the immense destruction of fish in
the Nepisiguit in every possible way—netting and
torching in fresh water, whenever the nature of the
stream allows of such proceedings, wholesale sweeping
and spearing on their spawning beds by tribes of Indians,
even into the month of November, when they are quite
black and slimy, extensive netting at its mouth, and
the number taken by fly-fishers—even yet the river
swarms with salmon; a favourable condition of the
water and the command of a few pools will insure good

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 249

sport. The fish are not very large, as in the more
northern rivers of the bay; the average of the weights,
of seventy salmon killed by one rod at the Grand Falls
a few seasons since, was 11lb. 80z.; and of thirty
orilse, 4lb. The fish commence running up in June, but,
from the height of the water, there is rarely good fishing
before July; the 10th is about the best time, and by
that time they have gone up as high as the Grand Falls.
The flies for the Nepisiguit should be small and. neat,
and of three sizes to each pattern, for different states of
water. As mistakes are often made from the different
mode of numbering by different makers, it will be sufhi-
cient to say that the length of the medium fly should be
12in. from the point of the shank to the extreme bend,
measuring diagonally across. The patterns should be

generally dark, and all mixed wings should be as modest

as possible; no gaudy contrasts of colour, as used in
Norway or Scotland, will do here. A dark fly, tied as
follows, is a great favourite: body of black mohair,
ribbed with fine gold thread, black hackle, very dark
mallard wing, a narrow tip of orange silk, and a very
small feather from the crest of golden pheasant for a
tail. Then I like a rich claret body with dark mixed
wing and tail, claret hackle, and a few fibres of English
jay in the shoulder. Small grey-bodied flies ribbed with
silver, grey legs, and wing mixed with wood-duck and
golden pheasant, will do well. Many other and brighter
flies may be used in the rough water, and a primrose
body, with black head and tip, and butterfly wing of
golden pheasant, will prove very tempting to grilse,
which, late in July, may be taken in any number in
many parts of the river, particularly at the Pabineau

250 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

and Chain of Rocks. These flies will do anywhere in
New Brunswick.

At the head of the Bay of Chaleurs, and about fifty
miles from Bathurst, we come to the Restigouche, one of
the largest rivers of British North America, 220 miles in
length, and formerly teeming with salmon from the sea
to its upper waters. So abundant were the fish some —
twenty-five years ago, that Mr. Perley, Her Majesty’s
Commissioner for the Fisheries, states that 3000 barrels
were shipped annually from this river, and in those days
salmon of 60lb. weight were not uncommon. Of late
years there has been a sad falling-off, and instead of
eleven salmon going to a barrel of 200lb., more than —
twice the number must now be used. Unfortunately for
_ the preservation of the fish, and the prospects of the fly-
fisher, the character of this beautiful river is very different
to that of the Nepisiguit. For 100 miles the Restigouche
runs in a narrow valley between wooded mountains with
an almost unvarying rapid current, with but few deep —
pools and no falls. Hence the chances of rod-fishing are
greatly diminished, whilst settlers and Indians torch and
spear everywhere. ‘The channel is much used by the
lumberers for the water-conveyance of provisions to the
gangs employed in the woods at its head-waters—scows
(v.e., large flat-bottomed barges) being employed, drawn
by teams of horses which find a natural tow-path in its
shingly beaches by the edge of the forest. High up the
river there are many rifts and sand-beaches, partly
exposed in a dry season, through which the channel
winds ; and the scow is often dragged through shallow
places, thus ploughing up the spawning grounds of the
salmon.

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 251

A few years since, after a fortnight’s fishing on the
Nepisiguit, durmg which my companion and myself
took eighty salmon, notwithstanding an unprecedented
drought, we visited the Restigouche, more for the sake
of enjoying its fine scenery than expecting sport. Stay-
ing for a day, however, at the house of a hospitable
farmer who dwelt by the river-side, at the junction of
the Matapediac with the main stream, I had the plea-
sure of hooking the first salmon ever taken with a fly
in the Restigouche water, a fine clean fish of twelve
pounds. In an how's fishing I had taken three salmon,
each differently shaped, and at once pronounced by my
host to be frequenters of three separate rivers which
here unite—the two already mentioned and the Upsal-
quitch.

The Matapediac has a course of sixty miles from
a large lake in Rimouski, Lower Canada, and the Upsal-
quitch runs in on the New Brunswick side. They are
both fine rivers, and ascended by salmon in large
numbers ; the latter is stated to be very like the Ne-
pisiguit in character—full of falls and rapids, and I
believe it would afford equal sport. It looked most
tempting as we passed its mouth on our long canoe
voyage up the main river, but we had not time to stay
and test its capabilities. About sixty miles from the sea
we discovered a salmon pool in the Restigouche, and
took eight small fish from it in an afternoon ; but such
pools are few and far between, and I would not recom-
mend any one to ascend this river for sport above the
Upsalquitch. The flies we used here were dark clarets
and reds; I believe any fly will take, recommending,
however, larger sizes than the Nepisiguit flies, as the

252 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE. —

Restigouche salmon run much larger, and even in these
days commonly weigh thirty pounds. 3

Campbelltown, a neat little village at the head of the
tide, twenty miles from the sea, is to be reached from
Bathurst by coach ; and here the traveller or sportsman
intending to ascend the Restigouche or its before-men-
tioned tributaries, will find a large settlement of Indians
of the Micmac tribe. They all have canoes, and many
of them are good guides, and trustworthy. There is a
good store at which to purchase provisions, and a very
comfortable little hotel kept by a Mr. M‘Leod.

We now leave the rivers of New Brunswick: the

Restigouche being the dividing line between the two

provinces, the rivers of the north shore of Chaleurs Bay
-are Canadian. About thirty miles from the head of the
bay we come to the Cascapediac, a large river running in
a deep chasm through the mountains of Bonaventure.
It is frequented by salmon of large size, and I have been
told by Mr. R. H. Montgomery, who resides near its
mouth, that the average weight is between thirty and
forty pounds. He offered to procure me good Indians
and canoes for ascending to the first rapids, which are
some distance up the river. The whole district of Gaspé
is intersected by numerous and splendid rivers, abound-
ing in salmon and sea trout, the latter of four pounds
to seven pounds in weight. The mountain scenery through
which they flow is magnificent, and many of them have
never been thrown over with a fly rod. Amongst the
largest may be noticed the Bonaventure, the Malbaie, and
the Magdeleine.

On the south shore of the St. Lawrence, from Gaspé
to Quebec, these are several streams which formerly

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. y

~~

53

t

abounded in salmon, but of late years have been so un-
productive that attention need not be directed to them.
From the Jacques Cartier, a few miles above Quebec, to
the Labrador, the north shore of the St. Lawrence is
intersected by innumerable rivers ; in many of these the
salmon fishery has been nearly destroyed, but the energy
of the Canadian Government is fast remedying the evil.
The process of reproduction by artificial propagation
under an able superintendent, and the preservation of

the rivers, are bringing back the salmon to comparative
plenty in many a worn-out stream; and the visitor to
Quebec will soon be enabled to obtain sport on the beau-
tiful Jacques Cartier and other rivers in the neighbour-
hood, without having to seek the distant fishing stations
of the Labrador. The Saguenay, too, with its thirty
tributaries, is Improving; for many years past this
noble river has scarcely proved worth a visit, except
for its wonderful scenery. In fact, the legislature, aided
by an excellently constituted club for the protection
of fish and game, have taken the matter up in earnest;
fish-ways are placed on those rivers which have dams or
slides upon them; netting and spearing in the fresh
water is prevented; an able superintendent of fisheries,
and several overseers, have been appointed ; and, finally,
an excellent measure has been adopted—the annual
leasing of salmon rivers to gentlemen for fly-fishing, for
small rents—on condition of their aiding and carrying
out the proper preservation of the fisheries.

Amongst the largest and most notable salmon rivers
which are passed in proceeding from the Saguenay along
the northern shore are the Escoumins, Portneuf, Bersia-
mits, Outardes, Manacouagan, Godbout, Trinity, St. Mar-

254 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

garet, Moisie, St. John, Mingan, Natashquan, and Esqui-
maux. Salmon ascend all these rivers, and take the fly
readily. Whether they will rise in the rivers of the
north-eastern coast, past the straits of Belle-Isle, remains
to be proved. It has been affirmed that they will not
do so in the Labrador rivers of high northern latitude,
thus evincing the same peculiarity which has been
observed on the part of the true sea salmon of Siberian
rivers flowing into the Arctic Ocean. I have heard,
however, that they will rise at a piece of red cloth
trailed on a hook over the water from the stern of
a boat.

In conclusion, the salmon rivers of the Gulf of St. —
Lawrence, though they offer no extraordinary sport,
. possess the charms of wild and often noble scenery ; life
in the woods, in a summer camp, will agreeably sur-
| prise those who hold back for fear of hard work, and the
discomforts of “roughing it.” Any point, excepting the
extremes of Labrador, may be reached with ease from
either Quebec or Halifax ; whilst the economy which
may be practised by a party of two or three, will be found
to be within the means of most sportsmen. At the ter-
mination of the fishing season a few weeks may be spent
in tourising through the Canadas or the States; and in
the month of September the glowing forests of Nova
Scotia or New Brunswick may be traversed in search of
moose, cariboo, or bear. Between the Ottawa and the
great lakes there is excellent duck-shooting, and the woods
abound in deer (Cervus Virginianus), whilst the vast ex-
panses of wilderness in Newfoundland teem with cariboo,
ptarmigan, and wild fowl; the former so abundant as
sometimes to tempt the sportsman (?) to kill more than

Ae Me

a

THE GRAND FALLS, NEPISIGUIT.

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 255

he can carry away or dispose of, leaving the meat rotting
in the woods. To all such, Avaunt! say we ; wholesale
and thoughtless slaughter, except on the fiercer species
—the natural enemies of man—is always to be depre-
cated ; but the true sportsman we confidently invite to
the forests and rivers of British North America, believ-
ing that his example in carrying out the fair English
principles of sport, will tend much to the preservation
of game.

GLOVER’S SALMON.
S. Glovertt (Girard.)

My first acquaintance with this handsome salmonoid
began many years since, when I would take basketsfull
in the month of April in the runs connecting the upper
lakes of the Shubenacadie river in Nova Scotia. At first
I took them to be young salmon, both from their jump-
ing propensities when hooked and the resemblance they
bore to the parr on scraping away the scales from the
sides. Yet their rich olive black backs and beautiful
bronze spots on the head and gill covers made them
appear dissimilar, and I could no longer doubt them
distinct from salmon, when I had succeeded in taking
them of one, two, and three pounds weight, and still
spotted, in the early summer, quite dissimilar in colour
from grilse, and far exceeding the size of smolts, which
the smaller individuals somewhat resembled. Finding out
their haunts, and seasons for changing their abode, we
were content to take them in the spring and late in the
autumn, in the runs and streams lying between their
spawning grounds and the deep waters of large lake

256 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

basins (where they spent the hot season and could only
be tempted by bait), under the common local misnomer
of Grayling. And glorious sport we found it; the
dash with which this game fish seizes the fly, its ©
surprising jumps to the level of one’s shoulder, and its
beautiful metallic hues, particularly in the spring, im-
vested it with an interest far exceeding that of fishing
for 8. Fontinalis.

At length, however, on referring several specimens
to Dr. Gilpin, they were identified by him in the
“Proceedings of the Nova Scotian Institute” as 8.
Gloverii, or Glover’s Salmon of Girard, better known
in New Brunswick as the Silvery Salmon Trout of the
Scoodic Lakes, where its abundance in the rapid waters
connecting the upper lakes of the St. Croix river, render —
this locality one of the most famed fishing stations of the
- Lower Provinces. The following is Dr. Gilpin’s deserip-
tion taken from specimens forwarded by myself and
others :— |

“Length, about seventeen inches ; breadth of widest
part from first dorsal, two and a half inches; length of
head nearly two and a half inches; the shape of the
head fine and small, the back rising rather suddenly,
from posterior to head, sloping very gradually upward
to insertion of dorsal, thence downward to insertion of
tail, lower line corresponding with line of back; a long
elegant shaped fish with a strong base to a powerful tail ;
eye large, nearly half an inch in diameter and two
diameters from end of nose; opercles rounded, and with
the pre-opercles marked with numerous concentric
streaks ; the lower line of inter-opercle parallel with
line of the body, labials, both upper and lower, arched,

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 257

line of pre-opercle not so rounded as opercle; ‘the
pectoral fins coming out very far forward, almost
touching the gill rays, dorsal commencing about two
lengths of head from tip of nose, sub-quadrangular,
free edge concave ; ventral about opposite sixth ray of
dorsal ; adipose fin opposite posterior edge of anal;
caudal deeply cleft, and very nearly the length of head
in depth. In one instance the tail was square. Inter-
maxillaries, maxillaries, palatines, vomer and tongue
armed with sharp and recurved teeth, the teeth on the
vomer extending half an inch down the roof of mouth, a
fleshy line extending from them to the gullet, the upper
jaw notched to receive the lower. In two specimens a
prolonged hook in lower jaw advancing beyond the
teeth. Girard says the male fish has adipose fins oppo-
site anterior edge of anal, the female opposite posterior
edge. Whilst in the following description, taken from a
female fish, I have verified his remarks, I have added, that
in the male the adipose fin is very much larger, which is
almost the same thing. Colour black above, shading
down to sepia brown at the lateral line, the brown being
the back ground to numerous black spots, some round,
some lunated extending from opercles to tail. The opercles
partake of the same general colour with yellow reflections
and blue tints, but also marked with spots extending to
the pre-opercles, beautifully round and distinct; sides
_ yellowish, and belly white with pearly tints, the whole
covered with bright scales larger about the sides than
beneath. The colours vary much by the reflected lights
made in turning the fish. The colour of the fins when fresh
out of water,—caudal brown, dorsal brownish black, and
spotted, lower fins dark brown, edges and tips dark,

8

258 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

a very fleeting lavender wash on dorsal. Sides yellowish.
In one adult specimen I noticed a few red spots on sides,
but in the young fish they are very marked and beauti-
ful. Some seen by myself in July had vertical bars,
red spots, very silvery on sides, and all, even the
smallest, had the typical opercular spots very distinct.
They were exceedingly beautiful and might have readily
been taken for a different species. On opening the fish
from gills to tail, the heart with its single auricle and
ventricle first presented, the liver overlapping the
stomach and pale yellow; the stomach descended about
one-half the length of the fish, was then reflected sud-—
_ denly upon itself where it was covered by numerous
ceca (about thirty); these are the pyloric ceca of
authors. It then turned down again, and soon was lost
in small intestine ending at the vent. The spawn were
each of the size of currants and bright scarlet, about a
thousand in number, and encased in a very thin bilo-
bular ovary, the left lobe occupying the left side, being
a little over three inches, and only one half the length
of right lobe occupying right side; a second fish gave the
same placing of ovary. Both these fish were taken on
the 2nd and 4th November at Grand Lake, Halifax, and
evidently near spawning. Fins, D, 12 or 13, P. 14, V.9,
A. 9, C. 20. Axillary scale small. The first dorsal ray
In some instances contains two, in other three small rays.
Typical marks, spots on opercles.”

In its general appearance, markings, and delicate
primrose tint on the belly, the fish is not unlike the
trout of gravelly streams in England.

In former years, before the construction of the Shube-
nacadie Canal, it was found in that river during the

ACADIAN FISH AND FISHING. 259

summer months far below the lakes. A place called
the “ Black Rock,” just above the head of the tide,
was a famous stand for grayling fishing; and five
and six pound fish were not unfrequent. Now cut
off from salt water by the locks, their migrations
are restricted between the deep basin of the Grand
Lake and the numerous chains of lakes which give
rise to its affluents; and the fish, whilst they seldom
attain a greater weight than three pounds, are not so
silvery in the spring as formerly. The same fish taken
at Loch Lomond, near Saint John’s, New Brunswick, are
much smaller, browner, and paler in flesh than the St.
Croix trout, and apparently from the same cause.

In Nova Scotia this trout will take the fly as readily
late in the fall (even to first week in November) as in
the spring, and long after the common brook-trout ceases
torise. As itis then, however, immediately proceeding to
the spawning grounds, and with fully developed ova, this
sport should be rendered illegal after October.

Two great lake trout inhabit the deep lakes of the
Provinces—Salmo confinis and 8. Amethystus—the former
being abundant, and sometimes attaining a weight of
twenty pounds. They may be taken in deep holes with
bait or spoon-hook trolled and well sunk. Their flavour
is insipid, and they are unentitled to more than a passing
notice in a description of the game fish of Acadie.

The yellow perch (Perea flavescens) is exceedingly nu-
merous in lakes and rivers. Though seldom exceeding
half a pound in weight, heavy baskets may be taken in a
day’s fishing on some lakes (where they seem to affect
particular localities) by those who care for such sport.

It is a handsome fish, of a bright golden yellow colour,
§ 2

260 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

striped with dusky perpendicular bands. Its fins are vermi-
lion ; and altogether it is a decided analogue to the English
river perch. It may be taken on either a fly or bait.
When properly cooked it is very palatable. The so-called
white perch, also very abundant in fresh waters, is in
reality a bass (Labrax pallidus), and a worthless fish.
The common sucker (Catostomus) will sometimes rise at
the fly, as also will the cat-fish, whose enormous mouth,
surrounded by long fleshy feelers, gives it a hideous
appearance. It will seize a trout of half its own size. —

CHAPTER X.

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND.

I KNow of no country so near England which offers
the same amount of inducement to the explorer, natu-
ralist, or sportsman as Newfoundland. To one who
combines the advantages of a good practical knowledge
of geology with the love of sport the interior of this
great island, much of which is quite unknown, may
indeed prove a field of valuable and remunerative
discovery, for its mineral resources, now under the
examination of a Government geological survey, are
unquestionably of vast importance, and quite unde-
veloped. Numerous discoveries of copper have been
made at various points, particularly on the western side,
and coal and petroleum have been found in the interior.
So completely, however, is the population devoted to
the prosecution of the fisheries, that even agriculture is
unheeded, though there is plenty of good land close to
the harbours. Between these, with the exception of a
few roads in the province of Avalon (the peninsula
which contains the capital of the colony, St. John’s),
there is no communication except by water.

As a field for sport, likewise, Newfoundland is but
little known. Some half-dozen or so of regular visitors
from the continent, one or two resident sportsmen, and

262 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

the same number from England, comprise the list of
those who have encamped in its vast solitudes in quest
of its principal large game—the cariboo—which is scat-
tered more or less abundantly over an area of some twenty-
five thousand square miles of unbroken wilderness.

Like Nova Scotia, the face of the country is dotted
with lakes innumerable, some of which, as the Grand
Lake (fifty miles in length) and the Red Indian Pond,
are of much larger dimensions than any found in the
former province. These waters all abound with trout ;
and beaver,* otter, and musk-rats, being subject to less
persecution, are much more numerous than on the con- _
tinent. The willow grouse (Lagopus albus) is the com-
mon resident game bird of the country, and is exceedingly
abundant; and the migratory fowl pursued for sport
include the Canada goose, that excellent bird the black
duck (Anas obscura), curlew, and snipe. The black bear
and the wolf are of frequent occurrence in the interior,
and add a flavour of excitement to the varied catalogue
of sport.

The following observations and scraps of information
collected on several occasions of visits of inspection to
the garrison town of St. John’s are here presented with
a view to their proving of use to the intending visitor in
search of sport, or as interesting to the naturalist.

The route from Halifax to St. John’s is traversed fort-
nightly in summer, and monthly in the winter months,
by small screw steamers subsidied for the mail service,
and is as uncomfortable a voyage as may well be imagined
at times, the direction being that of the northern line of the
fog, which sometimes envelopes the steamer throughout,

* The beaver is not now found on the peninsula of Avalon.

ae Pte

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 263

or, at all events, until the vessel rounds Cape Race—
nearly at the end of the journey. Near the Cape icebergs
are frequent during the summer months, and it is not an
uncommon circumstance to hear the dull roar of the surf
upon their precipitous sides as one passes in uncomfortable
proximity in a dense fog. Field ice, too, is another
drawback in the spring; enormous areas come down
from the Gulf, and more than once the little steamer has
spent a fortnight or so enclosed, drifting into one of the
wild, inhospitable harbours of the southern coast. The
duration of the voyage from Halifax to St. John’s is
from three to five days—a little longer when, as is
generally the case, Sydney, Cape Breton, is touched at.
In fine summer weather coasting along the shores of
Nova Scotia and Cape Breton is pleasant enough, par-
ticularly in the evenings, when the heated atmosphere,
blown off from the fir woods, is charged with delicious
fragrance. ‘The scenery, viewed from the deck of a
vessel passing at some two or three leagues distance, has
nothing of especial interest, as might be inferred ; the
numerous indentations of the harbours are hardly per-
ceptible, and the wooded country behind rises but a few
hundred feet or so in a continuous undulating line of hills.
A noticeable rock, which may be seen at a considerable
distance out to sea, termed “The Ship,” terminates a
headland on the western side of the harbour of that
name. It looks just like a schooner, or rather brigantine,
under full sail. |

This part of the North American coast is marked by
the presence of multitudes of sea birds, which, at the
periods of their annual migrations, afford abundant and
exciting sport. Formerly they resorted to the numerous

264 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

islands of Nova Scotia and Cape Breton to breed. Now,
driven away by persecution, the bulk of them go much

_ further to the north-east.

Every fisherman along shore has a fowling-piece, and
shoots “ sea-ducks,” as he indiscriminately calls a variety
of species—eiders, pintails, mergansers, loons, and coots—
and when we consider the wholesale destruction caused —
by the eggers at their breeding-grounds in the Gulf, it is
surprising that the birds have not more quickly followed
the great auk in progress towards extinction. As has
been stated before, there is no record of the latter bird
affecting these shores within the memory of those living, —
though the Penguin Islands (the bird had much re-
semblance to the true penguin of the Southern Ocean)
. certainly derived their name from its former abundance.
The Canadian Government have lately terminated the
wholesale destruction of sea-birds’ eggs in the Gulf by
stringent enactments, and the egeging trade is virtually
abolished. The wanton destruction which accompanied
the arrival of an egging vessel at the breeding-grounds
was most disgraceful. Armed with sticks, the crew first
broke every egg on the island (tens of thousands.) A —
partial re-commencement of laying ensued, and the
harvest was immediately gleaned with the assurance
that the cargo on reaching port would consist of none
but fresh egos. The bulk of the spoil consisted of the
egos of the guillemots, and were sold at about three
cents apiece. I have frequently eaten them and found
them exceedingly palatable; the white somewhat re-
sembles that of a plover’s egg im appearance and
flavour. :

The local names of the sea-birds are singular. The

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 265

beautiful and quite common harlequin duck (Anas his-
trionica) is called “a lord:” the long-tailed duck (A.
glacialis) rejoices in the name of “ cockawee,” from its
note, and sometimes the “old squaw,” “from the Iu-
dicrous similarity between the gabbling of a flock of
these birds and an animated discussion of a piece of
scandal in the Micmac language between a number of
antiquated ladies of that interesting tribe.”* The puffin
is termed a parrot, and the little auk, the bull-bird.
_ The name of shell-ducks or shell-drakes, applied to the
mergansers (more especially to the goosander), is a
misnomer prevalent along the whole coast and in
Labrador: no true tadorna is found in North America.
In several of the harbours on the Nova Scotian coast
excellent sport may be obtained in winter, shooting wild-
fowl on the ice, for many of these birds remain all
winter. Canada geese and brant are shot only during
migration. Scatterie, a desolate island lying off the
eastern end of Cape Breton, is a great resort of sea-birds

* The Rey. J. Ambrose, on “ Birds frequenting St. Margaret’s Bay, N. S.,”
from “ Proceedings of N. 8S. Inst. Nat. Science.” The writer further
observes :—“ The shooting of sea-birds is not only a source of profit to our
fishermen, and a means of providing them with an agreeable variety at
their frugal board, but it also relieves a great deal of the tedium of their
winter season of inactivity. It is surprising, however, that accidents do
not more frequently happen from their mode of charging theirguns. Three
fingers of powder and two of shot is the smallest load for their old militia
muskets—the approved gun here—and in the hurry of loading in a boat
much more powder is frequently poured in. Black eyes and bloody noses
are the not uncommon penalties of a morning’s sport, and I know one
fisherman whose nose has been knocked permanently out of shape by the
frequent kicking of his gun. In several instances the gun has gone clean
overboard out of the fowlev’s hands, by the recoil. But nothing can daunt
these men, or induce them to load with a lighter hand. There is one living
at Nor’-West Cove, who has had his right eye destroyed by his gun, but
who is now as great a duck-shooter as ever, firing, however, from the left
shoulder.”

266 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

of all descriptions, as is also Sydney harbour. Prince
Edward Island and the Gulf shore of New Brunswick
afford wonderful sport during the passage of the geese.

To return, however, to the subject before us—New-
foundland, its characteristic features and wild sports.

A marked difference of outline to those of the shores
of Acadie is readily perceived on approaching its —
southern coast. The cliffs rise from the sea to the height
of some five hundred feet, with a precipitous face and
comparatively level summits, forming long stretches of
table land. Then the tall arrow-headed pines are missed,
and on passing quite close, the vegetation with which
the country is clothed appears singularly colourless as
well as stunted. A chilling melancholy aspect pervades
_ the face of nature; except for the number of little
fishing smacks with which the coast is dotted, we might
‘seem to be passing the shores of Greenland. <A few
hours before, perhaps, we were in the warm atmosphere,
blown with us by a balmy west wind from the fir-covered
hills of Cape Breton; now we are faced by a biting
north-east breeze which at once reminds us of the chills
of early spring on the Atlantic coast. Rounding Cape
Race, and we are fairly in the great Arctic current,
and most probably within view of icebergs—at least up
to the end of August. The water in the early summer
is strewn through large areas with floating pieces of
field ice, detachments from the great fields which float
down the coast in spring, sometimes, indeed, entering
and blocking up the harbours for miles out to sea. St.
John’s harbour has thus been blockaded even in the
month of June, whilst the sea to the distance of twenty
miles from the shore has been frozen so that a traveller

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 267

might visit on foot any post along shore within seventy
miles to the north-east.

The chilling effect of this proximity to the southern
passage of ice through so large a portion of the year
is readily perceptible on the vegetation in this part of
the island. The stunted character of the deciduous
trees (of few species compared with their representatives
on the eastern shores of the mainland) and of the spruces,
the absence of the broad-leaved maple, with which the
continental forests are enriched, and the nakedness of
the dull grey rocks, give an air of dreariness to the
country, Which it seems at first to the stranger im-
possible to shake off.

From comparative observations I should assign a
fortnight as the difference in the progress of vegetation
between Nova Scotia and the country round St. John’s.
On July 14th, the common lilac, long since faded in the
gardens at Halifax, was here found in full bloom. On
the 18th I observed various Vaccineee, the purple iris, the
pigeon-berry, and Smilacina bifolia in flower, and the
kalmia just coming out, indicating fully the difference of
season already stated.

Although in the interior, and especially on the western
side of the island, Newfoundland can boast of forests,
but little wood deserving that name appears in the vicinity
of St. John’s. The wilderness is generally covered with
low alder bushes and thickets of white spruce (Abies alba),
with a scanty mixture of balsam fir. A few small white
birch, willows of several species, and one description of
maple (Acer montanum), with the Amelanchier, or Indian
pear, and wild cherry, constitute the bulk of the deci-
duous vegetation. The swamps (of great extent and

268 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

constant occurrence) are covered with cotton grass, and
Indian cups (Sarracenia), and the sphagnum with creep-
ing tendrils of the cranberry. Dry elevated bogs have
thick growths of huckle and blueberries (Gaylussacia
resinosa and Vaccinium Canadense), with the common
partridge berry, Labrador tea (Ledum), and sweet-scented —
myrica, and open spots are carpeted with reindeer lichen.
Empetrum: nigrum (locally misnamed heather), on the
numerous black berries of which the curlew and wild
goose feed, is a very abundant shrub, growing in the
open, with patches of ground juniper.

It was probably to the profusion of berries (Vaccines)
that the original name of Newfoundland, given by its
early Norwegian visitors—Winland—was due, a country
frequently alluded to in Norwegian and Icelandic his-
torical records. The huckle-berries, especially, are so
large and juicy that they might naturally have passed
for the wild grapes for which the island was said to be
famous, and which, it is almost needless to state, do not
therein exist.*

The birches appear to be the only deciduous timber trees
in Newfoundland, for, with the exception of the species
already mentioned and moose wood (Abies striatum)
—both mere shrubs—neither maple nor beech are to be
found. On the western side of the island, where the soil
and climate approximate to those of the adjacent coasts
of the mainland, the hard-wood forests attain a fine
development, affording a plentiful supply of fuel, and
wood for manufacture. The yellow birch (Betula excelsa)

* A tolerably palatable red wine is commonly made in Nova Scotia, by
the settlers, from blueberries.

eee se

Sy SP

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 269

grows here with a diameter of nearly three feet, and
pine, spruce, and larch are abundant. The scenery of
the western coast differs greatly from that of the southern
and eastern. St. George’s Bay and the Bay of Islands
are surrounded by rolling forest-covered hills, and fine

~ woods skirt the Humber river which enters the latter

basin, and the great lakes in the interior whence it flows.
With a soil quite capable of yielding abundantly to the
agriculturist, the presence of coal-fields, vast mineral
wealth, and extensive forests verging on the harbours
and rivers, it is surprising that this part of the island is
not more thickly settled. The fog, constantly shrouding
the southern shores, and often extending for some dis-
tance up the eastern, is here of quite unfrequent occur-
rence, and the easterly winds which chill the soil and
retard vegetation round St. John’s, are divested of their
bitterness on crossing the island.

Much light is thrown upon the interior features of the
main island to the southward of: the great lakes by the
curious narrative of his journey across from Trinity Bay
on the east coast to St. George’s on the west, published
as a pamphlet many years since by Mr. W. E. Cormack.
His account is still regarded as the best description of
the interior, of which but little more is known at the
present day than at the time of his visit. The journey
across the island was undertaken on foot, of course; a
single Indian accompanied him, and all the necessaries
of life were carried in knapsacks. After difficult progress
of some days’ duration through scanty spruce forests, he
thus describes his first view of the interior :—

“We soon found that we were on a great granitic
ridge, covered, not as the lower grounds are, with

270 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

crowded pines and green moss, but with scattered trees ;
and a variety of beautiful lichens, or reindeer moss,
partridge-berries, and whortle-berries, loaded the ground.
The Xylosteum villosum, a pretty, erect shrub, was in
full fruit by the sides of the rocks ; grouse, 'Tetrao albus,
the indigenous game-bird of the country, rose in coveys
in every direction, and snipes from every marsh. The
birds of passage, ducks and geese, were flying over us to
and fro from their breeding places in the interior and the
sea coast; tracks of deer, of wolves fearfully large, of
bears, foxes, and martens were seen everywhere.

“On looking back towards the sea coast, the scene was
magnificent. We discovered that under cover of the
forest we had been uniformly ascending ever since we
_ left the salt water at Random Bar, and then soon arrived
at the summit of what we saw to be a great mountain
ridge that seems to serve as a barrier between the sea
and the interior. The dense black forest, through which
we had pilgrimaged, presented a novel feature, appear-
ing spotted with bright yellow marshes and a few glossy
lakes in its bosom, some of which we had passed close by
without seeing them.

“In the westward, to our inexpressible delight, the in-
terior broke in sublimity before us. What a contrast did
this present to the conjectures entertained of Newfound-
land! The hitherto mysterious interior lay unfolded
before us—a boundless scene, emerald surface, a vast
basin. The eye strides again and again over a succes-
sion of northerly and southerly ranges of green plains,
marbled with woods and lakes of every form and extent.
The imagination hovers in the distance, and clings invo-
luntarily to the undulating horizon of vapours far into

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 271

the west, until it is lost. A new world seemed to invite
us onward, or rather we claimed the dominion, and were
impatient to take possession. Our view extended for
more than forty miles in all directions, and the great
exterior features of the eastern portion of the main body
of the island are seen perfectly from these commanding
heights.

“ September 11.—We descended into the bosom of the
interior.

“The plains which shone so brilliantly are steppes, or
savannas, composed of fine black compact peat mould,
formed by the growth and decay of mosses (principally
the Sphagnum capillifolium), and covered uniformly with:
wiry grass, the Euphrasia officinalis being in some places
intermixed. They are in the form of extensive gently
undulating beds, stretching northwards and southwards,
with running waters and lakes, skirted with woods, lying
between them. Their yellow-green surfaces are some-
times uninterrupted by either tree, shrub, rock, or any
inequality for more than ten miles. They are chequered
everywhere upon the surface by deep-beaten deer paths,
and are in reality magnificent deer-parks, adorned by
woods and water. ‘The trees here sometimes grow to a
considerable size, particularly the larch; birch is also
common. The deer herd upon them to graze. It is
impossible to describe the grandeur and richness of the
scenery, which will probably remain long undefined by
the hand of man, in search of whose associations the
eye vainly wandered.

“Our progress over the savanna country was attended
with great labour, and consequently slow, being only at
a rate of five to seven miles a day to the westward,

272 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE, ©

whilst the distance walked was equivalent to three or
four times as much. Always inclining in our course to
the westward, we traversed in every direction, partly
from choice, in order to view and examine the country,
and partly from the necessity to get round the extre-
mities of lakes and woods, and to look for game for
subsistence.

“Tt was impossible to ascertain the depths of these
savannas, but judging from the great expanse of the
undulations, and the total absence of inequalities on the
surfaces, it must often be many fathoms. Portions of
some of the marshes, from some cause under the surface, —
-are broken up and sunk below the level, forming gullies
and pools. The peat is there exposed sometimes to a
depth of ten feet and more without any rock or soil
underneath ;. and the process of its formation is distinctly
exhibited from the dying and dead roots of the green
surface moss descending linearly into gradual decay,
until perfected into a fine black compact peat, in which
the original organic structure of the parent is lost. The
savanna peat immediately under the roots of the grass”
on the surface is very similar to the perfected peat of the
marshes. The savannas are continually moist or wet on
the surface, even in the middle of summer, but hard
underneath. Roots of trees, apparently where they grew,
are to be found by digging the surfaces of some of them,
and probably of all. From what was seen of their edges
at the water-courses, they lie on the solid rock, without
the intervention of any soil. The rocks exhibited were
transition clay slate, mica slate, and granitic.

“One of the most striking features of the interior is
the innumerable deer paths on the savannas. They are

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 273

narrow, and take directions as various as the winds,
giving the whole country a chequered appearance. Of
the millions of acres here, there is no one spot exceeding
a few superficial yards that is not bounded on all sides
by deer paths. We, however, met some small herds
only of these animals, the savannas and plains being in
the summer season deserted by them for the mountains
in the west part of the island. The Newfoundland deer,
and there is only one species in the island, is a variety of
the reindeer (Cervus tarandus, or cariboo); and, like that
animal in every other country, it is migratory, always
changing place with the seasons, for sake of its favourite
kinds of food. Although they migrate in herds, they
travel in files, with their heads in some degree to wind-
ward, in order that they may, by the scent, discover
their enemies the wolves; their senses of smelling and
hearing are very acute, but they do not trust much to
their sight. This is the reason of their paths taking so
many directions in straight lines ; they become in con-
sequence an easy prey to the hunter by stratagem. . The
paths tend from park to park through the intervening
woods, in lines as established and deep beaten as cattle-
paths on an old grazing farm.”

Occupying nearly a month in toiling through the
savanna country, the latter portion of his journey being
impeded by deep snow, and living in an uncertain
manner on deer’s meat, beaver, geese, and ducks, Mr.
Cormack further writes on approaching the western coast
at the end of October :—

“We met many thousand of the deer, all hastening to

_ the eastward, on their periodical migration. They had

been dispersed since the spring, on the mountains and
YY

274 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

barren tracks, in the west and north-west division of the
interior, to bring forth and rear their young amidst the
profusion of lichens and mountain herbage, and where
they were, comparatively with the mountain lowlands,
free from the persecution of flies. When the first frosts,
as now in October, nip vegetation, the deer immediately
turn towards the south and east, and the first fall of
snow quickens their pace in those directions, as we now
met them, towards the low grounds where browse is to
be got, and the snow not so deep over the lichens. In
travelling, herd follow herd in rapid succession over the
whole surface of the country, all bending their course
the. same way in parallel lines. The herds consist of
from twenty to two hundred each, connected by stragglers
or piquets, the animals following each other in single
files, a few yards or feet apart, as their paths show; were
they to be in close bodies, they could not graze freely.
They continue to travel south-eastward until February
or March, by which time the returning sun has power to
soften the snow, and permit of their scraping it off to
obtain the lichens underneath. They then turn round
towards the west, and in April are again on the rocky
barrens and mountains where their favourite mossy food
abounds the most, and where in June they bring forth
their young. In October the frosty warning to travel
returns. They generally follow the same routes year after
year, but these sometimes vary, owing to irregularities
in the seasons, and interruptions by the Indians. Such
are, in a general view, the courses and causes of the
migrations of the deer, and these seem to be the chief
design of animated nature in this portion of the earth. ©
Lakes and mountains intervening, cause the lines of the

De ne

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 275

migration paths to deviate from the parallel; and at the
necks of land that separate large lakes, at the extremity
of lakes, and at the straits and running waters which
unite lakes, the deer unavoidably concentrate in travel-
ling. At those passes the Indians encamp in parties,
and stay for considerable interval of time, because they
can there procure the deer with comparatively little
trouble.”

The Indians here alluded to, whom Mr. Cormack |
believed to be still inhabiting the shores of the large
lakes to the northward of his course through the island,
and the remains of whose fences or pounds for snaring
deer may be seen at the present day by the banks of the
Exploits river, were the Red Indians, or Boeothics—a
tribe long since extinct. The last of her race, a Red
Indian woman, named Shanaandithith, called Mary
March by her captors, who brought her in to St. John’s,
died there of consumption in 1829. As far as was
known of them, this tribe lived entirely in the wilder
portions of the interior, probably from distrust of the
whites, who had ruthlessly attacked and slain them
whenever met with, as also on account of the harassing
invasions of the Micmacs, who frequently crossed from
Acadia in fleets of canoes for that purpose. Smallpox
has been assigned as the cause of their extinction, and it
has been likewise supposed that the remnant of the tribe
migrated into the interior of Labrador, where strange
Indians are reported to have been seen from time to time,
not agreeing in type with any of the known resident
tribes.

The Boeothics have been described as a fine athletic

race, and, until the latter obtained possession of firearms,
rT 2

276 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

superior in war to the Indians of the mainland. Their
language was quite distinct from that of any of the sur-
rounding tribes.

In a pamphlet published in London in 1622, by one
Richard Whitburne, who had had much experience in the
great bank fisheries, and was sent out to institute a com-
mission to inquire into some abuses which were con-
nected with the latter, are to be found some very
_interesting accounts of Newfoundland at that very early
date of its history. Of the Red Indians, he says :— It
is well known that the natives of those parts have great
stores of red ochre-wherewith they use to colour their

bodies, bowes, arrows, and cannows in a painting manner,
which cannows are their boats that they used to go to sea
in, which are built in shape like the wherries on the
River of Thames, with small timbers no thicker nor
broader than hoopes, and instead of boards they use the
barkes of birche trees, which they sew very artificially and
close together, and then overlay the seams with turpen-
tine, as pitch is used on the seames of ships and boats ;
and in like manner they use to sew the barkes of spruce
and firre trees round and deep in proportion like a brasse
kettle to boil their meet in, as it hath been well ap-
proved by divers men, but most especially to my certain
knowledge by three mariners of a ship of Tapson, in the
County of Devon, which ship riding there at anchor
neere by me at the Harbor called Hearts Ease on the
North side of Trinity Bay, and being robbed in the
night by the savages of their apparell and divers other
provisions did the next day seeke after them, and hap-
pened to come suddenly where they had set up three
tents and were feasting, having three such cannows by

a ae

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 277

them, and three pots made of such rinds of trees, stand-
ing each of them on three stones, boyling, with twelve
fowles in each of them, every fowle as big as a widgeon
and some so big as a ducke; they had also many such
pots so served and fashioned, like leather buckets that
are used for quenching of fire, and those were full of
the yolks of eggs that they had taken and boyled hard
and so dried small as it had been powder sugar, which
the savages used in their broth as sugar is often used in
some meates ; they had great store of the skins of deere,
beavers, beares, seals, otters and divers other fine skins
which were excellent well dressed, as also great store of
severall sorts of flesh dryed, and by shooting off a musket
towards them they all ran away, naked, without any
apparall but only some of them had their hats on their
heads, which were made of seale skins, in fashion like
our hats sewed handsomely with narrow bands about
them set round with fine white shels. All their three
cannows, their flesh, skins, yolks of eggs, targets, bows
and arrows, and much fine okar, and divers others things
they tooke and brought away and shared it among those
that tooke it, and they brought to me the best cannow,
bows, and arrows and divers of their skins and many
other artificial things worth the noting which may seeme
much to invite us to endeavour to finde out some other
good trades with them.”

The zoology of Newfoundland is of a more Arctic type
than that of the neighbouring Acadian Provinces, being
characterised by the presence of the ptarmigan, and Arctic
hare, and showing a remarkable falling off in the number
of species of the continental fauna. ‘Thus there is not a
squirrel on the island, and neither porcupine, racoon, or

278 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

mink. ‘The presence of the wild cat is uncertain. Fewer
species of the ordinary migratory birds, visitors of the
Lower Provinces, are found here. At midsummer, in the
neighbourhood of St. John’s, I have noticed the absence
of the night-hawk, so common a bird on the Continent.
Neither were fire-flies, which were scintillating in myriads
over the swamps in Nova Scotia at the time, to be seen.
Many birds, however, passing over, or merely resting for
a week or two on their way, on the eastern shores of
Acadie, visit Newfoundland to breed, such as the
Canada goose, fox-coloured sparrow (F’. iliaca), snipe, and
others, whilst migration of American species has a still
further range to the north-east, and American birds form
a large proportion of the avi-fauna of Greenland, accord-
ing to Dr. Reinhardt. The woodcock is not indigenous
to Newfoundland ; and, strange to say, the only specimen
shot quite recently near St. John’s was a European
bird. |

Considering the immense portion of this island which
is claimed by water, bogs, and swamps, the well-ascer-
tained absence of reptilia is singular. In the peninsula
of Avalon I have plodded frequently along the edges of
ponds and swamps, hoping to see some little croaker take
a header from the bank, or in search of snakes by sunny
woodland slopes—situations where they might be found
at every few paces on the mainland—but all in vain.
Indeed, more than once has the experiment been tried of
turning out some of the large green-headed frogs (R.
clamitans), to end in failure: in a few days they would
all be found stiff on their backs. Cormack met with
neither frog, snake, nor toad, on his journey across the
main island, and observes that his Indians had never

oy

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 279

seen or heard of one.* The island of Anticosti is said to
be similarly deficient in representatives of this class. As
has been written of Ireland in an ancient poem, composed
by a St. Donatus, and dating as far back as the ninth
century :—

“ Nulla venena nocent, nec serpens serpit in herba,
Nec conquesta canit garrula rana lacu.”

From foregoing remarks, it will be readily seen that
the interior of Newfoundland is a vast field of discovery,
especially interesting to the enterprising sportsman. In
August and September, when the berries are ripe,
animal life is wonderfully abundant (for America) on the
open barrens. The deer begin their descent from the
hills ; willow grouse, now well grown, associate in large
coveys; wild geese and curlew are found feeding on the
upland barrens, and snipe are plentiful in the marshes.
Bears are reported very numerous in the interior, where
their well-beaten paths, traversed for ages, afford good
walking to the traveller. When discovered at a distance,
revelling amongst thickets of berry-bearing bushes, they
may be easily approached under cover of ridges or rock
boulders. Furs of many sorts would repay the trapper ;

* Whitburne appears to have been aware of this circumstance, for he writes:
“Neither are there any Snakes, Toads, Serpents, or any other venomous
Wormes that ever were knowne to hurt any man in that country, but only a
very little nimble fly (the least of all other flies) which is called a Miskieto,
those flies seem to have a great power and authority upon all loytering and
idle people that come to the Newfoundland: for they have this property
that when they finde any such lying lazily, or sleeping in the woods, they
will presently bee more nimble to seize on them than any Sargent will be
to arrest a man for debt. Neither will they leave stinging or sucking out
the blood of such sluggards, until like a Beadel they bring him to his
master, where he should labour, in which time of loytering, those flies will
so brand such idle persons in their faces, that they may be knowne from
others as the Turks do their slaves.”

280 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

foxes, marten, otter, beaver, or musk-rat. That of the
Arctic hare (Lepus Arcticus) is a handsome, though not
a very valuable skin ; the ears are tipped with black, the
rest of its winter dress beg pure white. This animal ©
will attain a weight of fourteen pounds in Newfound-
land : it appears to present no appreciable ditference to
L. variabilis of Europe. It is said that there are two
species of ptarmigan on the island. If so, the other and
less common description is probably the somewhat
smaller and more slenderly-billed bird—Lagopus rupestris,
or rock ptarmigan. In its summer plumage, the former
species is one of the handsomest game birds the world
can produce. At this season, the wings only are white,
all the rest being a rich mottled chesnut; an arch of
scarlet fringe over the eye. Grouse shooting (these birds
are called grouse on the island, or sometimes by the
fishermen and settlers—* pattermegans”) begins in the
neighbourhood of St. John’s, where they are protected,
and the law receives the assistance of a game society, on
the 25th August. The game laws are strictly observed in
the vicinity of the capital ; snipe are included in the Act.

Although the cariboo is generally dispersed through
the interior, it will have been seen that the great bulk
of these animals shift from the low-lying lake and
savanna country to the hills, and wce versa, in the spring
and fall. ‘To reach the interior from their great strong-
hold in the high lands which form the extension of the
island towards the Straits of Belle-Isle, they must cross
the two chains of lakes and rivers which, overlapping
each other near the centre of the island, discharge their
waters respectively into the Bay of Islands and Notre
Dame.

16.4 2a

NOTES ON NEWFOUNDLAND. 281

Into the latter great basin, and a little to the north of
Exploits River, empties a stream called the Hall’s Bay
River. It flows from a chain of small lakes running
nearly east and west at the south-eastern termination of
the mountain range before mentioned; and here the
great body of the cariboo pass, commencing their
southerly migration about the end of August. Hall’s
Bay is to be reached only by sailing-vessel from St.
John’s, but the hunting grounds may also be attained by
ascending the magnificent river Humber from the Bay of
Islands on the western side of the island—a course on
which much grand scenery is to be viewed.

The north-eastern extremity of the Grand Pond, some
fifty miles in length, with which it communicates, ap-
proaches the Hall’s Bay chain with easy access. Cariboo
hunting may, however, be obtained by entering the
interior from the heads of any of the great bays which
so deeply indent the coast line of Newfoundland.’

Although the Indian race, which once wholly subsisted
on their flesh, is long since extinct, and there are but few
resident Micmac hunters, the cariboo are much kept
down by their bitter persecutors in every part of the
globe where the reindeer is found—the wolves. “The
Old Hunter,” whose camp has been frequently pitched
in the proximity of the famous deer passes just men-
tioned, tells me of the great destruction caused amongst
the deer by this fleet and wily brute, which he has often
seen and shot in the act of pursuit. The splendid
head of a Newfoundland cariboo, figured No. 2 in the
engraving of horns, was obtained from an animal shot at
Deer Harbour, Trinity Bay, by Mr. F. N. Gisborne (who
has kindly allowed me to copy it), when nearly run into

282 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE,

by a wolf. It would appear singular that these magnifi-
cent Newfoundland bucks, which will attain the weight
of five or even six hundred pounds, with ponderous
antlers, should fly from the wolf, considering the tremen-
dous power of a blow from their hoofs. The specimen
last mentioned weighed 428 pounds after being cleaned.

With regard to the sport which may be expected by
the angler on this island, it may be briefly stated that
every lake abounds with the ordinary trout of Eastern
America—S. fontinalis: sea-trout ascend all the rivers
in July in astonishing abundance, taking anything in the
shape of bait or fly readily and indiscriminately. Salmon
fishing, however, appears to be uncertain ; and a general
belief obtains that, on the larger rivers of the north-east
‘ coast, they are shy of taking the fly. I am, however,
informed by my friend Mr. Gisborne,* to whom I am
indebted for much information on the sports of New-
foundland, and who has hunted and explored the country
in every direction, that Gander Bay River, an important
stream affording excellent canoeing on its course to its
large parent lake in the interior, and flowing into the
southern end of Notre Dame Bay, is believed by him to
be as fine a river for salmon-fishing as any in North
America.

* Frederic Newton Gisborne, to whose skill as an electrician, and the
energy which he displayed in exploring and completing a line of telegraph
across the wild southern interior of Newfoundland, from the east coast to
the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and further uniting that island with the continent
by a submarine cable, testimony has been borne not only by the community
of Newfoundland, but by the inhabitants of all the British North American
provinces bordering on the Atlantic. Whatever praise may be accorded to
another great name in completing and successfully carrying out the gigantic
scheme which followed—the connexion of the two hemispheres by the
Atlantic cable—Mr. Gisborne is rightly accredited in British North America
with being its original projector. Palmam qui merwit ferat.

CHAPTER XI.

CAMPING OUT.

THE necessities and shifts of a life in the woods are
described in so many works on North American travel,
with exhaustive treatises on matériel and outfits, that it
becomes unnecessary to dilate on this topic. Indeed
there is not much to be said with regard to camping in
these eastern woodlands. Our expeditions never extend
very far from the base of supply, nor have we to contend
with such dangers as those incident on prairie travel.

Everything necessary for the woods is to be got in the
stores of all the large provincial towns, and almost every
storekeeper will be able to inform the traveller of what he
wants in the way of tin ware and provisions, and how the
outfit should be packed.

Bringing with him his particular fancies in the way of
breechloaders or the old style, he can get fair rods, quite
good enough for the rough work on American forest
streams, and good tackle and flies in either Halifax or St.
John’s, where also a first-rate American click reel may be
got of German silver or bronzed aluminum.

An elaborate canteen, with all its nicely-fitting arrange-
ments, got up for a Crimean or Abyssinian campaign, is
all very well, perhaps, for such purposes; but where tin-
smiths’ shops are frequent at the starting point, no good

984 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

is to be got by bringing such traps across the Atlantic.
To save trouble and room I have frequently purchased
my bunch of tins at the very last settlement where a
store existed, before turning into the woods. It is well
to remember, however, to get the handle of the frying-
pan “ fixed” so as to double back, and so pack with the
plates, mugs, &c., into the big outside tin can, which holds
the entire camp service; otherwise the Indian who
carries it through the woods will probably grumble all the
way, as the stem is constantly catching in the bushes.

Except in winter, when opportunities occur of getting
one’s traps hauled in on a sled over some logging road,
everything has to be “backed” through the woods, to
the hunting camp, and, consequently, anything pro-
-truding from the loads is liable to impede one’s progress.
Hence the bundles should be as near as possible the
breadth of the back, all loads being thus carried, with a
strap (the broader the better) encircling the chest and
shoulders.

The Indian, used to the work from infancy, will often
carry a hundred weight by a withy of birch or witherod
bush, which seems as though it would cut to the bone ;
but to the white man, unaccustomed to carrying a load
thus, a well-balanced bundle and broad carrying-strap are
of the first importance, particularly as long journeys are
often thus made, and every true sportsman likes to do a
fair share of the work.

A hint may be inserted here that one of the greatest
drawbacks to progress under such unavoidable circum-
stances is to lose one’s temper, and a firm determination
should be made at starting to avoid doing so. I grant it
is often hard of prevention when two or three consecutive

CAMPING OUT. 285

stumbles over windfalls or painful collision of the shins
with sharp stumps are followed by suddenly sinking on
one leg up to the knee in a black mud hole, and the load,
slewing round, brings you over altogether into wet moss,
or still worse, when the unpractised hand nervously
attempts the often necessary passage of a deep brook or
still-water stream (the latter is a frequent feature in the
forest), and the uncertain foot glides from the slippery
bridge—a fallen tree-—followed by a tremendous splash,
and one or two expletives as a matter of course; but
depend upon it, the less you fret under such circum-
stances the better you will come in to camp by a deal.
The Indians generally carry 50 lb. to 70 lb. weight,
including gun (7 lb. or 8Ib.); yours would be 20]b. to
30 lb., and this you ought to carry if you are fit to enter
the woods at all. To let you know, however, what is
often before you, here is a description of a very common
feature in the woods—an alder swamp :—

Take a substratum of black mud, into which you will
sink at least up to your knees, perhaps up to your hips ;
cover this over with a treacherous crust of peat, turf, and
moss; over this strew windfalls, 7.e., dead, fallen trees,
with the branches broken off close to the trunks, leaving
sharp spikes; form an interlaced network of these,
sprinkling in a few granite rocks; and cover all this over
with a thick growth of alder bushes about five feet high,
so that you cannot possibly see where you are putting
your feet; vary the ground with a few boggy streams
and “ honey pots” or mud holes. Then walk across this
with a good load on your back, and your gun under your
arm, without losing your temper !

For either winter or summer work the common gray

286 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

homespun of the country is the best material for the
woods. It is very strong, almost impossible to tear by
catching against the trees, and porous, which is also a
great advantage, as it dries so quickly. Its colour, too, is
in its favour, being so like that of rocks or tree stems.
An almost colourless material is as necessary for moose
hunting as it is for fishing, though I have seen a good
New York sportsman flinging over a clean pool on the
brightest of days with a scarlet flannel shirt and black
continuations, and get fish withal.

The Canadian smock, known in England as the Norfolk
blouse, is a capital style of coat for hunting. Pockets
according to taste, and a piece of leather on either
shoulder and another on the inside of the right arm to
ease the pressure of the gun.

The camp generally taken into the woods is a spread
of strong cotton cloth soaked with boiled oil and well
dried in the sun. Its shape is best understood by de-
scribing the framework of the camp as follows :—T'wo
uprights with forks at the end stuck into the ground some
eight or ten feet apart, the crutches about six feet from the
base; a cross piece between these well lashed on, on
which rest the tops of some half-dozen long slanting poles
—fir or larch saplings. The canvas is spread over and
tied ; two wings (triangular pieces) form the sides, and
are tied to the uprights. ‘This is the usual form of open
camp for summer or the fall. The fire is arranged in
front. You sleep on an elastic bed of silver-fir boughs
(not spruce, mind, or you would be most uncomfortably
pricked), artistically spread by the Indians underneath ;
they rough it in the open, and coil up under their blankets
at the foot of a tree on the opposite side of the fire. If

CAMPING OUT. 287

you are on a fishing excursion, encamped by the water-
side and it rains, they turn the canoes, bottom up, over
themselves.

In winter they make a leaning cover for themselves of
boughs and birch bark nearly joining yours (room being
left above for the ascent of the smoke), and fill in the sides
with the bushes and slabs of split fir, the doorway being
covered bya suspended rug. With plenty of firewood at
hand, no one who had not been in the woods in winter
would credit the comfort and cosiness. found in these
hunting camps. In fact, the ease with which the wilder-
ness can be made a home with so little labour, and the
entire independence of the sojourner in the woods who has
set up a good camp well stocked with provision for a fort-
night’s campaign, and a few changes of flannels and
stockings, contribute principally to the charms of forest
life. We are seldom storm staid or lose a day by remain-
ing within.

“The frost might glitter, it would blight no crop,
The falling rain will spoil no holiday.
We were made freemen of the forest laws,

All dressed, like Nature, fit for her own ends,
Essaying nothing she cannot perform.”

writes one of America’s poets ;* and when the snow-storm
is driving or the rain drops patter on the autumnal
leaves strewn on the ground, it is often seasonable
weather to the hunter; and the evening closes over
many an exciting tale of what has been seen or done in
the chase on such days.

As a summer residence I have used a very portable
little square camp, opening at one end. The top was

* Ralph Waldo Emerson.

288 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

suspended on a ridge pole bound to two uprights, and the
sloping sides stretched and fastened to pegs; it had a
valence all round about two feet high. The area of the
surface it covered was some eight feet by ten. Not being
oiled, it weighed only a dozen pounds or so, and when
well stretched was quite rain-proof, unless the sides were
touched by a gun or anything leaning against them, when —
it would drip.

Never encamp in a low site at the foot of a hill; for
it is not pleasant, however well you may be protected
from the falling waters, to find yourself becoming sud-
denly soaked by the rising flood, in the nice comfortable
hollow which your form has made in your bed of boughs. —
We never expect, and rarely find, any unpleasant results
- In the way of a severe cold from these little disagreeables

of camping out; living constantly in the open air steels
_ the sensibility of the system to catarrhal affections, and
the Indians aver that they are more apt to take cold by
going into a house than we are by going into the open
air. And so we take things very philosophically ; so
much so, sometimes, that a friend of mine, on being
roused from his slumbers, on the plea that he was lying —
in three inches of water, immediately lay down again in
the old spot, averring that “the water there was warmer
than anywhere else in the camp.” In this country,
storms of this description never last very long, twelve to
twenty-four hours from the commencement being the
general duration, when the wind veering round to the
west (our fine-weather quarter), soon clears off the rolling
cloud masses from the sky, and a glorious sun and cool
zephyr quickly dry the dripping forest.

I like to have the sound of a bubbling brook for a

CAMPING OUT. 289

lullaby when camped in the woods; one’s somniferous
tendencies are greatly assisted by the curious chatterings
and tinklings of its little falls and rapids. As sleep draws
nigh, the multitudinous sounds in turn resemble, almost
to reality, those produced by far different causes—now it
is men talking in low tones close at hand ; then a distant
shout or despairing shriek; and now the impression is
that a herd of cattle are crossing the brook, splashing the
water ; the deception being aided by the resemblance to
the sound of cattle-bells often made by the miniature
cascades.

Such streams are sure to occur not far from one’s camp
by the lake or river side. They come dancing down
from the lakes back in the woods to join the river, shaded
by dark firs and hemlocks, full of little falls, eddying
round great rocks, which stand out from the stream
capped with ferns and lichens, and at whose base are
little gravelly pools—the very counterpart in miniature
of some of our grander salmon rivers. Had Tennyson
ever seen an American forest brook when he wrote his
charming little idyll, “The Brook?” I must insert one
verse :—

“ And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery water-break
Above the golden gravel.”

To return, however, to the sober description of practical
experience. Never trust to finding a camp, of the exist-
ence of which you may have heard, standing, and ready
for habitation ; and always allow plenty of daylight to
make a new one, in case the old is non est, or gone to
pieces. I remember one blazing hot summer’s afternoon

going up the banks of Gold River, Nova Scotia, to try

U

290 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

some salmon pools at the Grand Falls on the next morn-
ing—a twelve miles’ walk. There was a nice camp (so
reported) all ready to receive us. Feverish from the heat
of the woods, and the severe biting we had received from
the huge moose flies and clouds of mosquitoes on the
way, we reached the spot long after sundown, in hopes
of finding shelter and a good night’s repose, for we were
fatigued. An old camp of the meanest construction was
found, after considerable search with birch-bark torches,
and under its very questionable shelter we extended our-
selves in front of a meagre fire which had been kindled
with difficulty, there being nothing but fir woods around. —
Presently we found that the whole of the ancient bedding
of dry fir boughs was overrun by large black ants. Now,
I had rather be coursed over by rats than by ants at
night, as the former vermin seldom act on the offensive
- towards a sleeping human being ; and so, sleep was out
of the question till the enemy was exterminated. To
effect this, we arose and parted with our beds—to wit,
the brown spruce boughs, which we committed to the
flames. We then again tried to rest, lying down in the
ashes round the fire, but no—on they came again in
battalion. With one consent we arose, and rushed up
the hill-side into the dark woods, depositing ourselves in
the soft moss under the hemlocks. Presently down came
a new enemy—pattering drops of rain, precursors of a
heavy summer shower. Back to camp; but the ants
had not retired for the night ; so, peeling off the sheets
of bark from the poles, we finally sought a hard bed on
the naked rocks by the water's edge, shielding ourselves
from the rain with our birchen waterproofs. Next morn-
ing it was discovered that our little packet of tea, care-

CAMPING OUT. 291

lessly pitched into the back part of the camp, had been
burned with the fir boughs ; so our beverage that morn-
ing was an infusion of hemlock boughs, a few sprays of
which were boiled in water—one of the many devices
adopted in the woods as substitutes for tea. Morning
disclosed, moreover, a patch of the broad, sickly-looking
green leaves of the poison-ivy (Rhus toxicodendron),
growing hard by where we had reposed, contact with
which would have driven us wild with dangerous itrita-
tion. On returning to the sea-pools, however, our miseries
were somewhat compensated by killing five dozen newly
run sea trout at a pretty stand in a wild meadow, where
a cool brook joined the river.

Apropos of the flies which have been just alluded to,
none of his relations could have identified my companion
(a novice in the woods) next morning. So swollen was
his whole countenance that features were obliterated, and
for nearly the whole day he was helplessly blind. Many
people suffer similarly ; others enjoy comparative immu-
nity from swelling, though copiously bled. On landing
from a canoe, the only plan is to light a fire, and make
as dense a smoke as possible. Lime juice, petroleum,
pork fat, or tar are used, according to fancy, to smear
the face and hands as preventives, but the flies will
scarcely be denied by such appliances. On salmon-
fishing excursions. of extended duration on the Nepisiquit
and elsewhere, I have generally taken mosquito curtains
to cover one’s body at night. By day I and the insects
fight it out in a continuous tussle. In a recent number
of Land and Water, however, I find a receipt given by
my friend “ Ubique,” an old hand at “camping out,”

which, though I have not had an opportunity of trying

vu 2

292 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

for myself is worthy of note. ‘In nearly all timber
lands,” he says, speaking of this part of North America,
“large fungi will be found growing on the sides of semi-
decayed trees; this gather, and dry thoroughly in the
sun, when it will smoulder if lighted, like a joss-stick.
The smoke is not disagreeable to man, and two or three
pieces kept frequently at work will soon drive all the
winged pests to other quarters. A piece about the size
of a walnut will burn for over a quarter of an hour.”

Overtaken by nightfall, one is sometimes compelled to
camp in low-lying swampy ground, when it becomes
exceedingly hard to light a fire, owing to the steam
rising from the damp, peaty soil beneath. In this case
we resort to the following expedient—an excellent plan,
worth rememberinge—namely, to cut down two or three
small firs and chop them into lengths of four or five feet,
placing them side by side; this forms a platform, and
the fire kindles readily upon it, and the platform itself
burns with the rest. Another plan for establishing a
good fire when there are plenty of rocks to be obtained
near the camp, is to make a good broad hearth with flat
slabs ; the stones will themselves emit much heat when
the fire is established, and it will burn better and clearer,
and may always be relighted with very little trouble ;
and, moreover, the great hole which the fire soon burns
in the ground beneath, and into which it sinks, will thus
be avoided.

And now for a few remarks on the interior economy
of acamp. A small amount of light literature will while
away idle hours spent within—magazines or reviews are
the best generally. or a fishing camp there are several
excellent American publications on the sport of the British

ine ee ae

PS eee

CAMPING OUT. 293

provinces, entertainingly descriptive, and sound in advice,
which would prove highly useful. They include “Game
Fish of the North,” by Roosevelt ; Norris's “ American
Angler,” and Frank Forester’s “Fish and Fishing.” In
the former work some excellent receipts will be found
for the camp cuisine. I confess to being somewhat of a
Spartan as manager of this department, and, before the
invention of the really invaluable meat essences, if moose
meat, porcupine, or salmon were not in the larder, would
fall back upon the staples of a woodman’s diet—navy
pork and pilot bread, from day to day, unvaryingly. A
Sunday dinner, however, would always comprise a boil-
ing of pea-soup—one of the best descriptions of camp
messes—made of split peas, pork bones, lots of sliced
onions, potatoes, and pounded biscuit, the latter being
added with the seasoning at the last. The utmost vigi-

lance is required towards the close of the performance to

prevent any solid crust or deposit adhering to the bottom

of the pot, as it would then immediately burn, and burnt

pea-soup is altogether uneatable. We write and read in
the camp, as we lie on our blankets extended over the
comfortable bedding of fir-boughs, by the light of a little
lamp filled with the American burning-fluid ; it is one
of the best and most portable means of lighting a camp

that can be taken. A wax candle stuck in a noose of

birch-bark drawn tightly round, and held in a split
stick sharpened at the end, which is planted in the
ground under the name of the Indian candlestick, is
another and more common means of illumination ; and,
should candles or fluid have been forgotten, the following
will do as a dermer ressort :—A common tin box (as a
percussion-cap box), with a wick passed through a hole

294 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

in the lid, and fed with lumps of fat; the tin, becoming
warm, will keep the fat in the proper state of liquefaction
for feeding the wick.

The death of a moose or cariboo is of course an event
of great importance in the hunter's camp, and is duly
celebrated. What gorging, however, on the part of the
Indians—they will broil tit bits through half the night. —
Moose meat is very digestible ; cariboo (of a closer fibre)
somewhat less so; bear most easily assimilated of all,
and “orand to travel on” says the Indian, who never
knows when to stop. Failing this, or venison, the por-
cupine is the great resource of the hunting camp through- —
out the provinces, with the exception of Cape Breton and
Newfoundland, where it is not found. Scalded, scraped,
_ and singed, its bare body expanded on a cross to roast,
it looks anything but enticing to a novice. But the
appetite of the woods prevails, and overcomes all seru-
ples. It has, at the same time, a drawback in the fre-
quent occurrence of large quantities of entozoa (Teenia
pectinata)—no drawback: to the Indian, however ; some-
times rather the contrary. An Indian told me, “my
grandfather, he like ’em; taste hard though—'most
like mustard.”

The hare, and the two sorts of tree grouse, locally
known as the birch and spruce partridges (T. umbellus
and T. canadensis) also contribute to the camp larder.
Two or three hanks of brass wire for snaring the former
animal should not be omitted in the outfit. Of the two
partridges, the birch (the ruffed grouse) is by far the
best. It is white-fleshed and delicate eating : the spruce
bird has very dark meat, and tastes like an old pine
board. |

CAMPING OUT. 295

The universal charge made by the Indian hunters or
canoe men, is one dollar per diem, though possibly the
camp-keeper who stays at home, cooks, cuts firewood,

and sets rabbit snares, &c., may be hired for two-thirds of

that amount. They also charge so much a day, say half
a dollar, for canoe hire, unless you buy the canoe out-
right for from eight to twenty dollars, according to her
age and size. Bark is getting so scarce in many parts
that their charge in this respect is not unreasonable, for
in taking a party up a river or through lakes with heavy
loads there is considerable wear and tear. To see their
faces of anxiety on shooting shoal rapids! not from
physical fear, but for the canoe ; and the agonised look
when a long grating rub proclaims contact with the

rocks, and how eagerly on reaching shore they turn her

over to inspect the bottom bark and ascertain if the cut
is deep or not! ‘The canoe is their pride ; and to many
the loss of their little craft would bring the greatest
temporary distress. These beautiful adaptations for
water transport in the wilderness are far from being so

‘frail as would be imagined at first sight. Though they

can be made scarcely exceeding sixty pounds weight,
and at the same time sufficiently capacious to carry four
persons and luggage, they are models of strength in the
framework. ‘The strips of ash which form the gunwale,
and the delicate hooped ribs of fir which almost touch
each other throughout the length, are most carefully
selected. The thwarts are of thin ash, one is placed at
either extremity, on which sit the paddlers (kneeling,
however, in the bottom in case of rapid water, or a heavy
sea on a lake), the other two crossing amidships as sup-
ports. I know of no more delightful life than a canoe

296 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

expedition through the forest. So many luxuries may
be taken; and the position in which one reclines, legs
stretched at full length in the bottom, with the back
propped up against the blankets and loads, is just the
one in which to enjoy the ever changing scenery; and
whilst on the water you are blessed by a perfect immu-
nity from the flies.

Though of course each fresh abrasion of the outside
bark takes off from the value of the canoe, injuries to the
bottom or sides are generally mended with great ease
and celerity. The slightest puncture is soon detected by
the Indian, on turning her over, by suction, the mouth —
being applied to doubtful looking spots. Rents or gashes
of considerable extent are “fixed” by a piece of rag
_ dipped in melted resin softened somewhat by tallow :
the forest remedy is the hard gum which plentifully
exudes from the black spruce—“ chewing gum,” as it is
called, being the favourite sweetmeat of the backwoods-
man. ‘The bark, however, must be quite dry before the
application is made.

In smooth water two vigorous Indians will paddle the’
canoe, well loaded, about six miles an hour. In a spurt,
however, when they strain to pass another canoe, or to
avoid some rapid or rock towards which they are drifting,
or to overtake wounded game in the water, they can nearly
double this speed. It is a charming sight to watch the
passing canoe thus powerfully impelled, from the shore.
With its exquisitely symmetrical lines and fragile appear-
ance, as it glides noiselessly yet swiftly through the
water, one is strongly impressed with the poet’s fancy
that “the forest’s life was in it, all its mystery and its
magic.” Reclining by the river side in the vicinity of

F a) ae

wan Saeed ae UT

bait aceite nan arecne naka

a ae ee ee

‘CAMPING OUT. 297

the fishing camp, to see a handsome Indian youth bring

_ up his canoe to the shallow landing-place in a graceful

sweep, without the slightest concussion, and, lightly
stepping out, draw her head up into the bushes, is to
recall a just image of a Hiawatha.

“Then once more Cheemaun he patted,
To his birch canoe said ‘ Onward !’
And it stirred in all its fibres,
And with one great bound of triumph
Leaped across the water-lilies,
Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,
And upon the beach beyond them
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.”

As it may be inferred that every sportsman who visits
the woodlands or streams of Acadie would wish to be
acquainted with the existing local regulations for the
protection of game and fish, a-summary of the laws
framed for this purpose is here introduced.

In Nova Scotia, with regard to fish, itis enacted that,—

“ Any person taking salmon in fresh water westward

of Halfax Harbour between the 31st day of July and
the ist of March, or in fresh water eastward of Halifax

‘Harbour between the 15th day of August and the 1st of
March, is liable to a penalty of forty dollars.”

“Bag nets shall not be used in any river or harbour
nor within a mile from the mouth of any river under a
penalty of forty dollars.”

“No nets shall be set or allowed to remain set be-
tween an hour before sunset on Saturday, and an hour
after sunrise on Monday, under a penalty of forty
dollars.”

“Any person spearing salmon or sweeping with a net
therefor in fresh water is lable to a penalty of forty
dollars.”

298 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

“ Nets shall only be placed on one side of a river, shall
not extend more than one-third across the same, shall not
be placed nearer than an eighth of a mile to each other,
nor nearer.than an eighth of a mile to any dam.”

“Every dam shall have a sufficient fish way, which
shall be kept open during the months of March, May,
June, and July. The owner or occupier is liable to a
penalty of forty dollars for every time he shall close
such passage.”

“The owner of a mill who, after being duly notified,
shall neglect or refuse to construct a sufficient fish way
is liable to a penalty of one hundred dollars, and if
within ten days after such penalty has been inflicted he
does not construct such fish way he is liable to have his
dam wholly prostrated.”

In respect of the large game, the law stands,—

“No person shall kill, or pursue with intent to kill,
any moose, save only during the months of September,
October, November, and December, or shall expose for
sale, or have in his or her possession, any green moose
skin or fresh moose meat, save only in the months afore-
said, and the first five days in the month of January ;
and.no person shall kill, or pursue with intent to kill,
any cariboo between the first days of March and Sep-
tember inclusive in any year.”

“No person shall kill more than five moose or’ cari-
boo, during any one year or season, under a penalty
of twenty dollars for each offence — one-half to the
informer.”

“No person whatever shall set snares or traps, for
moose or cariboo, under a penalty of twenty dollars—
one half to the informer.”

CAMPING OUT. 299

“The export from this Province of moose or cariboo
hides is hereby prohibited and unlawful, and the hides
attempted to be exported shall be forfeited, and the
owner or person attempting to export the same shall,
on conviction, be liable to pay a sum not to exceed five
dollars on each hide, to be recovered in the name of any
prosecutor in a summary manner before two justices of
the peace, and, when recovered, to go to the prose-
cutor.”

With regard to smaller game,— |

“No snares shall be set for hares between the first
days of March and September in any year, under a
penalty of two dollars for each offence; and all snares
shall be taken up during the aforesaid close season under
a penalty of two dollars for each snare not removed by
the parties setting the same, on or before the first day of
March, to be recovered in the same manner as in the
preceding section.”

“« Partridges, snipe, and woodcock, are protected from
lst day of March to 1st of September,—penalty, ten
shillmgs for every bird killed out of season.”

“No person is permitted to have any of the above in
his possession in the close season, under a penalty of ten
shillings for each.”

Exceptional cases to all the game laws are made on
behalf of the Indians, who abuse their privilege, however,
most shamefully, and to the detriment of those for whom
the preservation of the animals of the forest is yearly
becoming of more importance. It is very well to argue
that the poor Indian has a right to shoot a moose or
spear a salmon for his own use at any time of the year ;
but when they shoot moose wholesale in the deep snow

300 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE,

late in the spring, disturbing the cows when they ought
to be at peace, and often leaving piles of meat to decay
in the fast-melting snow of April, it is time that this
wanton mode of proceeding should be put an end to. It
is hardly, however, at their doors that the blame is to
be laid—it is the ready market that tempts them; and
although a question would be raised if they were to
bring their meat into the larger provincial towns, yet the
residents at the smaller settlements will always purchase
whenever they can procure it, the local magistrates them-
selves sometimes setting the example. The month of
April is an idle time with the settlers, and they often
accompany the Indians, who may be located in their
neighbourhood, for a “spree” in the woods, chasing and
‘scaring the moose with long-legged noisy curs, on the
—erusted surface of the old snow. Throughout North
America there seems to be a general difficulty and
unwillingness, on the part of the local authorities, to
maintain the dignity of the game laws—the more so as
the locality is further from the seat of government where
the laws are framed. And until the government can
pay overseers who shall be scrupulously independent of |
favour or partiality, in the districts to which they are
appointed, and whose whole care shall be to bring to
justice every case in which the law is transgressed, we
can hope for no satisfactory and impartial protection of
game or salmon in those districts in which such protec-
tion is most required.

The author, for many years connected with the Council
of the Nova Scotian Inland Fisheries and Game Preser-
‘vation Society (latterly as Vice-President), under the
continued direction of his esteemed personal friend, fre-

CAMPING OUT. 301

quently mentioned in these pages as “The Old Hunter,’*
who has presided over it since its inception, has had
much to do with the framing of the present laws relating
to large game.

From the almost incredible slaughter of moose in the
concluding winter months, consequent, in some seasons,
on a continuance of deep encrusted snow in the woods, a
restriction of the season in which these animals might
formerly be killed (lasting until the last day of February)
appeared a most necessary step. Though as true sport
moose hunting is seldom pursued in the latter part of the
winter, yet the instincts of the Indians, and of the set-
tlers generally, appear so ferocious that they seek the
opportunity of the animals’ most prostrate and defence-
less condition to inflict a slaughter the excitement of
which apparently temporarily blinds them to reason. Of
the Indians it is the old story, corroborated by every
traveller from Labrador to Vancouver, from the Prairies
to the Pole. With regard to the latter class, it is
enough to say that the time when the crust will bear
their yelping curs, racing the plunging, bleeding moose
through the forest, is looked forward to with the greatest
anticipations of pleasure.

In view of amendment of this lamentable state of
affairs, the regulations concerning the hunting of the elk
in the Scandinavian peninsula were referred to. Once,
the elk, unprotected, and regarded as a noxious animal,
-was on the point of extinction in Norway. Government
thereupon enacted a stringent law forbidding these animals
being shot for a long term of years. This was afterwards

* Lieut.-Colonel William Chearnley, commanding Halifax Volunteer
Battalion, late Captain H.M. 8th Regt. (King’s Own).

302 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

modified, and the shooting season as regards elk is now
from the 1st of August to the last day of October.

As, however, in Nova Scotia our best hunting season
is comprised in the first two winter months—the snow
being light, and so giving the moose every chance of
escape, whilst it enables the carcass, when shot, to be
taken easily out of the woods—it was deemed expedient
to terminate moose hunting with the last day of the year ;
and so the case now stands.

In a country like Nova Scotia, where a gun is kept in
almost every homestead bordering on the forest, or where
by the river side the barns are constantly occupied by
drying nets, whilst the placid pools are nightly enlivened
by burning birch bark, that its fish and wild unprotected
game of all descriptions should have rapidly declined in
_ abundance within the memory of comparatively young
people, is not much to be wondered at. The whole con-
tinent of North America, not only within its settled
districts but even in the remotest wilds penetrated by the
mercenary hunter, has undergone a great change in the
relation between the distribution of its animal life and the
other features of its physical geography within the last
quarter of a century. The Anglo-Saxon transplanted has
revelled in his inherent love of sport, which frequently
turns into a lust of slaughter, until the game of North
America has in many cases altogether disappeared before -
the cruel tide of wanton destruction which has overtaken
it. This decrease is yearly accelerated by increasing
demand for the spoils of the chase or the products of the
waters, the inevitable result being extinction of species.

_ And now our neighbours of the Northern States, who
have completely lost their salmon long since, and can

— >t ecnenedS

CAMPING OUT. 303

scarcely boast of any game in their wild lands east of the
prairies, are calling loudly for restocking their rivers arti-
ficially in the one case, and, in the other, have enacted
stringent laws to preserve the scanty remnant of their
deer and grouse.

However inexpedient or impracticable it may have
been in the earlier history of the country to stem the
torrent of wasteful destruction which has swept over this
continent, there is no doubt that here, as in every other

_ part of the world, increasing civilisation would at length

eall for protection of game. Game, both as a luxury and
as a means of recreation, is a necessary adjunct to the
establishment of a country tenanted by Anglo-Saxons.
Witness the anxiety with which our antipodal colonists
are watching their attempts to introduce deer, game
birds, and salmon into Australia, Tasmania, and New
Zealand ; and the eagerness with which the young sports-
men of the great cities of the States disperse themselves
throughout the land in search of recreation from. the
prairies to the rivers of Labrador. This demand will
eventually in this country ensure protection. Nature’s
great stock-farm, though nearly worn out by the reck-
lessness of the first-comers, will yet repay careful
husbandry ; and where so large a portion, of British
North America especially, is destined for ever to remain
in a state of nature, it is the duty of the people to pre-

vent it from becoming an unprofitable, repulsive wilder-

ness ; and how much better to take vigorous measures to
preserve the remnant of the former stock than at length
be compelled to have recourse to the tedious process of
acclimatisation or of artificial propagation.

It is perhaps within the last fifteen years that the most

304 FOREST LIFE. IN ACADIE.

startling decrease has taken place, both in the salmon
fisheries and game of British North America, and has
engaged the attention of the various colonial govern-
ments. Laws to protect the wild animals at certain times
called close seasons, and stringent regulations to ensure
fair play to the salmon, have been passed throughout our
Atlantic colonies within this period. As regards. legisla-
tion, nothing seems neglected, and still the game and fish
are decreasing as heretofore. We, at least in these pro-
vinces, never hear of cases of game-law breakers in the
police reports, yet, granted that the law is sufficient to
protect, it must be through its violation that the evil is —
not checked. The constant cause of this we all know to—
be the defectiveness of administration, and in this part of
the world, where there is no such thing as poaching upon
private property, which in England would lead to pro-
secution through the injured rights of an individual, we
do not wonder at it. In the old country the game is
private property, to protect which the game-laws are
framed ; whilst in the protection of the salmon there are
mixed interests—the great value of the fisheries to the
country, the netting interests at the mouths, and those
of the proprietors of the inland fisheries on the rivers
passing through their estates or rented. Consequently
any violation of either game or fishery law is there
directly injurious to a proprietor, and so meets with quick
justice.

In Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, or Canada, on the
other hand, the wild denizens of the forests, commonly
called game, are public property, or rather the property
of the country. No private rights are infringed by moose
hunting or partridge shooting in any part of the country

oe

CAMPING OUT. 305

at any season, whilst, in the absence of proprietors of
inland fisheries, the netting interests become so over-
whelming that it is not surprising that the law should be
boldly challenged to prevent the salmon being speared
and netted on their beds to the very end of the spawning
season. It is to assist in carrying out the protection

afforded by law that societies have sprung up in various

parts of British America within the above-mentioned
period of time—public assvciations of all members of the
community who are anxious to arrest the decline of fish
and game, and willing to pay a small annual subscription
to the funds of the society, binding themselves to bring
to its notice for prosecution all cases of infringement of
the law coming under their cognisance. The Canadian
fish and game clubs radiating through the country from
the parent society at Quebec, where the system com-
menced in 1857, have met with marked success, from the
spirit with which they have been conducted ; and now
the tributaries of the Saint Lawrence in the vicinity of
Quebec again afford excellent sport, and promise fairly to
return to their former importance as salmon rivers, where
for years before this fish had all but become extinct.

The Nova Scotian Association before alluded to has
likewise similarly striven, and succeeded in enlisting a
large number of sympathising contributors to its support,
not only from the sporting community but amongst some
of the mill-owners themselves. To the willingness of this
class in many instances to open up the rivers, which their
mills and mill-dams at present obstruct, to the passage of
salmon and gaspereaux, I gladly bear witness. The one
uncompromising form of fish-ladder, however, which it

was first attempted by government to force upon them,
x

306 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

regardless of local peculiarities of their “water privileges,”
proved a nauseating dose, and no wonder. very mill-
dam has some peculiar features as regards the bed of the
river. In many cases a few natural steps by the rocky
sides of a fall will answer all the purposes ; in others a
single slanting board opposing the fall over a small dam
will give all the water necessary to the ascent of fish. At
all events, local circumstances are so various that no one
pattern of fish-ladder can be authorised for any number
of streams. A government officer—a thorough engineer,
and perfectly acquainted with the habits and necessities
of salmon and other migratory fish, is what is wanted in~
Nova Scotia (in Canada the want is supplied), and to con-
clude in my own words in framing a report on this
subject two years since, “ Your committee beg to state
their conviction that, although the society has not been
idle, but little can be effected in carrying out a proper
supervision of the inland fisheries, unless an independent
and salaried officer be appointed by the Provincial
Government. } |

“The difficulties of prosecution, owing to the local
partialities of both witnesses and magistrates, would then.
be removed, whilst the judgment and advice of such an
executive, with regard to the placing of efficient fish-
ladders, under the various peculiarities of river banks and
mill-dams, would be considered decisive in overcoming
all obstructions.”

eos

i AS. aa ere

CHAPTER XII.

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS.

THE parting of the icy chains of winter, and the return
of spring, is the most acceptable change in the seasons of
the year in North America. The latter part of the winter
is most tedious, and the strong links with which it binds
the face of nature are snapped but slowly—so slowly that
one is apt to become very impatient—heartily sick of the
sight of snow and the tinkling sleigh-bells. The 17th
March, as a general rule, is about the time of the first
appreciable change. Warm rains and reeking fogs cause
the snow to disappear rapidly ; here and there the roads
exhibit patches of bare ground with deep mud, and the
settler's sled has to seek the strips of snow which still
fringe the edge of the road, or often altogether to turn
into the woods. Now may be seen the wild goose wing-
ing his way in long wedge-shaped flights to his distant
breeding-grounds in Hudson’s Bay, alighting on the way
in the various large harbours which, from the extent of the
flats left uncovered by the receding tide, offer a secure
rest and an abundant supply of marine grasses. I know
of no more pleasing sight at this season than the passage
of a phalanx of wild geese : majestically cleaving the air
with slow, measured strokes, they press onwards towards

their distant resorts, hundreds of feet above you, now and
x 2

308 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

again uttering their wild note of apparent encouragement
—“honk! hawnk !”—a sure sign of the winter breaking
up for good.

“ Hawnk ! honk! and for’ard to the Nor’ard, is the trumpet-tone,
What goose can lag, or feather flag, or break the goodly cone ?
Hawnk ! onward to the cool blue lakes where lie our safe love-bowers ;
No stop, no drop of ocean brine, near stool or hassock hoary,
Our travelling watchword is “Our mates, our goslings, and our glory !”
Symsonia and Labrador for us are crown’d with flowers,
And not a breast on wave shall rest until that heaven is ours.
Hawnk! hawnk! E-e hawnk !
. FRANK FORESTER.
Then come a few warm, sunny days, and the expres-
sion of Nature’s features appears quite altered, and our —
welcome guests, the early migratory birds, arrive from
the more genial southern climes, filling the long-silent
woods with animation and melody. And, first, the well-
known robin, or rather red-breasted thrush (Turdus
migratorius), affects warm, sunny banks in open woods,
whence he springs with a sudden note of alarm as the
murderous boy, bent on developing his sporting pro-
Re beh
pensities, creeps with levelled gun over the hill’s brow,
and seeks to “fill his gaping tuneful bill with blood.”
Then is heard the whistle of the rusty grackle (Q. ferru-_
gineus),-and the cheerful notes of the song sparrow
(F. melodia), and before the end of March the woodcock
(M. Americana) may be seen, in the evening, running
through the swamps and warm springs by the road-side,
every now and then stopping to bore for worms, and from
its comparative tameness at this season, becoming an easy
prey to the poacher or our friend (?) the robin-shooter.
But, alas! all these pleasant appearances of spring are
but transient charms; back comes the frost, and the

wintry blast, and the snow-storm ; the gentle advances

‘

ny
a

iy

t

me a EN PI TO Sc EO al ON 5 TIEN ta Raat NT

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 309

of spring are rudely repelled, and the rills from the
melting snow again arrested, and—

“What will the robin do then, poor thing ”

However, April ushers in some fine days, and the increas-
ing power of the sun tells upon the masses of snow in
the fir-woods and the rotting ice in the lakes; and at
last comes a fierce storm of wind and rain, with a warm,
oppressive atmosphere, as if the genial breath of spring,
tired of attempting to coax away the departing chills of
winter, had now determined to exert all its force, and
with hot gales and heavy rains ease the surface of the
country and lakes of their icy garments. Now a change
is indeed evident; the snow, with the exception of a
patch or two in hollows, has all disappeared from the face
of the earth, and the great monotonous fir-woods them-
selves lose their dark wintry aspect and blackness, assuming
a lively green tint, and emitting, as one wanders through
their sunny glades, faint odours of that delicious aroma
which pervades the atmosphere in the heat of midsummer.
How great a relief this to the resident in these climes,
subject so long to the stern rule of winter! What heart
does not feel forgotten memories recalled, when, wander-
ing along sunny banks in the fir-woods, the first blossom
of the fragrant May-flower is seen and culled? “We
bloom amid the snow,’ is the motto of our province ; and
the May-flower (Epigzea repens) is to us what the violet,
sought in hedge-rows, is to our friends at home—entail-
ing the same close search for its retiring blossoms, and
evoking the same feelings of gladness and hope. And
we cling to these balmy spring days all the more closely

as we dread the chill easterly wind, and the dark sea-fog

310 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

which may cover us with its gloom on the morrow ; for
we live on the shores of the “ mournful and misty Atlan-
tic,’ and many a spring day must yet be darkened by fog
and chilled by gales from the floating ice-fields drifting
down the coast, before the tardy green leaves of the hard-
woods fully appear.

About the 20th of May the presence of spring is per-
ceptible in the sprouting of little leaves on almost all the
smaller deciduous shrubs, simultaneously with the light
green sprays of the larch. From this time vegetation
progresses with extraordinary rapidity ; a delightful
change in the atmosphere almost invariably occurs; the
cold easterly winds cease ; balmy airs from the westward
succeed, and assist in developing the tender buds and
blossoms, and in a few days the face of the country,
lately so bare and dreary, glows with warmth and beauty.
All nature rejoices in this pleasant season; the songs of
the hermit-thrush (T. solitarius), robin, and of a host of
warblers, the cheerful piping of the frogs throughout the
warm night, and the soft west wind, which borrows an
indescribable fragrance from the blossoms of innumerable
shrubs and plants now flowering in the woods and on the
barrens, afford charms which more than repay for the
gloom of the long and trying winter.

The red blossoming maple (Acer rubrum) now exhibits
crimson flower-clusters topping each spray, almost vieing
in colour with the glories of its autumnal foliage: the
Indian pear (Amelanchier) and wild cherry (C. Pennsyl-
vanica), growing in great abundance throughout the
country, seem overburdened with their masses of delicate
white blossoms, and impart a fragrance to the air, in
which are mingled a thousand other scents; for in this

» @ .

ee et ’ 7 Saye
es eee ee

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 311

land nearly every shrub and plant bears sweet-smelling

flowers. The blueberry, huckleberry, and other Vaccinize

now show their pretty heath-like blossoms in promise of
the abundant harvest of delicious fruit which is so ac-
ceptable to birds, bears, and bipeds throughout the fall ;
the rich carpet of mosses in the fir-woods is adorned

with a great variety of flowers, the most frequent being

the common pigeon-berry (Cornus Canadensis), whose
bright scarlet clusters of berries look so pretty in the fall
in contrast with the green moss; and large tracts of

country are tinted by the rich lilac flower-masses of the

wild azalea (Rhodora Canadensis), which blossoms even
before its leaves have sprouted from their buds. Many
of the young leaves of the poplars, willows, and others
are coated with a canescent down, and, as they tremble
in the sunlight, with waving masses of white blossoms,
give a sparkling and silvery appearance to the country,
which is very beautiful and attractive.

This delightful season is, however, of short duration—
imperceptibly losing itself in the increasing heat and
development of summer. A few days change the aspect
of the country marvellously, and the broadly-expanding
leaves of the maples produce a dense canopy of shade
in the forest, hiding the granite boulders and prostrate

rampikes on the barren by covering the bushes with a

drapery of lovely green. Nothing can be brighter than
American spring verdure, nor does it degenerate ito
the dull heavy green of English summer foliage—the
leaves maintaining their vernal hue on the same branch,
side by side with the brilliant orange scarlet of their
dying fellows, at that beautiful season the fall of the
leaf.

312 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

The advent of summer is characterized by the waning
of the flower-masses of the Rhodora, and the succession
of the crimson whorls of the Kalmias (K. angustifolia
and K. glauca) as prominent species. The Kalmia,
locally termed laurel, enlivens large tracts of forest, as
does the last-named shrub earlier, and forms a pleasing
contrast to the new green shoots of the young coniferse.
The moss in the greenwoods is now covered with the
nodding bells of the twin flower (Linnzea borealis) which,
in imparting fragrance to the atmosphere, takes the place
of two pretty little spring flowers, the star-shaped Tri-
entalis, and the (locally so called) lily of the valley -
(Smilacina bifolia). The swamp vegetation, headed by —
the Indian cup (Sarracenia purpurea) and blue flag (Iris
versicolor), flowers abundantly in ponds and moist hollows
in the woods, the dark-red drooping petals of the former
_ prettily contrasting with the blue of the iris. The large,
yellow-throated frog (Rana fontinalis) here rules the
world of reptile life; his solemn ejaculation—“ glum !
glumpk!” is heard in every direction and at regular
intervals, mingled with the long trilling love-note of
Bufo Americanus—the common toad—and the sharp and |
ceaseless cries of the little Hylodes (H. Pickeringii). The
deciduous foliage attains its full development ; ferns are
strong and their spores beginning to ripen. The whip-
poor-will (Caprimuleus vociferus), and the night hawk
(C. Virginianus) — leading representatives of summer
birds—arrive ; and the plaintive song of the former—
“ Wyp-6-il ”—repeated in fast succession and at frequent
intervals, is now heard in the maple-bush copses by lake
or river-side throughout the night, with the shrill scream
of the night hawk, and the strange booming sound which

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 313

is produced by the latter bird in rushing 2 ia
downwards on its prey.

The fir forest at this season becomes intensely heated,
and emits a strong aromatic odour. Where a tree has
fallen its withering branches fill the air for some
distance around with a most delightfully fragrant scent
of strawberries. To the sojourner or traveller in
the woods, the shelter and cool air under deciduous
trees, in groves of maple or birches, is an appreciable
relief. |

Lastly comes the flora of autumn, with its asters and
golden-rods; and these, choosing open barrens and fields
as their residence, leave the woodlands almost without a
flower.

Towards the end of August some of the features of
the fall are developed. Maple leaves turn colour in
unhealthy situations —as where the trees have been
subjected to inundation during the summer, and have
consequently lost the vigour necessary to resist the frosty
air of the nights.

The plovers arrive, and the wild pigeon is found in
large flocks on the ground feeding on the ripe pigeon-
berries. The barrens now afford astonishing supplies of
berries of many sorts of Hricacez, and an unpremeditated
meeting not unfrequently occurs between the bear and
the biped, both intent on culling a portion of the luscious

~ harvest.

In September the full brightness of the fall colour is
brought out on deciduous foliage ; fast fading, however,
towards the close of the month, and altogether disappear-
ing by the end of October—the last lingering phases of

autumnal glory being the rich golden-yellow hue assumed

314 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

by the larch, and the dark Indian-red of the leaves of
the oak and whortleberry.

Then comes the Indian summer—a season of dreamy
delight, when a warm, hazy atmosphere mellows the
rich brown foreground and distant blue hills of the
woodland picture, and all nature seems to bask in a calm
serenity. The hermit thrush now warbles forth his fare-_
well from the spruce groves; the robins congregate on
the barrens, busily picking the remains of the berry-har-
vest ere their departure for the south ; and the squirrels
and wood-marmots hasten into their granaries their
winter supplies of acorns and beech-mast.

November is not far advanced before cold northerly
winds and black frosts remove all traces of the beautiful
fall. The bear and the marmot hybernate ; the moose
select their winter yards; the last detachments of
lingering robins depart, and the retreating columns of
wild geese are soon followed by the fierce driving storm,
which buries the hard-frozen ground under the first snows
of the long American winter. Varying in intensity of cold
and general changeableness of climate, according to dis-
tance from the sea and the influence of the gulf stream, —
the winter drags on with but little to mark the monotony
of its course. On the sea-board of the maritime pro-
vinces snow and rain constantly succeed each other, and
fields and clearings are often buried and as often bared ;
but back in the woods even the long January thaw,
which is of regular occurrence in these regions, makes
but little impression on the steadily accumulating snow.

The summer birds have all left, and the frogs are deeply
buried beneath the mud at the bottom of ponds. On
the smooth white surface, which is spread over his former

oe,

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 315

hiding-places in the forest, the little American hare
(Lepus Americanus) has assumed his winter coat, assimi-
lated in colour to the face of nature, and affording
somewhat of protection from the numerous enemies
which hunt him on the snow so unrelentingly—the two
lynxes, the foxes, the great fisher-marten, and the tree-
marten, and lastly, and most perseveringly of all, the
little ermine weasel. But he has feathered enemies
besides—the horned and snowy owls, as well as one or
two of the larger hawks. Considering the abundance
in which the former bird occurs in the forest, and
the lengthy list of his foes, it appears marvellous ‘that
the little rabbit, as he is locally called, is able, with
his family increasmg only in the summer months,
not merely to exist as a species, but to contribute so
largely as he does to the winter food of the human
population.

Undeniably gloomy as is the general character of the
American winter, apart from the vigorous bustle of
civilization, there are days when even the forest affords
sensations of pleasure to the observer of nature. What
can be more beautiful than early morning, after a long-
continued snow-storm, when the sun rises in a sky of
purest blue, speckled, perhaps, with light fleecy cirrhi, and
looking almost as the sky of a summer day? Every
branch and bough is covered with radiant crystals of the
new snow, and the air holds a delicious freshness.

Rising from his soft bed of silver-fir boughs before
the embers of the great logs which have warmed the

camp throughout the night, the hunter steps forth into

the bright morning with feelings of the highest exhilara-
tion. Not a branch stirs, save where the busy little

316 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

titmice or gold-crests, sporting amongst the foliage, dis-
lodge a shower of sparkling crystals—

“‘Myriads of gems that in the waving gleam
Gay-twinkle as they scatter,”

when the disencumbered bough flies back to its original
position. The faintest sound finds an echo amongst the —
stems of the forest trees; the chopping of an axe is
borne through the still rarified air for many a mile.
Bird-life is in full activity. The Corvide, the raven,
crow, blue-jay, and moose-bird are hunting round for
their morning meal of carrion. The grosbeaks and
crossbills, busily engaged on the fir-cones, frequently —
rest to deliver their low but melodious song from the
. topmost sprays of the pines. The taps of the wood-
peckers resound from the hard surface of barked trees,
and the sharp, wrathful chirrup of the common red
squirrel (Sciurus Hudsonius) is heard in every direction.
The very flight of birds may be heard at a considerable
distance, as may also the scratching of a squirrel against
the bark as he races up a trunk some two hundred yards
away, or the shuffling of the porcupine in the top
branches of a hemlock, his favourite retreat on a fine
winter's day.

Short-lived, however, are such pleasant breaks in the
winter weather. The short day, commencing so bril-
liantly, more frequently closes with a prevailing leaden
gloom portending more snow, or, if near the sea-coast, a
fierce southerly gale and rain.

In a damp atmosphere, or with gentle rain, the stratum
of air nearest the ground being of a temperature below
freezing point, every spray in the forest becomes coated

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 317

with ice. Thus originates the beautiful phenomenon
called a silver thaw. Seen in sunlight, when the mists
have dispersed, the forest presents a wonderful and magic
appearance under such circumstances. The network of
the smallest bushes is brought out to prominent notice
by the sparkling casing of ice, and the surface of the
snow gleams like a mirror. Such a scene as I once
beheld it at night by the light of a full moon was most
impressively beautiful, and, | would almost say, unreal.

Should a wind arise before the ice has melted, much
mischief is caused amongst the heavily-laden branches,
which make the wood resound with their snappings.

The close of the winter is the most disagreeable season
of the year, and the discoloured snow, assuming a round
granular shape, resists the sun with wonderful tenacity.
Night frosts consolidate the surface, so that small
animals, and man himself, are carried on the snow, and
leave no track. The bulky moose sinks through ; flying
from his pursuers with laborious and painful strides, and
leaving a trail of blood along his tracks from the sharp
edge of the incrustation cutting his legs, he soon
succumbs an easy prey to the wanton poacher. The
settlers’ sleds and ox-teams are now in full activity,
drawing out the logs felled during the winter through
the woods and over the lakes to the river-side ; and the
farmers hasten their remaining stock of produce to the
market and purchase their seeds, striving to return before
the final breaking up of the snow leaves the roadway
an impassable sea of mud. ,

318 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

NOTES ON PERIODIC PHENOMENA.

Tue following observations of periodic phenomena
were made in Halifax, Nova Scotia, an excellent and
central station for observing the natural features of the
seasons in the lower provinces, being on the line of
migration of water birds as well as of such land birds
as pass over farther to the north or eastward, to New-
foundland or Labrador. Some allowance must be made
with regard to locality in different parts of the provinces
—as, for instance, in the case of Montreal, where the
advent of winter and of spring phenomena is rather earlier —
than at Halifax, or of Quebec, where the latter season is
more backward, and a lower degree of mean winter
_ temperature prevails—yet, excepting that a larger
number of species is comprised in the fauna and flora
of the Canadas, and, on the other hand, in Newfound-
land, a great reduction occurs in the representation of
both kingdoms with an entire absence of the class
Reptilia, it may be said that the phenomena of the
seasons in Nova Scotia afford a fair index to such occur- -
rences throughout the British provinces of North
America bordering on the Atlantic.*

* Mean temperature and atmospheric pressure for four years, from 1863

to 1866 inclusive :—
Thermometer. Barometer.

Winter. ; 4 ; ee. 29°66°
Spring. : ; : wha oe 29°62°
Summer . : ; Beatie Pera id 29°68°
Autumn . F f ey Va 29°67°
Mean , » 43° 29°66°

rom Procesdinigs of N.S. Institute of Natural Science.

Shales. I>

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 319

NOTES OF THE YEAR 186.

January 5. Snow falls at night to depth of four
inches, quite level, with a cold N.E. wind.

6. First good sleighing of the year in Halifax ; ther-
mometer ranges about 12° Fahr. throughout the day.

7. Clear and cold ; thermometer,—5°. A dense pall
of vapour on the harbour, obscuring all but the tops
of vessels, and coating the sides and rigging with
ice. Large numbers of smelts and frost-fish (Morrhua
pruinosa) brought to market ; the former taken with bait

through holes cut in the ice in upper harbours or large

lakes freely communicating with the sea; the latter by
bag-nets in rivers at the head of the tide, where they are
now engaged in spawning. They are only taken at night,
returning at daybreak to deep water. Trout, taken
through the ice, and brought to market, dark and flabby,
and quite worthless.

10. The north-west arm of the sea in rear of the city
of Halifax frozen from head to the Chain Battery, two
miles, and covered with light snow. Sleighing on roads
excellent.

10—21. Mild, close weather, with southerly winds
and occasional heavy rains ; snow nearly disappears, even
in the woods to the eastward. ‘This is an instance of the
usual January thaw.

22. Ice on the lake twelve inches thick. Many moose
killed during the thaw brought to market ; the bulls still
retain their horns. Eels taken in harbours by spearing
through holes in the ice on muddy bottoms, where they
lie in a state of torpidity.

320 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

26. Four inches of snow fall during day.

27. Calm, clear weather ; excellent sleighing.

28—31. Very variable ; soft and mild, with rain from
southward, changing to hard frost with N.W. wind; three .
inches of snow from N.E. on 31st.

February 1. Thermometer, 0°, in the morning.

2—7. Very oppressive, unhealthy weather: dense
fogs and occasional rains ; snow disappearing, except in
the woods. The sap is commencing to flow in deciduous
trees, owing to the mildness of the weather ; buds appear
on maples and currant bushes.

8. Distant thunder heard.

10—13. Light frosts recommence. Ground bare of
snow on roads ; good skating on lakes and arms of the
sea, all the snow having been melted off the surface.

14. Wind shifts to N., with gale; mercury falls at
night to 0°. | |

18. Cold weather continues ; mercury, — 2°, at eight
AM. Good sleighing, considerable snow having fallen
since the change. |

22—24. A thaw; rain, with thick sea fogs; roads —
and streets deep with mud.

26—27. A little snow falls, succeeded by mild
weather.

March 2. A heavy snow-storm from N.E. ; five inches
fall; the sleighing good. Smelts, caught through the
ice, still brought to market, but becoming more scarce.
The song sparrow (F. melodia), a few of which stay all
winter, singing in gardens.

4. Snow disappearing under the sun.

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 321

5—10. Very variable ; much rain.

11. First salmon brought to market from the sea at
Margaret’s Bay. Several flocks of wild geese pass over
to the eastward. A few robins (Turdus migratorius)
seen. It is uncertain whether these are new comers, as
many have remained all winter around the Halifax
peninsula.

14. The fine, warm weather of past few days dis-
pelled by a northerly snow-storm, with 14° of frost at
night. Western salmon become more plentiful in the
market. The fur of the hare assuming its summer colour,
showing patches of light brown interspersed with the
white.

19. Mild and clear, after rains. Ice on the lakes
becomes very rotten, and unsafe for travelling. The rusty
grakle (Quiscalus ferrugineus), locally termed blackbird,
arrives. Immense quantities of sea-fish, comprising cod,
haddock, and halibut, brought to market. Woodcock
arrives. Robins frequently seen in open spots in the
woods near the sea. Snowbird (Fringilla nivalis) arrives.
A few have remained all winter.

23, 24. Easterly wind, with snow. Sleighs out again
in the streets.

26. Fine and mild. |

27. Very fine and pleasant. The song sparrow (F.
melodia) is heard frequently. Grass on sloping banks
becoming green. Robins find worms at the surface.
Maple-trees (Acer saccharinum) tapped by sugar makers.

30—31. Cold rains, with N.E. wind. Many. moose
killed by settlers in woods near Annapolis, where the
snow still continues deep.

322 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

REMARKS ON THE ABOVE QUARTER.

The weather during the foregoing winter months
was exceedingly unsettled. The mean temperatures of
January, February, and March were 23°, 26° and 28°,
respectively ; the minimum of cold in January, —5°,
being unusually small. There are few instances of the
two coldest months, January and February, passing over
without —10° to —15° being registered. Even in the
beginning of March, in some winters, the climate is still
subject to the occurrence of one of those sudden passages
of extreme cold, with strong N. and N.W. winds, which
sweep uniformly over the continent from high latitudes,
and form the most dreaded feature of the North Ame-
rican winter. On these occasions, and in severe visita-
tions, the mercury will fall to —15°, and sometimes,
_ though very rarely, to —20°, at Halifax, Nova Scotia ;
the minimum contemporary cold indicated at Sydney,
(Cape Breton), Frederictown (New Brunswick), Bangor
(Maine), and Kingston (Upper Canada), being —30° to
—40°. In the beginning of March, 1863, a heavy snow-
storm was followed by severe cold, the thermometer
registering —6° at Halifax, and —30° at Sydney, Cape
Breton. A similar late visitation of cold weather follow-
ing a deep fall of snow. occurred in March, 1859, when
the mercury fell to —3° and —5° during the nights of
the first three days of the month. The heaviest falls of
snow occur in February and early in March, when
sometimes nearly three feet of fresh snow is deposited,
accumulating by road sides in immense drifts which
almost hide small dwellings. On the 8th February,
1866, Halifax harbour was entirely frozen over, and bore

Fa ig Sat eet ee ra

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 323

large numbers of persons securely. The thermometer
indicated only —7° when this occurred, but the cold was
of some days’ continuance, and favoured by a_ perfect
calm. ‘This harbour rarely freezes to impede navigation,
as do those further to the eastward.

The roseate hue cast over the snow-covered surface of
the country by the sun’s rays on a fine March afternoon
in the fine weather succeeding a storm imparts a beau-
tiful effect to the wintry landscape ; in a steady winter
this is the most busy time for sleds, snow-shoes, and the
youthful sports of “ trabogining” and coasting down the
ice-clad hillocks and drifts of snow by the roadside.

As has been before observed, St. Patrick’s Day (March
17) is looked upon generally as indicating the breaking-
up of the winter at Halifax, Nova Scotia, when the wild
geese pass over in large flights; southerly weather, with
soft rains and fogs, fast dissolving the snow, and rotting
the ice on the lakes, which lingers a few days longer in
dark, discoloured, and honeycombed ie and finally
sinks below the surface.

April 1. Cold N.E. wind, with rain ; large fields of
ice drifting past the entrance of the harbour.

2—10. Fine, but with cold easterly winds. Common
crow (C. Americanus) mated and building in tall spruces.
Also ravens (C. corax) in tops of lofty pines and rocky
precipices. Fox-coloured sparrow (Ff. iliaca) arrives,
Trout take the fly in open water found in runs between
lakes. |

15. Wind veers to the westward after rain, with
fine spring weather. Mayflowers (Epigsea repens) in

flower abundantly ; occasional blossoms have been picked
| xy 2

324 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

during the last fortnight. The small marsh frog
(Hylodes) is heard. Robins and song-sparrow sing fre-
quently. Camberwell beauty (Vanessa antiopa) about.
Ice disappeared from lakes.

20. Fine weather succeeded by cold N.E. wind and
heavy snowstorm. ,

21. A few sleighs out in the streets in the morning ;_
snow disappears at noon, leaving a sea of mud on the
roads.

22—30. Fine clear weather; dust in the streets
towards close of month. White-bellied martin (H.
bicolze) arrives on 23rd; the gold-winged woodpecker
(Picus auratus) on same date. Wood frog (R. sylvatica)
and common spring frog (R. fontinalis) are heard to
croak; both are spawning. ‘Trout take the artificial
- fly readily in lakes. Smelts ascend brooks to spawn,
and are taken in great numbers by scoop nets. Dan-
delions picked in fields and sold as a vegetable.

May 1—3. Chilly, with rain; all vegetation back-
ward, owing to cold easterly weather till now prevailing.
Wild gooseberry in leaf. Scarlet buds developing on
maple. The Hylodes chirp in the evenings.

4. Bright and warm, with westerly wind. The king-
fisher (Alcedo aleyon) arrives; also the white-throated
sparrow (F. Pennsylvanica), commonly called in Nova
Scotia the “poor Kennedy bird.” The hermit thrush
(T. solitarius) is heard. ‘The trilling note of the common
toad is heard in the evening swelling the chorus of the
frogs. ;

7—11. Cold easterly weather ; much ice off the
coast.. Green snake (Coluber vernalis) observed sunning

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 325

on bank. Ferns (Lastreze) sprouting. Blue wood-violet
flowers, also white variety.

12. Clears up from westward for fine weather. Frogs
and toads very noisy in the evening. Robins, white-
throated sparrow, and hermit thrush sing till 8 P.M.
The toad trills all day. May and stone flies (Ephemerze
and Phryganeze) issue from the water, and are greedily
devoured by trout. Black flies (Simulium molestum)
make their appearance. ‘The light green blossoms of the
willow contrast prettily with the red bloom on maples (A.
rubrum). Grass four or five inches high. Larches showing
light green leaves and crimson blossoms. Waterlilies
commencing to grow upwards from the bottom of ponds.

13—15. Fine weather continues. Gaspereaux (Alosa
tyrannus) ascending stream to spawn in lakes. Ruffed
and Canada grouse (Tetrao umbellus and T. Canadensis)
incubating. Frog spawn hatching.

18. Fine weather continues. Trout gorged with
Ephemeree and refuse bait. Gold thread (Coptis trifolia)
flowermg. Ferns unfolding. Fir cones of A. picea of a
delicate sea-green colour.

20. Atmosphere hazy from fires in the forest. Herons
(Ardea Herodias) arriving in flights. Young leaves
tipping the blossoms of the red-flowering maple. Poplar
(P. tremuloides) in leaf.

21. The whip-poor-will (C. vociferus) is heard in
copses on the banks of the north-west arm of. the
harbour; the night hawk (C. Virginianus) on same
evening. Rain at night.

22. Shad (Alosa sapidissima) ascends rivers to spawn,
and will sometimes take the artificial fly. The moose-
bush (Viburnum lantanoides) in flower; also Indian

326 : FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

pear (Amelanchier); the young leaves of the latter of
a rich bronze tint. Light green leaves of birches un-
- folding. Pigeon berry (Cornus Canadensis) in flower ;
also wild Azalea (Rhodora Canadensis).

23—27. Variable weather, with rains. Blueberry
and whortleberry (Vaccinize) in flower on open barrens.
Smilacina bifolia and 8. borealis in flower in fir woods,
with Star of Bethlehem (Trientalis Americana). Profuse
blossoms on Indian pear and wild cherry (Cerasus Penn-
sylvanica).

28—31. Occasional showers, with thunder on the
31st. Leaves and seed-keys developed on maples. The
white death flower (Trillium pictum) in bloom. The
flower of the Rhodora now imparts a roseate hue to open
spots in the woods and by the roadside, contrasting most
pleasingly with the light green of birch and larch leaves
and young fern fronds.

June 1. Warm, pleasant weather. Blossoms of service
tree and wild cherry fading. Royal fern (Osmunda regalis)
in flower ; also O. cinnamomea and_O. interrupta. Yellow-
throated frog assumes bright colour, and croaks all day.
Young hares (first brood) about. Labrador tea (Ledum
latifolium) and lady’s slipper (Cypripedium) in flower.

2—6. Fine weather continues; high winds from
westward. Leaves of trees nearly developed.

7. A splendid aurora at night. A corona formed a
little south of the zenith, to which streamers ascend
from all points of the compass, though their bases did
not approach the horizon to the southward. Hylodes,
frogs, and toads very noisy at nights. Young robins
leaving the nest. |

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 327,

11. Fine weather, but cold for time of year. The
Bob o Lincoln (Emberiza oryzivora) in full song in
pasture fields.

15. Weather has become very fine and warm; this
day the thermometer indicates 87° in shade. Linnea
borealis, the twin flower, out, and imparts much fra-
grance to the atmosphere under green woods. Pollack
(Merlangus) arrive in bays and harbours, and take
artificial fly on the surface greedily. Kalmia angusti-
folia coming into bloom ; the Rhodora fading off.

16—20. Warm sultry weather, with thunder showers
on 20th. Indian cup (Sarracenia purpurea) flowers with
iris, cranberry, and sundew in swamps. Abundance of
salmon exposed for sale in the markets.

22. Fireflies (Lampyris corusca) are seen.

23—30. Variable weather: frequent incursions of
fog from the sea, extending many miles inland. Wild
strawberries ripen and are brought to market in Beat
abundance. Withrod in flower.

July 5. Heavy rain succeeds fogs. The wood-sorrel
(Oxalis acetosella) in flower. Wild roses (R. parviflora)
out. |

6—10. Very fine and warm ; atmosphere hazy, with
strong smell of burning woods. Grilse numerous in the
rivers. Haymaking commences. |

12. Fireflies very numerous in evenings. Water-
lilies, white and yellow, flowering; also arrowhead
(Sagittaria). Robins sitting on eggs of second brood.
Balsam poplars (balsamifera) shedding their cotton.

13—21. Very fine and dry. | Vegetation suffering
from drought; grass withering. Humming-birds nu-

323 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

merous. Summer flowers going off. Orange lily (L.
Canadense) flowering in intervale meadows, and _fire-
weed (Epilobium) in burnt woods. |

24, Still fine, with high winds. Extensive fires in
the woods fill the air with smoke and obscure the sun.
Grasshoppers very numerous. Wild currants ripen.
Young woodcock, partridge, and flappers of duck —
well grown. Wild cherries ripening; also blueberries
(Vaccinium) on the barrens, with wild raspberries.
(Rubus idzeus). Cargoes of sea-birds’ eggs brought
to market from the Gulf and sold for food. Garden
‘cherries ripe and much visited by waxwings (Ampelis
Americana).

25—31. Uninterruptedly fine weather. Albicore
(Thynnus vulgaris) strike the N.W. arm, feeding on
herring. House-flies become troublesome. The cicada
sings continually in the woods.

August 1. Fine weather continues. Berries of Cornus
Canadensis ripe and very plentiful; do. of blueberries
and Indian pear. Great quantities of wild raspberries
brought to market.

2—10. Weather changes to wet, commencing with
thunder. The rivers, hitherto almost dry, swell, and
salmon, delayed by drought, ascend.

11—17. Fine weather, with occasional showers. Pas-
senger pigeons (Kctopistes migratorius) seen on barrens
feeding on berries ; these birds are more numerous west-
ward from the coast. Cariboo (Cervus tarandus) com-
mence to rut.

18. Golden plover (Charadrius marmoratus) arrives.
Nights become cooler, and houseflies sluggish.

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 329

19—31. Fine weather. Tree frog (Hyla squirrella)
pipes. Moose have their horns developed, and rub off
deciduous skin. Trout recover from their summer lassi-
tude, and again take the fly. Fungi very numerous in
damp woods, with common mushroom (Agaricus cam-
pestris) on grass plots. Golden rods (Solidago), Michael-
mas daisies, and spieries flowering in fields and barrens ;
also the ground-nut (Apios tuberosa) in damp localities
by margins of lakes and brooks. Blackberries (Rubus
hispidus) ripen, and are brought to market. Maples and
birches in damp spots are tinged with fall colours.

REMARKS ON THE FOREGOING MONTHS.

The spring, comprising the months of April and May
and part of June, was generally fine, though the long-
continued easterly winds, coming over the ice-fields off
the coast, greatly retarded vegetation. This feature was
followed by a most unusual drought which prevailed
through the summer over the whole continent. The
prairies presented the appearance of an arid desert, and
the large game suffered severely. On the Atlantic coast
rivers and lakes were nearly dried up, and multitudes of
eels and other fish were left dead on the banks. A large
proportion of the migratory fish spawning in summer
were prevented from reaching their grounds.

The mean temperature of April was 36°; of May 48°;
of June 57°; of July 62°; and of August 64°.

The summer in Canada, the Lower Provinces, and
New England is characterised by the remarkable energy
of growth of all vegetation and rapidity of maturing.
Garden operations, begun late in May, will produce in a

330 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

few weeks the same results as if the seed had been sown
in England a month earlier; and the same rule applies
to general agriculture. The suitableness of the climate
to the growth of maize, tobacco, and the gourd family
attests its value in an agricultural light. The Jerusalem
artichoke flowers, and tomatoes and peppers produce
abundantly ; and in Nova Scotia the vine succeeds so ©
well, that black Hamburg grapes will ripen in the

open air.

September 1—10. Fine autumnal weather. Apples
and fall fruits fast ripening. Berries of mountain ash
(Pyrus Americana) reddening. Rutting season of Cervus
Alces commences. Woodcock and snipe, partridges
. (Tetrao), and hares brought to market, the latter being
principally snared. The whip-poor-will and night-hawk
leave. Gold-winged woodpeckers congregate before de-
parture.

11—13. Heavy rain-storm, lasting two days, and
accompanied by thunder-storms.

14, Leaves of maples and other bushes resplendent,
with orange and scarlet’ appearing in splashes on the
green leaf. Brooks full and low lands inundated.
Porcupines’ rutting season commences. Moose travelling
and calling. Scarlet berries of Trillium pictum and
blue of Smilacina borealis are very conspicuous in the
green woods. Large stops of fall mackarel made along
the coast. Apples and plums brought to market
abundantly.

- 20—30. Dull weather, but generally fine. Osmunda
cinnamomea assuming a beautiful golden-brown hue.
Willows turning yellow ; also young poplars and birches.

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 331

Wild cherry leaves partially tinted with crimson. Sumach
leaves parti-coloured: green and vivid orange-scarlet.
Leaves of Vaccineze becoming tinted, especially those of
the whortleberry. Slight frosts at night. The young
of the Gaspereau descend from the lakes (observed on
22nd). Large deciduous forest trees assume fall tints.
The hill sides are now resplendent with colour.

October 3. Vegetable decay in the forest proceeding
rapidly. Ferns withering. .The leaves of young oaks
turn dark brick red. |

10. Fall colours fading. Distant woods appear of a
dull brownish red. Fir cones ripe. Robins and hermit
thrush sing at sunrise, the former feeding on berries in
flocks, and preparing to depart. |

19. Leaves of most deciduous trees falling. Poplars
nearly bare. The huckleberry is now brilliant scarlet,
and the larch turning golden. :

31. Migratory birds depart.

November 1. A beautiful day, of the same character
as the last of October: a soft west wind and _ hazy
atmosphere, quite Indian summer weather. ‘The tints
on the landscape are charming ; the distant hills show
a light plum bloom; the sky and water light apple
ereen.

5—8. Cold rains. Leaves all fallen from deciduous
trees, excepting the beech, to which many cling all
winter.

11. Quantities of salmon in the market in prime
condition. They continue to be brought in till
the 20th. |

332 FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.

12—31. Variable weather, with rain, sleet, and slight
frosts. Salmon spawn.

December 1. Snow birds (Emberiza nivalis) arrive.
A little snow falls from S.W. |

2. Cold and wintry; minimum cold at night- being
16° of frost. Large flights of wild geese passing over
to the S.W.

5, Skating on ponds.

6—17. Damp, close, unseasonable weather.

19. Clear. Cold weather recommences.

20. The “ Barber” appears on the harbour in the
morning—a dense steam, due to the great difference of
temperatures of air and water. The mercury in after-
‘noon descends to 5° above zero, and during ensuing
night to —10°.

21—31. Variable. Good skating on large lakes, and
ice making on north-west arm of the sea, near the head.

REMARKS ON THE FALL AND FIRST WINTER MONTH. —

The mean temperature of September was 56°, of
October 46°; of November 39°, and of December 27°.
There were several days at the close of the fall when
the attributes of Indian summer weather appeared ; but
no lengthened season of this delightful feature in the
American autumn occurred in Nova Scotia. Nor is
this weather ever prolonged here, as further westward,
where (in Canada) a week or ten days is its frequent
duration.

The song of birds in the early morning in the fall of
the year has been generally ascribed to the resemblance

THE PROGRESS OF THE SEASONS. 333

of the temperature to that of spring. Perhaps from a
similar cause is the occurrence of autumnal blossoms on
spring-flowering plants. In the first week of October I
have seen the wild strawberry in blossom in large
patches in the woods, and also blossoms on the Kalmia
- and blueberry.

APPENDIX.

eee Cartons

Tue following papers bearing upon the natural history
of the Lower Provinces are selected from several read by
the Author before the Nova Scotian Institute of Natural
Science. The Institution referred to, of which the
Author has had the honour of being a Member since its
inauguration in 1863 (latterly a Vice-President), has
done much in exposition of the resources and physical
features of the colonies of Nova Scotia, New Bruns-
wick, Newfoundland, and the Bermudas under the able
management of the President, Mr. John M. Jones, F.L.S.
The contributions of this careful observer to. the natural
history of the latter islands, comprised in “The Naturalist
in Bermuda,’* and in several more recent notices, have
been recognised as most valuable, both as a compendium
of the Bermudan indigenous and permanent Fauna
and Flora, and also for the observations therein con-
tained on the migration of North American birds, and
on meteorological subjects. The Society owes no less
of its success to the indefatigable labours of Dr. J.
Bernard Gilpin, M.R.C.S., Vice-President, whose papers
on the food fishes of Nova Scotia have attracted much
attention amongst American naturalists. To this gentle-
man I am indebted for the scientific descriptions of the
game fish found in this work.

* “The Naturalist in Bermuda,” Reeves & Turner, 238, Strand, 1859.

336 APPENDIX.

ON THE NOCTURNAL LIFE OF ANIMALS IN THE
FOREST.

In one of the most attractive of the works of Humboldt, entitled
“Views of Nature,”—a collection of thoughts and personal observa-
tions in connection with some of the grandest objects of nature in
various parts of the world, visited by the great naturalist—appears
an interesting fragment, called “The Nocturnal Life of Animals in
the Primeval Forest,” suggesting to me comparative remarks on
animal life in our own sombre woodlands.

The great writer, in the commencement of this chapter, describes
the scene of his observat#ons, coupled with some decisive remarks of
his own on the nature of a primeval forest, which I think it well to
introduce here. ‘The scene is a boundless forest district which, in
the torrid zone of South America, connects the river basins of the ~
Orinoco and the Amazon. “ This region,” says Humboldt, ‘ deserves,
in the strictest sense of the term, to be called a primeval forest—a
term that in recent times has been se frequently misapplied.
Primeval (or primitive), as applied to a forest, a nation, or a period
of time, is a word of rather indefinite signification, and generally but
of relative import. If every wild forest, densely covered with trees
on which man has never laid his destroying hand, is to be regarded
as a primitive forest, then the phenomenon is common to many parts,
both of the temperate and the frigid zones. . If, however, this
character consists in impenetrability, through which it is impossible
to clear with the axe between trees measuring from 8 to 12 feet in
diameter, a path of any length, primitive forests belong exclusively
to tropical regions. This impenetrability is by no means, as is often
erroneously supposed in Europe, always occasioned by the interlaced
climbing ‘lianes,’ or creeping plants, for these often constitute but
a very small portion of the underwood. The chief obstacles are the
shrub-like plants which fill up every space between the trees in
‘a zone where all vegetable forms have a tendency to become
arborescent.” |

Now, our North American fir forests—especially in districts where
woods predominate, and the growth of timber is large—have so
frequently (generally) been termed “ primeval,” that we are bound
to inquire into the justice of Humboldt’s very decisive statement of
his own views of the etymology of the word. He claims the title for
the South American forest from its impenetrability, and not from,
what would seem to-me-a much more distinguishing feature, the

A ay Se Ta Gia

APPENDIX. 337

enormous diameter and age of its mighty trees. In regard to the
latter attribute, we should be compelled to cede the appellation as
inapplicable to our own woods, for, from the natural duration of life
of our timber trees—even the giant “Pinus strobus” rarely showing
over 1000 annular rings in section—the oldest members of the family
of North American coniferze cannot look back with those ancient
trees which by some have been placed coeval with the builders of the
pyramids. Still, as it is evident that in the heart of the great fir
forests of the North, even in many wooded portions of this Province,
the hand of man has never stirred to remove the existing giants,
whilst the bones oftheir ancestors lie mouldering and moss-covered
beneath, I cannot see why they do not merit the term primeval—
not in Von Humboldt’s acceptation, but according to the ordinary
recognition of its meaning, and as “original, such as was at first,”
says Johnson.

To return to the subject more immediately before us. Humboldt
next introduces a beautiful and eloquent description of the night life
of creatures in the forest by the Orinoco—the wild cries of a host of
apes and monkeys, terrified at the uproar occasioned by the jaguar
pursuing crowds of peccaries and tapirs, which burst through the
dense underwood with tremendous crashing; the voices of com-
munities of birds, aroused by the long-continued conflict beneath,
and the general commotion produced amongst the whole animal
world, rendering sleep impossible of attainment on stormy nights,
on which, especially, these carnivals appeared to be most frequent.

What a contrast is presented on entering the dreamy solitudes of
the North American pine forest—sombre though it may be, but yet
most attractive to the lover of nature—in the perfect harmony of its
mysterious gloom and silence with the life of its animal tenants,
their retiring and lonely habits, and their often plaintive and
mournful voices! Our perceptions of the harmonies of nature as
inseparably connect the mournful hooting of the great owl with the
glooms of the black spruce swamp, as we can the tangled wildness
and tropical vegetation of the South American forest with the dis-
cordant notes of its gaudy parrots, and the screams of its monkeys.
Although almost all of our mammalia are nocturnal in their habits,
and many of them beasts of prey, their nightly wanderings and
strife with their victims are conducted in the most orderly manner,
compared with the scenes we have referred to. Quiet, noiseless
stealth is the characteristic feature of all animal life in the forest ;

mutual distrust of the same species, and ever-present tendency to
Z

338 APPENDIX.

alarm predominate even in the wildest districts, where the sight of
man is unknown, or at least unremembered. At the slightest sound
the ruminants and rodents cease feeding, remaining motionless
either from fear or instinct; the rabbit or hare thus frequently
avoiding detection, whilst the moose can so silently withdraw if
suspecting an enemy, that I have on more than one occasion
remained hours together on the stillest night, believing the animal
to be standing within a few yards in a neighbouring thicket, to
which he had advanced in answer to the call, and found at length —
that he had suspiciously retreated. The great creature had retired,
worming his huge bulk and ponderous antlers through the entangled
swamp, without detectiop of the straining ear to which the nibbling
of a porcupine at the bark of a tree in the same grove was plainly
audible.

The habits and sounds of animals at night are especially familiar
to the hunter when calling the moose in the clear moonlight nights —
of September and October,—the season when this animal, forgetting
his usual caution and taciturnity, finds a voice to answer the plain-
tive call of his mate, and often advances to sure destruction, within
a few yards of his concealed foe. As the sun lowers beneath the
_ horizon, and twilight is giving place to the uncertain light of the
moon, we listen between the intervals of the Indian’s calls (about
twenty minutes is generally allowed) to the sounds indicating the
movements of nocturnal animals and birds. The squirrels which
have raced around us and angrily chirruped defiance from the sur-
rounding trees, all through the twilight, have at last scuttled, one
and all, into their holes and fastnesses, and the small birds drop,
one by one—the latest being the common robin, who is loth to leave
his rich pickings of ripe berries on the upland barren, on which he ©
revels ere taking his annual departure—into the bushes. No longer
annoyed by the multitudinous hum and bustle of diurnal animal
life, the ear is now relieved, and anxiously criticises the nocturnal
sounds which take their place. A little pattering amongst the
leaves, and cracking of small sticks (often mistaken by the ambushed
hunter .when listening for sounds of moose, for the cautious move-
ments of the latter animal), attests the presence abroad of the
porcupine, come forth from rocky cavern or hollow tree to revel on
berries, nuts, and the rind of young trees. A perfect “monitor” in
his coat of protecting armour, he fears neither the talons of the
swooping owl, or the spring of the wild cat. Woe to the peace of
mind and bodily comfort of his adventurous assailant, for the barbed

See ee ee

+» ipa *. a i i mp ‘ os

o er Carli Te

APPENDIX. 339.

quills, once entering the skin, slowly worm their way through the
system, and produce lingering suffering, if not death. Even the
moose is lamed, if not for life, for a tedious time, by accidentally
running over a “ maduis,” as the Indian calls him. The porcupine
is essentially nocturnal in its habits, retiring at sunrise to its den to
sleep off its midnight revels, till the “ knell of parting day” is again
tolled through the arches of the forest by the solemn war-cry of the
horned owl.

All the strigide are now busily engaged in hunting mice, shrews,
and even hares, through the darkest swamps, and uttering at intervals
their melancholy hootings. ‘The call of the cat-owl, horned, or eagle-
owl of America (B. Virginianus), is one of the most impressive
sounds of the forest at night. Coming on the ear of the sojourner
in the woods, most frequently just before daylight appears, and
emanating from the dark recesses of a grove of hemlock spruce,
from whose massive stems the sound re-echoes through the forest,
the voice of this bird is eminently suggestive of most melancholy
solitude and ghostliness, and one instinctively awakens the dying
embers of the camp fire. Another sound uttered by this bird on its
nocturnal hunt is positively startling—a maniacal yell, terminating
in mocking laughter, which it is hard to believe can proceed from
the throat of a bird.

I believe there is nothing of its own size that this fierce, powerful
bird will not venture to attack under cover of the night. The poor
hare constantly falls a prey; the farmer has a long score to settle
with it, frequently losing his poultry—even geese—through its
nocturnal visits. An Indian recently told me that the owl had
carried off a favourite little dog that was of great value in hunting
for partridges. Whilst in confinement, these birds will prey on one
another.

The great horned owl is not so exclusively nocturnal as some
of the other members of the family. I have frequently started
them sitting on a branch exposed to open daylight, and noticed that

' they were perfectly sure of flight, and readily found their way to

another hiding place. Passing the dark wooded banks of the
Shubenacadie in a canoe, I have seen great numbers of them sitting
in the overhanging spruces and hemlocks.

Sometimes a curious whining sound, uttered at intervals, is
noticeable at night in the woods. It is the note of the “ welawaetch,”
as the Indian calls it—Tengmalm’s owl.

_ The answer of the bull moose to the Indian’s plaintive ringing
Z2

340 APPENDIX.

call on his cone trumpet of birch bark, if the animal is distant, is
freely and quickly returned. Resembling, at first, the chopping of
an axe far away in the woods, the sound, when nearer, becomes more
distinctly guttural. It is well expressed by the monosyllable “ Quoh !”
uttered by the Indian through the bark cone.

Under the most favouring circumstances of a bright moon, and
the death-like stillness of a clear frosty atmosphere, the too sanguine
hunter is repeatedly doomed to disappointment ; the animal’s appre-
ciation of his own language frequently proves the best master of the ~
craft to be but a sorry imitator. The moose on approaching the
ambush, the imagined locality of his hoped-for mate, at length comes
to a dead stand, maintaining the same attitude for sometimes a
couple of hours without an audible movement ; when the impatient
hunter once more ventures to allure him by another call, he is off in
silent though hasty retreat. |

As an instance, however, of departure from their usual cautious —
and quiet comportment at night on the part of these animals, I will
introduce here one of my “Sporting Adventures,” published some
years since, and what I heard one cold October night in a very wild
and (then) almost unhunted portion of the country.

“Though it was very cold, and my damped limbs were stiffening
under me from crouching so long in the same posture, I could not
but enjoy the calmness and beauty of the night. The moon was
very low, but the columns of a magnificent aurora, shooting up to
the zenith, threw a mellow light on the barren, which, covered by
mist as by a sheet, appeared like a moonlit lake, and the numerous
little clusters of dwarfish spruce as islands. We had not heard a
moose answer to our call for nearly an hour, and were preparing to
move, when the distant sound of a falling tree struck our ears. It
appeared to come from the dim outline of forest which skirted the
barren on our left, and at a great distance.

“ Down we all drop again in our deeply impressed couches to listen.
The sounds indicate that moose are travelling through the woods
and close to the edge of the barren. Presently the foremost moose
is abreast of our position, and gives vent to a wild and discordant
cry. This is the signal for a general uproar amongst the procession
of moose, for a whole troop of them are following at long and
cautious intervals.

“The timber is crashing loudly opposite to our position, and distant
reports show that more are still coming on from the same direction.
A chorus of bellowings respond to the plaintive wail of the cow.

}
4
;
7
é
‘

APPENDIX. 341

The branches are broken more fiercely, and horns are rapidly drawn
across stems as if to whet them for the combat. Momentarily I expect
to hear the crashing of rival antlers. One by one the bulls pass our
position, and I long to get up and dash into the dark line of forest,
and with a chance shot scatter the procession ; but to do so would
entail wanton disturbance of the country ; so we patiently wait till
the last moose has passed.

*‘ Never before had I heard the calmness of the night in the Nova
Scotia forest so disturbed ; they had passed as a storm ; and now the
barren and the surrounding country were once more enveloped in
the calm repose of an autumnal night, unbroken, save by the chirrup
of the snake in the swamp.”

Of all premonitors of the approach of a storm, the night voices of
the barred owl (Syrnium nebulosum) and the loon are the surest.
“The ‘coogoguesk’ is noisy again; more rain comin’,” says the
Indian, and whether we hear the unwonted chorus of wild hootings
soon after sundown or at daybreak, the storm will surely come within
twelve hours. Such is likewise the case in summer, when from our
fishing camps we hear the plaintive, quavering cry of the great
northern diver echoing over the calm surface, and amongst the
groups of islets of the forest lakes, and quickly repeated without
intermission, during the night. In the autumn, in close damp
weather, and especially before rain, the little tree frog (Hyla squir-
rellus), rejoicing in the prospect of a relaxed skin, pipes vigorously
his cheerful note throughout the night, and the Brek! B-r-rek! of the
wood-frog (Rana sylvatica) is heard from pools of water standing in
hollows in the forest. A sound that has always been pleasant to my
ears when lying amongst the low bushes on the open barren, is the
Chink! chink! chink! of the little chain mouse as he gambols around.
It is a faint silvery tinkling, as might be produced by shaking the
links of a small chain, whence his common name.

The little Acadian owl, commonly called the “ saw-whet” (Ulula
Acadica), is not uncommon in our woods, uttering morning and even-
ing its peculiar and (until known) mysterious tinkling sound from
the thickest groves of spruces. In one of these I once captured a
specimen just about sundown, when proceeding to a barren to call
moose. The Indian made a noose on the top of a long wattle, and
after a little manoeuvring, during which the bird kept hovering round
us, hissing and setting up its wings and feathers in great anger, he
got it over its neck and secured it without injury. This little owl,
just turning the scale at two ounces, will actually attack and kill a rat.

342 APPENDIX,

Wherever there is mystery there lies a charm; and to this
effect expresses himself Mr. Gosse, who thus speaks of his ac-
quaintance with the cry of the saw-whet in his “Romance of
Natural History :”

“Tn the forests of Lower Canada and the New England States, I
have often heard.in spring a mysterious sound, of which, to this day,
I do not know the author. Soon after night sets in, a metallic
sound is heard from the most sombre forest swamps, where the spruce —
and the hemlock give a peculiar density to the wood, known as the
black growth. The sound comes up clear and regular, like the mea-
‘sured tinkle of a cow bell, or gentle strokes on a piece of metal, or
the action of a file upon a saw. It goes on, with intervals of inter-
ruption, throughout the hours of darkness. People attribute it to a
bird which they call the whetsaw, but nobody pretends to have seen
it, so that this can only be considered conjecture, though a highly ©
probable one. The monotony and pertinacity of this note had a
strange charm for me, increased, doubtless, by the uncertainty of its
origin. Night after night it would be heard in the same spot,
invariably the most sombre and gloomy recesses of the black timbered
woods. I occasionally watched for it, resorting to the woods before
- sunset, and waiting till darkness ; but, strange to say, it refused to
perform under such conditions. The shy and recluse bird, if bird it
-was, was, doubtless, aware of the intrusion, and on its guard. Once
I heard it under peculiarly wild circumstances. I was riding late at
night, and, just at midnight, came to a very lonely part of the road,
where the black forest rose on either side. Everything was pro-
foundly still, and the measured tramp of my horse’s feet on the
frozen road was felt as a relief to the deep and oppressive silence ;
when suddenly, from the sombre woods, rose the clear metallic tinkle
of the whetsaw. The sound, all unexpected as it was, was very
striking, and though it was bitterly cold, I drew up for some time to
listen to it. In the darkness and silence of the hour, that regularly
measured sound, proceeding, too, from so gloomy a spot, had an
effect on my mind solemn and unearthly, yet not unmixed with
pleasure.” :

There is a bird that, long after sundown, and when the moose-
caller begins to feel chilled by long watching on the frosty barren,
will rush past him with such velocity as to leave no time to catch a
certain view of its size or form. It passes close to the ground, and
with the whizzing sound of an arrow. Almost every night, whilst
thus watching, I have noticed this bird ; can it be the night hawk ? ©

APPENDIX. 343

But October is late for so tender a bird ; the latest day in which I
have observed it in Nova Scotia, was the 28th September.

Another mysterious sound which many of the Indian hunters con-
nect with superstition, and attribute to spirits of the Orpheonistic
description, is that curious, rushing sound of music—an indescribable
melodious rustling in the calm atmosphere of a still October night,
with which the ear of the moose-hunter becomes so well acquainted.
Most probably the cause exists in the tension of the nerves of that
organ.

The fierce yell of the lucifee, and the short sharp bark of the fox,
are often heard in wild parts of the country: they are both in
pursuit of the unfortunate hare, which falls a frequent prey to so
many of the carnivoree and raptores. I once heard the startling cry
of the former close to my head, whilst reposing in the open, after a
night’s moose-calling away from camp. Its bounds upon its prey,
having stealthily crept to within sight, are prodigious: I have mea-
sured them as over twenty feet in the snow.

I have always noticed that in the small hours of the morning there
appears to be a general cessation of movement of every living crea-
ture in the woods. Often as I have strolled from camp into the
moonlight at this time, I never could detect the slightest sound—
even the owls seemed to have retired. The approach of dawn, how-
ever, seems to call forth fresh exertions of the nocturnal animals in
quest of food, and all the cries and calls are renewed—continuing till
the first signs of Aurora send the owls flitting back into the thick
tops of the spruces, and call forth the busy squirrels and small
birds to their daily occupation. |

Once, and only once, did I hear the little red squirrel utter his
wrathful chirrup at night—a bad sign, say the Indians ; they firmly
believe that it prognosticates the death of one of their friends.
Neither does the chip-munk or striped ground squirrel come out at
night ; the only member of the family of nocturnal habits is the
flying squirrel, a rare but most beautiful little creature. Lying in
an open camp, I once saw its form sail in a curved line from tree to
tree in the moonlight.

Of night songsters amongst our small birds we have few examples.
The whip-poor-will is our only systematic nightingale, if we may
call him so. Arriving in June, and choosing the pleasantest retreat,
in copses, by picturesque intervales, and generally preferring the
neighbourhood of man, the plaintive song of this bird is strongly
associated with the charms of a summer’s evening in the country.

344 APPENDIX.

Occasionally, liowever, the white-throated sparrow, or the common
peabiddy bird (F. Pennsylvanica) strikes up his piping note at
various times of the night, and is often heard when the surrounding
woods are suddenly lighted up by the application of fresh fuel to
the camp fire. The Indians say that he sings every hour. The
exquisite flute-like warblings of the hermit thrush (T. solitarius) are
often prolonged far into the fine nights of early summer. As a
general impression, however, the pleasing notes of song birds are
foreign to the interior solitudes of the great fir forest, whose gloom
is appropriately enhanced by the wilder and more mournful voices
of predatory birds and animals. With these imperfect remarks, I
close the present sketch on the night life of animals in the woods.

The following is a fragment of a Paper read by the
Author before the Nova Scotian Institute of Natural
Science on Acclimatisation. A large proportion of the
_ matter contained therein has been omitted as irrelative

to the objects of this work.

ACADIAN ACCLIMATISATION.

Having thus adverted to the development of “ Applied Natural
History ” in other parts of the world as a practical science, and the ~
satisfactory results which have already attended such efforts, we now
come to consider the proper subject of this paper—the question of
Acclimatisation as applicable to Nova Scotia. I have so far drawn
attention to the advances made by the antipodal colonists in this
direction, to show how the objections of distance, expense, and un-
certainty of results, have all been put aside for ends thought worthy
of such sacrifices. But Australia was a country craving animal
immigration, her large and wealthy population demanding many of
the absent table luxuries of the old world, and her youth eager for
the time when the boundless forests and grassy plains should abound
with the stag or roe, in place of the monotonous marsupials which as
yet had afforded the only material for the chase. In Atlantic
America, on the contrary, instead of having to supplant the in-
digenous animals, we possess, in a state of nature, some of the noblest
forms of animal life, which, no longer required to supply the abori-
ginal Indians with their sole means of subsistence, may be called on,:

APPENDIX, 345

with that moderation which should always characterise a civilised
people, to afford both the invigorating pleasures of sport and luxuries
for the market. Every stream and lake abounds with trout, and
there are but few rivers from Cape Sable to the Labrador which the
salmon does not annually attempt to ascend.

' What, then, is to be desired? Has not America, receiving from
the east all those useful animals which accompany man in his migra-
tions, and which, returning to a state of nature in the plains of
Mexico and South America, have multiplied so greatly as to afford a
staple product for exportation, giving all imaginable luxuries to the
new-coming nations in the produce of her forests, prairies, rivers, and
sea coasts ? Yes, but the gift has been abused. . It is sad to con-
template the wanton destruction of game and game fish throughout
the northern continent since its first settlement by Europeans: many
animals, now on the verge of extinction, driven off their still large
domains, not primarily by the approach of civilisation, but by ruth-
less, wholesale, and wanton modes of destruction. “One invariable
peculiarity of the American people,” says the author of “'The Game
Fish of the North,” “is that they attack, overturn, and annihilate,
and then laboriously reconstruct. Our first farmers chopped down
the forests and shade trees, took crop after crop of the same kind
from the land, exhausted the soil, and made bare the country ; they
hunted and fished, destroying first the wild animals, then the birds,
and finally the fish, till in many places these ceased utterly from the
face of the earth ; and then, when they had finished their work, that
race of gentlemen moved west to renew the same course of destruc-
tion. After them came the restorers ; they manured the land, left it
fallow, put in practice the rotation of crops, planted shade and fruit
trees, discovered that birds were useful in destroying insects and
worms, passed laws to protect them where they were not utterly
extinct, as with the pinnated grouse of Pennsylvania and Long
Island, and will, I predict, ere long re-stock the streams, rivers, and
ponds, with the best of the fish that once inhabited them.”

A home question for our subject would be,—In the hands of which
class of men does this colony now find itself? And I fear the un-
hesitating answer of the impartial stranger and visitor would be,
that in all regarding the preservation of our living natural resources,
we were in the hands of the destroyers. The course of destruc-
tion so ably depicted by the author quoted, is being prosecuted
throughout the length and breadth of Nova Scotia, and the settlers
of this province, blind to their own interests, careless of their children’s,

346 APPENDIX.

and utterly regardless of restraint imposed by the laws of the country,
worse than useless because not carried out, are bringing about the
final depopulation of our large wild areas of land and water. It really
becomes a question as to whether late interference shall arrest the
tide of destruction ere the entire extermination of fish and game
shall bring the country to a sense of its loss, and finally to a wish for
their reproduction.

In such a state of affairs, provincial acclimatisation would prove
an empty speculation, for any new animal or bird introduced into
our woodlands requiring freedom from molestation for a term of
years, would be quickly hunted down and destroyed.

Leaving, however, these important questions of protection or
extinction of already-existing indigenous species in the hands of those
who hold the means of ordering these matters, I will now call your
attention to what might be done to increase our stock of useful wild
or domestic animals, birds or fish, could they be ensured the necessary
wardship. We will consider first whether our large woodland districts
demand and would bear foreign colonisation, and for what types their
_ physical conformation seems best adapted.

Even in its most undisturbed and wildest depths the North
American forest has always been noted for its solitude ; the meaning
being the great disproportion of the animal to the vegetable king-
dom. It seems as if nature had exhausted her energies in shading
the ground with the dense forest and the rank vegetation which
everywhere seizes on the rough surface beneath. It is impossible to
say to what extent animal life might have once existed in the primeval
forest ; but no one who has taken a day’s walk in the woods, either
near to or far from the haunts of man, can fail being impressed with
the apparent absence of animal life. The European visitor, in a
suburban ramble through the bush, wonders at the scarcity of game
birds, rabbits, or hares, but is astonished when told that in the
deepest recesses of the wild country he will see but little increase of
their numbers. A canoe paddled through lake after lake of our
great highways of water communication, will startle but a few pairs
or broods of exceedingly timid waterfowl, where in Europe they
would literally swarm. Surely, then, here is room for the work of
acclimatisation, in a country where so much toil is undergone in the
often fruitless pursuit of sport.

The undergrowth of our wild forest lands, the field for acclima-
tisation which we have under immediate consideration, consists of
an immense variety of shrubs, under-shrubs, and herbs, annual or

Sa so Sica

APPENDIX. 347

perennial. The under-shrubs generally bear the various descriptions
of berries, and with great profusion. There are, here and there, wild
pastures, or intervales, by the edge of sluggish water, but they bear
but a small proportion to the woodlands ; the bogs and barrens pro-
duce moss in abundance, and of the kind found in every part of the
world where the reindeer is indigenous, or has been successfully intro-
duced, as in Iceland.

We find, accordingly, that our largest ruminant, the moose-deer,
is, in the strictest sense of the word, a wood-eater ; whilst our other
animal representing this class, the American reindeer, or cariboo, is
found in those portions of the province where large and seldom dis-
turbed plains and bogs afford him his favourite moss, the lichen
rangiferinus. As amongst the larger animals, ruminants alone
offer a selection for introduction into a forest country with the
physical attributes of Nova Scotia, we may ask if there is any other
animal of the deer tribe which might be successfully acclimatised
here. The answer comes through careful consideration of the fauna
and flora of other regions compared with our own. The field
naturally presenting itself for this research lies in the forest districts
of America further west, and in northern Europe, which, under
similar climatic influences, presents a strong analogy to this portion
of the globe, especially on its western seaboard ; the forest trees and
shrubs, the larger animals, the birds and the fish of Norway and
Sweden, are almost reproduced in British North America ; indeed,
distinction of species in many cases is far from established.

The common deer (Cervus Virginianus), then, of Maine and the
Canadas, and more recently of New Brunswick by spontaneous accli-
matisation, or perhaps rather through the instrumentality of the wolf,
appears to be perfectly adapted for an existence in the Nova Scotian
woods—a graceful species, but little inferior to the red deer of
Europe, affording the excellent venison with which the New York
and Boston markets are so well supplied. The climate of Nova
Scotia, allowing so little snow to accumulate in the woods until the
close of the winter, would prove a great safeguard against the whole-
sale destruction with which it meets in Maine and New Brunswick,
where it is continually in a most helpless condition from the depth of
snow throughout the winter. Indeed, it is already with us, for a
small herd of healthy animals may now be seen at Mr. Downs’
gardens, to whom the country is already indebted for many an un-
assisted attempt at real practical acclimatisation.*

* Mr, Andrew Downs, Naturalist, N. W. Arm, Halifax, Nova Scotia,

348 APPENDIX.

It is well known that both the buffalo and the elk (C. wapiti)
formerly had an extensive range to the north-east. The latter
animal, now mainly found on the Yellowstone and Upper Missouri
rivers, once inhabited the forests of the Saguenay. Baird says it has
a greater geographical distribution than any other American deer ;
and, according to Richardson, it can exist as far as 57 deg. north,
Doubtless it would thrive in the Nova Scotian or New Brunswick
forests. ‘The wapiti thrives in the Zoological Society’s gardens in
England, where it annually reproduces; and large herds of this
noble animal are being transported from America to the north of
Italy by His Majesty King Victor Emmanuel. Thirty were recently
awaiting departure from New York at the same time.

The only other ruminant on the list of this order, indigenous to
climates similar to our own, is the hardy little roe-deer or roebuck,
common in the beech woods of. northern Europe. I am confident
that this animal would thrive in the extensive beech forests of Cum-
berland ; and as it seems to live and thrive close to civilisation, it
would find ample room and food in our suburban copses and un-
_ Cleared barrens. Descending in the scale of animal classification,
the next selections for consideration of a future Acclimatisation
Society in this country, as adapted to live and multiply and become
profitable in the woodlands, seem to be offered in the prolific order
Rodentia, of which many families are already indigenous—the squirrel,
beaver, porcupine, and American hare, commonly known as the rabbit.
The first of these might receive an interesting accession by the intro-
duction of the black and grey squirrels of Canada and the States ;
the beaver, porcupine, and woodchuck, are all prized by the hunter
as food, lacking the supply of venison, and the hare, persecuted
though it be by human, furred, and feathered foes, is still so prolific
and common, as to form a great portion of the winter subsistence of
both settlers and the poor of this city. Indeed, when we enumerate
its enemies of the animal creation, which almost altogether live upon
it, the lynx and wild cat, the foxes, the horned owl, the marten, and
the weasel, and take into consideration the numbers which are taken
by man, by snaring them in their easily discovered paths to and from
their feeding grounds in the swamps, it is wonderful that they still
remain so plentiful. A great objection to the flesh of the American
hare, however,. is its insipidity and toughness, except when taken
young. Far more delicate and esteemed is that of the Spanish, or
domestic, and common wild English rabbit (Lepus cuniculus), and it
would seem that both are of a sufficiently hardy constitution to stand

APPENDIX. 349

the rigours of our winter. The former is already an acclimatised
inhabitant of the sandbanks of Sable Island, according to Dr. Gilpin,
having been introduced by the Honourable Michael Wallace, and
increased amazingly, affording the islanders many a fresh dinner
when salt junk is plenty and fresh beef scarce. No easier experi-
ment could be made in applied natural history than the extensive
breeding of the common grey rabbit by some resident near town,
whose premises bordered on uncleared bush or scrub. ‘To commence,
a large bank of loosely piled earth and stone might be made, here
and there perforated by a length or so of suitable tubing, such as
used for drains, the bank enclosed by wire netting, and a few pairs of
rabbits turned in. ‘They would soon tunnel the bank in all directions,
and as the families increased they might be allowed to escape into
the neighbourhood. A fair warren once established would be the
means of a quick colonisation of the surrounding country. And the
true rabbit, living so constantly under ground, would enjoy much
greater security from animals and birds of prey than his indigenous
congeners.

Still keeping in view the acclimatisation of creatures intended to
exist in a state of natures and not for domestication—a division of the
subject which appears to be most feasible and best adapted to the
condition of this province—let us next turn to the birds.

We have already existing in our woods as game birds, two species
of Tetraonide—the T. umbellus, or the ruffed grouse, and the
T. Canadensis, or spruce partridge—as permanent residents ; and, as
summer visitors, the two North American Scolopacidze, the woodcock
and snipe. There is but one representative of the Phasianide in
North America, the only gift of the new to the old world, whence the

_ domestic race has sprung, and that is the wild turkey. It certainly

would appear that our large woodland solitudes offer especial facilities
for the introduction of some new members of the grouse family,
birds especially formed for existence in cold climates. Formerly
common in the Scotch pine forests, now only to be met with in
abundance in the north of Europe, in Norway, Sweden, and Russia,
the magnificent capercailzie, or cock of the wood (‘T. urogallus),
equalling, in the case of the male bird, the turkey im size, presents
so tempting an experiment that it should be almost introduced
regardless of expense. A bird inhabiting so widely the fir woods of
subarctic Europe and Asia, would surely succeed if transplanted to
the corresponding region of North America. It appears to feed
exclusively on pine shoots. Mr. Bernard, author of a recent work

350 APPENDIX,

called “ Sport in Norway,” says it is still common in all large forest
districts in that country. I believe this bird loves solitude, and
surely he would find it, if essential to his existence, in some of the
great expanses of coniferous forest which still prevail in most por-
tions of Nova Scotia. Next in size and beauty might be selected
the black game (‘T. tetrix) of the wilder portions of the British Isles,
and numerous in Norway, where it is stated they not unfrequently
cross with the capercailzie. This bird is known to subsist on the
buds of the alder and birch, on the berries of the whortleberry, blue- —
berry, and juniper, and on the bog cranberry, all of which are so
abundant in our woods, and of almost identical species. A successful
introduction of this bold, handsome grouse, would add great interest
to the wild sports on the open barrens. The hazel hen of northern
Europe (T. bonasia), reported to be the best fleshed bird of the
grouse tribe, is another association of a country in which spruce woods
abound, It is exceedingly like our birch partridge in appearance— —
a little smaller, and wanting the ruff ; like the latter, also, its flesh is —
white. There are many other northern grouse in both the old and
new worlds, but none that I should import as so likely to succeed,
and as such valuable acquisitions, as the capercailzie and the blackcock.
. With the circumstance of the introduction and breeding of the
English and gold and silver pheasants at Mr. Downs’ establishment
we are all acquainted; and a most interesting fact is the well-
ascertained capability of the English pheasant to live and find its
own subsistence in our woods through a rigorous winter, whilst the
latter birds, left out at night by accident, have apparently suffered
little inconvenience by roosting in a fir tree, exposed to a strong
wind, accompanied by the intense cold of —16°. Why should not
this experiment be continued ? :
It is to be feared that those troops of little songstere with which
the fields of England abound, and which have been carefully acclima-
tised in Australia for old association sake, would die on the first
near approach of the mercury to zero. Those that are imported,
comprising thrushes, skylarks, finches, &c., are closely kept within
doors. Mr. Downs has two pairs of the European jackdaw,. which
he hopes will increase in his neighbourhood. These interesting and
garrulous little members of the family Corvide, whose young every
English boy covets to obtain and educate to the acquisition of rudi-
mentary speech, would find but few ivy-mantled towers or venerable
steeples in which to build their nests; but when Gilbert White
informs us that for want of church steeples they will build under

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APPENDIX, 351

ground in rabbit burrows, the new-comers would not be long in
devising a remedy for the defect. The common English house-
sparrow, thoroughly acclimatised, and abundant in New York, would,
doubtless, do as well in this neighbourhood.

As a second consideration in connection with this wide subject,
let us inquire whether any good purpose could be answered by an
attempt at domestication or semi-domestication of our indigenous
ruminants, the moose and the cariboo. When we consider that
these two species are found throughout the old world, under the
same conditions of climate and vegetation which attend them in the
new, it appears unaccountable that we have no historic records of the
subjugation of the cariboo for domestic purposes by the primitive
Indians of the northern coasts of America, as this animal has been
applied from time immemorial by the Lapps.

An eminent naturalist, Dr. Gray, in delivering his address in the
Nat. Hist. Section at the late meeting of the British Association at
Bath, thus alludes to the latter fact :—‘ The inhabitants of the arctic
or sub-arctic regions of Europe and Asia have partially domesticated
the reindeer ; and either Asiatics have peculiar aptitude for domesti-
cating animals, or the ruminants of that part of the world are
peculiarly adapted for domestication ;”* and he then instances a
variety of exemplifications, in their having domesticated the yak in
the mountain regions of Thibet and Siberia, the camel and drome-
dary in central Asia, in southern Asia the zebra, and in the Malayan
archipelago various species of buffalo and wild cattle. It may be
stated, that modern discovery has placed the original home of the
reindeer in the high Alps of central Asia, whence these animals,
followed by their ever-accompanying human associates, the Lapps,
migrated to the north-west of Europe. As a beast of burden, how-
ever, to traverse those treeless wastes answering to the snow-covered
barrens of Lapland, the dog seems to have answered all the purposes
of the Esquimaux and other arctic-American tribes, whilst in more
southerly and wooded regions, a sledge-drawing animal would have
no scope or sphere of employment. And, viewing the animals in this
light, the horse and the ox which have accompanied Europeans,

* Erman in his Siberian travels frequently speaks of the passionate desire
evinced by the reindeer for human urine as the acknowledged means of success
adopted by the Ostyaks, Samoyeds and Tunguzes, in domesticating this animal,
otherwise naturally so shy and averse to the presence of man. The new life
apparently acquired by the deer on a journey, after gratifying this strange
appetite, is attributed by the same author to the stimulus afforded by the
ammoniacal salts,

352 APPENDIX.

have left no desideratum that could be supplied by either the moose
or the cariboo. There are, however, several undoubted instances of
the applicability of the moose to draught. A few years since a
settler on the Guysboro’ road, named Carr, possessed a two-year old
bull moose, which was perfectly tractable in harness. For a wager,
he has been known to overtake and quickly distance the fastest
trotting horse on the road, drawing his master in a sleigh, the
guiding reins being fastened to a muzzle bound round the animal’s
nose. Another instance was that of a very large moose kept by a
doctor in Cape Breton, which he would invariably employ in pre-
ference to his horse when wishing to make a distant visit to a
patient, and in the shortest time. It is very certain that in its
youth the moose is one of the most tractable of animals ; but it is
in the rutting season of the third year that the males first become
unmanageable and dangerous. *

A point, however, on which I would engage attention, is not the —
domestication of either of these animals in the state in which the
ordinary domesticated animals are associated with us, but a possible
state of semi-domestication, by which the moose might be caused to
multiply on uncleared land, and regularly bred, fattened, and turned
- to profit without the smallest cost to the owner, except the expense
of maintaining his enclosures in an efficient state of security. My
attention was first drawn to this by reading an account of the
successful breeding of the American elk (C. wapiti) by an American
gentleman—a Mr. Stratton, of New York State. I quote from a
letter dated January 12, 1859 :—

“ My desire to keep and breed them, without their becoming a tax
upon me, led to diligent inquiry in relation to what had been done
in the way of their domestication. I procured, as far as possible,
every paper, book, and document, which could give any light upon
the subject. I wrote to every part of the country whence any infor-
mation could be obtained, and opened a correspondence with those
who had undertaken such an enterprise. The result of my efforts
was simply this: nearly every one who had owned an elk was a
gentleman amateur, and had left the care and direction to servants ;
the bucks, not having been castrated at the proper age, had
become unmanageable ; and when the novelty of the attempt was
over, the domestication in most cases was abandoned. But from my

* Formerly the European elk was used in Sweden to draw sledges, but its
use for this purpose was finally prohibited by government, as criminals used
it as a means of escape.

APPENDIX. 353

own inquiries, and a close personal observation of the habits of the
animal, I believed that a different course would produce a more
favourable result. The first requisite was a place to keep them in.
Now, they had always lived in the woods, summer and winter: why
not live in the forest again? Acting upon this principle, I im-
mediately set to work and fenced in about 150 acres of hill land,
which was steep and stony, covered with brushwood, and entirely
useless for agricultural purposes. In this lot I turned my elks,
where they have been six years. In the meantime, I purchased two
more does, and have reared eight fawns. Having emasculated the
older bucks as fast as the younger ones became adults, I have now a
herd so gentle, that a visitor at my farm would hardly imagine that
their ancestors, only three generations back, were wild animals.
And this has been done simply by visiting the park two or three
times a week, and always carrying them an ear of corn, some little
delicacy, or salt, and treating them with unvarying kindness.

“The facility for extending this business may easily be conceived.
New York alone might support 100,000 elks on land where our
domestic cattle could not subsist, furnishing an amount of venison
almost incredible ; while the adjoining State of Pennsylvania, to say
nothing of others, might sustain a still larger number without
encroaching upon an acre of land now used for stock-rearing, or any
other purpose connected with agriculture.” *

Here, then, we have a modern precedent for an experiment which
I am convinced would answer in the case of the moose, a still larger
and more profitable animal than the wapiti. What an admirable
opportunity for utilising those barren wastes which surround us!
Take for example that large triangular piece of waste country in the
immediate vicinity of the city, commencing at Dartmouth, extending
along the shores of the Basin on one side, bounded by the Dart-
mouth lakes on the other, and skirted by the railroad from Bedford
to Grand Lake as its base. With the exception of a few clearings
on the shores of the Basin, the whole of this is a wilderness, con-
taining some 15,000 acres of wild, undulating land, with here and
there thick spruce swamps, mossy bogs, and barrens covered with a
young growth of birch, poplar, and all the food on which the moose
delights to subsist. That they have an especial liking for this small
district may be gathered from the fact that I have never known it as

* In 1862, Mr. Stratton states that he had succeeded in raising thirty-seven
elk. He had trained a pair to harness, and had sold them for $1000, Whilst,
as an article of food he can now raise elk cheaper than sheep.

AA

354 APPENDIX.

not containing two or three of these animals. There is no reason
why an experimental farm, conducted on the principle indicated by
Mr. Stratton, should not be able to breed and turn out in this
district a very large number of moose, and in such a state of tame-
ness, that they would be induced to remain within enclosed portions
of the wilderness, furnishing, in proper season, a profitable supply of
flesh for the market.

To the cariboo, on the other hand, these suggestions will not be
applicable, as this animal requires, as a primary condition of its
existence, a large and uninterrupted field for periodical migration.

As regards the introduction of new fish, a very good exchange
might be made with the English Acclimatization Society, by sending
the beautiful American brook trout (Salmo fontinalis), and receiving
in return 8. fario. Colonel Sinclair* has several times drawn my
attention to the suitableness of many of our rivers for the reception —
of the true British trout—a fish quite different in its habits to our ©
migratory, deep-frequenting 8S. fontinalis.

The Shubenacadie, and other rivers, steadily flowing through alluvial
flats (ntervale), present frequent gravelly reaches, with patches of
waving weed,and soft overhanging banks—just the counterpartof many
_ English trout-streams. With no predatory fish to harass the trout,
these waters at once suggest the introduction of S. fario, more
particularly as they are not the resort of our own species. As an
association, and for purposes of food, the common English stream-
minnow might be profitably turned in at the same time.

Our grayling (8. Gloverii), (the former a misnomer), is a lake-
trout. The true grayling (Thymallus), as well as the common
English perch, would be desirable additions to our waters. Even in
lakes where the trout has almost disappeared, I should hesitate to
recommend the introduction of any of the family Esocide, for fear of
their spreading to damage more remunerative waters.

In conclusion, it is with the greatest pleasure that I welcome
Colonel Sinclair’s proposal to form a Society for the artificial propa-
gation of fish in this Province. The Americans are already earnestly
endeavouring by this means to restore their desolate rivers; and
with the support of the Association for Protection of Game and Fish,
and the advice and the experience of the English pisciculturists,
the greatest results may be obtained in water-farming a country so
prolific of lakes and streams as is Nova Scotia.

* Lieut.-Col. R. Bligh Sinclair, Adjt.-Gen, of N. S. Militia, late 42nd High-
landers.

APPENDIX. 355

AUDACITY OF THE BULL MOOSE IN THE CALLING
SEASON.

The following instances of the recklessness which characterises
the bull moose in the fall are authentic :-—

A sportsman, accompanied by an Indian, was moose-calling on
Mosher’s River, Nova Scotia, one morning in the autumn of 1867.
They were on a barren, and near the margin of a heavy forest. A
fine bull moose came up to the call, and fell to the Indian’s gun,
when instantly another bull emerged from the woods, and charged at
the prostrate animal. A second bullet brought him over, and he.
fell on the body of what had most probably been his foe of the
season.

A settler in the backwoods going out one October evening to chop
firewood near his shanty in the forest, heard a bull moose “ handy.”
. He returned for his gun, and, after a short stalk in the bushes,
obtained a shot at the moose—an animal with superb antlers—and
could distinctly see that he had hit him in the neck. There he
stood for a considerable time, while the settler, who had only the
one charge, lay in the bushes, and at length turned and leisurely
walked away. The man was up betimes next morning, and away to
the same spot. He saw blood ; and, following the trail for a short
distance, heard sounds indicating the presence of moose. Having
some faint idea of calling, he put a piece of bark to his mouth, and
gave the note of the bull. Answering at once, a fine moose came in
view, when he fired, and this time prostrated the animal—the iden-
tical one shot the evening before. He recognised the horns, and
the wound was in his neck.

Apropos of this subject, the following extracts from his note-book,
kindly placed at my disposal by “The Old Hunter,” are highly
interesting and illustrative. He says :—“I left my camp on Lake
Mooin (the lake of the bear), Liscome River, September, 1866, in
company with Peter, Joe, and Stephen, as my Indian hunters, in-
tending to cross the next lake to the southward in a canoe which we
had there secreted. On arriving at the lake we found the wind so
high that it was considered altogether unsafe to trust ourselves on
its waters in our frail bark. About five o’clock the wind moderated,
but as I still thought that we could not reach my old calling-ground
on the opposite side before the decline of the sun, I determined to
cross to a narrow neck of rocky barren distant from us by water
some seven hundred yards. After various perils we reached the spot,
disembarked amongst the rocks, fixed a place for the calling-ground
should the night be calm, collected our bedding of spruce boughs

AA 2

856 APPENDIX.

picked in a neighbouring swamp, and, releasing our blankets from
their cordings, prepared’ for supper. Suddenly all was calm ; the
wind had gone down, and the western sky was tinged with the
gorgeous colouring denoting a moose-caller’s delight—a calm and
serene night. All at once a cracking of wood was heard away down
on our side of the lake, and presently more noises, plainly deter-
mining the presence of moose thereabouts. A few minutes of hesi-
tation, and I treed Peter to sound the love-note from aloft : and not
long after he descried a moose at fully a mile’s distance coming to
the edge of the forest. ' The margin of the lake on our side had been
_ burnt, and was barren of bush or tree except in a few spots. A few
persuasive calls brought him out on the barren, from which, how-
ever, he soon returned to the cover of the green-woods—a fact, as we
all knew, proving him to be either a coward or a beaten moose. We
coaxed: he still came on, showing himself occasionally on the
barren, though never answering, and at. length was espied about
three hundred yards off, peering around him and listening, his huge
ears extended forwards to the utmost. We thought that he saw us,
but he had cunning folks to deal with ; we did not move or call.
Down he came, making directly for us, now speaking for the first
time. I was lying in his route, and, when distant about fifteen
yards, I bowled over one of the finest and most cautious of his
species I had ever met with. He was cast and butchered before the
twilight faded.

“We supped, and that night lay replete ; but my sleep not helnk
of such a dead nature as that of my faithful followers, the crashings
of trees and the bellowings of moose emanating from the same direc-
tion as that whence came the fallen monarch, struck frequently on
my ears. At cock-crow I woke up the sleeping aborigines, and,
severe as had been the cold of the past night, we listened long and
with intense interest to the distant sounds, not the usual noise of the
cow moose at this season, but a sort of unearthly roaring.

“We called, and presently observed two moose leave the woods,
and approach us on the barrens. When about five hundred yards
distant from us we lost sight of them in the alder bushes which grew
thickly on the banks of a small brook flowing into the lake. Past
this spot they would not come: we did not advance, as we deter-
mined to kill no more moose on that excursion. Our object was
simply to watch ; I particularly wanted to ascertain from which
animal the snorting and fierce bellowing came. We had perceived
that they were male and female. They stopped in the alders for
some fifteen minutes or so making a great row, breaking sticks and
pawing the water in swamp holes with a loud splashing. At length

APPENDIX. ; 357

we espied them beating a slow retreat on the route they had ad-
vanced upon, and I determined to take the canoe and follow them °
by water, leaving Stephen to prepare breakfast. The morning was
perfectly calm, fog here and there rising from the lake and along the
lines of the numerous brooks that emptied into it.. I may here add,
that though I have named it Lake Merganser, owing to the numbers
of those birds frequenting it, it would have been fully entitled to
have been called Rocky Lake, as I think that both below and above
its surface rocks abound to a greater extent than in any other lake in
Nova Scotia, and that is saying a good deal.

“Stealing over the lake’s surface, and seated in the bottom of our
canoe, we could not well scan the woods by the margin, for the rocks
on the shore were fully eight feet high. However, at length we
sighted two large black objects ascending a hill. Peter called like a
bull, and this at once arrested them. They turned, and one, for a
moment lost to sight, appeared on the edge of the barren: another
step and he must have descended. It was a mighty bull moose.
He peered at us, and we, motionless and with restrained breath,
gazed upon him. After standing in that position for some minutes
he turned and looked towards where we had slept. I did the same,
and could plainly see the boy Stephen perched upon the rock beneath
which we had lain. Then he walked five or six steps, turned, and
gave us a full side view, twice picking some twigs from the bushes
which we could hear him munching with his teeth, so close were we.
During this wondrous sight the loud noise was made in the bush
three times, when out walked a cow moose. She, like to her lord,
looked hard at us, and I thought was “ for off.’ Not a bit; she
stopped head on for fully five minutes ; then turned, and faced the
hill, emitting several times the angry grunt so dreaded by the Indian
as a sign of ill-luck. The bull quietly took his departure, and we
watched them enter the forest. This bull had only one horn. Peter
declared that the other was a small stump—a malformation—but I
shall ever be of the opinion that he had lost it in battle, for on our
return to our rocky home, and when butchering the dead moose, we
found that he had been in the wars, and was much bruised about the
neck and ribs on the near side. .

“ Parting with this most interesting couple, we paddled on to the
foot of the lake, and called a few times at the head ofa bog. We
were quickly answered, and up came a rattling moose. He was
astonished at first seeing us, I feel certain, and was for bolting, but
continued walking along the dry edge of the bog. Peter imitated a
bull’s note, at which he turned fiercely round with mane, rump-hair,
and ears erect, and answered angrily. ‘This was repeated fully six

358 APPENDIX.

times to our great amusement. At length he walked away, making
constant ‘ bockings,’ and rubbing his antlers against burnt trees.

“All at once we espied another pair of moose coming from the
opposite direction—a bull and a cow—and expected to see a meeting,
perhaps a combat ; but although there appeared every likelihood of
such an occurrence, it was ayoided by the pair retreating into the
deep woods. The bulls ceasing to answer each other, we paddled
back to camp, where little Stephen, though he had observed all the
first part of the spectacle from the rock, had not neglected to provide —
for his ‘ sacamow’ and comrade red-skin a sumptuous repast. of
kidneys, steaks, and coffee.

“T am a firm believer, and always was, that it is the cow moose:
that makes the noise by some called a roar, and I was thus a witness,
to the fact. Here was a glorious morning’s sport without bloodshed !
Alas! last season upwards of fifty moose were killed about Lake
Merganser. It is a fact that now not a track can there be seen.”

MOOSE CAUGHT IN A TREE.

Moose not unfrequently perish in the woods through becoming.
' entangled in some natural snare, or by breaking their legs amongst
the rents and holes in the rocks which strew the country, and are often
concealed by a carpet of moss. A few falls since I stumbled by
chance upon the body of a moose which had recently met with an
accidental death under the following curious circumstances. I was
crossing a deep still-water brook in the forest, on a log fallen from
bank to bank, when my attention was arrested by the disturbed
appearance of the bank, and by the bark being rubbed off the bottom |
of a large spruce-tree which grew over the water on the opposite.
side. Completely submerged below the surface was the body of a
large bull-moose, his antlers just peeping above the water A thick
root of the spruce grew out of the bank, and, curving round, re-.
entered it, forming a strong loop. Into this the unfortunate moose,
in attempting to cross the brook at this point, had accidentally
slipped one of his hind legs up to the hock, and the looped root
being narrow, he was unable to extricate it. A prisoner, for who
can tell how long, the unhappy animal perished from starvation, and
at last sank into the stagnant brook. The denuded state of the stem
of the spruce, and the broken bushes around, showed with what
violence his struggles had been attended.

The following is an Indian’s story of a somewhat similar occur-
rence :—Being visited one winter by two of his tribe and the larder

APPENDIX. 359

nearly empty, the trio determined to have a hunt in search of moose-
meat. It was February, and deep snow covered the country. On
the evening of the first hunting day they came upon a fresh track,
and their dogs, three in number, started the chase. Daylight failing,
they renewed the hunt bright and early next morning, following
until noon, when they finished the last morsel of their bread. Away
again, and before nightfall the dogs had pressed the moose very
hard. ‘Taking up the trail next day, they pursued it with all the
vigour left to them, and until two of the party gave in and deter-
mined to strike out for some settlement. The other Indian, how-
ever, resolving to stick to the trail to the last, went on, and, to his
great delight, about an hour before sundown, he heard the dogs
barking furiously. This was good; on he dashed, and presently
came up with the moose and dogs. It was a barren cow: she had
crossed a bog bisected by a deep still-water stream thinly crusted
with ice, and, having broken through, was struggling mightily ‘to
reach the opposite side. He shot the moose in the head, and found,
on attempting to haul out the carcase, that he could not succeed in
moving it; so cutting off the mouffle and tongue, he lighted a fire
and then and there feasted. In the morning he became aware that
he was not far distant from a farm, as he heard the conk shell blow
for breakfast, and proceeding to the spot he induced the settler to
assist him by taking his two oxen and sled to the spot where the
moose lay to haul out the meat. It was with the greatest difficulty
that they extricated the beast from the hole. It appeared that a
hard-wood tree had fallen across the still-water, and that the animal’s
hind leg had got fixed fast in a crutch of the tree. Whence the
Indian’s success. ‘“ Sartain good lucky this time,” said he. He sold
his meat well in the adjoining settlement.

A BEAR SHOT WITH A HALFPENNY.*

“ Not many years ago, when my head-quarters for fall hunting
was on Lake Mooin (Anglicé, the lake of the bear), I had enjoyed
most excellent sport, moose calling, and four superb sets of antlers
- hung around the camp. The skins of these animals, together with
two of bears, stretched, surrounded the smoke place. This latter was
our favourite daily resort ; for the camp was too hot a place by day,
though a snug box enough at night, Jack Frost having come along
with a late September moon. I had made up my mind to visit the

* From “ The Old Hunter’s” note-book.

360 APPENDIX.

lake which we had seen when out on the barrens ; it was studded with
islands, and not far from where a huge bear had fallen to our guns a
few days before when berry picking. He came quietly along, licking
in the blue-berries, and when about twelve yards from us, who lay
behind a rock, I bowled him over with an eleven to the pound bullet.
My Indian, Peter, fired also, and terminated his death struggles by a
ball through the brain. The other bear had likewise been stretched
in the same locality. We had been calling on the barrens and had —
heard moose several times, but wind arose and they got to leeward of
us. Early next morning it became tolerably calm, though a few
light puffs of wind came from the westward. A bull moose, accom-
panied by a cow, advanced, but winded us ; and we saw them spinning
over the barrens for a long time, making for the deep woods to the
west of our lake. We kept a bright look-out for ‘Mr. Mooin,’ and a
black object was presently discerned in the distance, though whether
it was a bear or a moose we could not make out ; it seemed to keep
so much about the same spot, and seemed so large at times that we
thought it must be the latter animal. Well, Peter and self started

for the locality ; the wind got up in our favour, and we advanced
' with rapidity, though, at the same time, with caution. Should it
prove to be a moose we were not to fire ; we had killed enough meat
at that time, and besides bore in mind the great distance we should
have to carry our load out of the woods. On nearing the place
where we had seen the black object we crept to a large rock,
cautiously looked from its shelter, and at once sighted a bear. We
could just see its shoulders and head ; it lay on its belly, and was
picking berries from a bush apparently held down by its fore paws.
I fired my right barrel, but missed my mark. This brought the
monster to a sitting position, when, taking a second aim, my bullet
pierced his head, and tumbled over a full-grown he bear. When we
examined the trees about, we found that what had given him such a
strange appearance to our eyes, when viewing him from a distance,
was, that he had been on his hind legs, pawing the bark on the tree
with his fore ; this was evident from the nature of the traces.

“Well, now to my tale. We got to camp about noon, and, as
before stated, were bound to see the lake of the islands. 'There was
a good deal of talking and smoking over the matter, but early one
morning found us packed and in marching order. Leaving my boat
capsized at the foot of Lake Mooin, we took to the woods, heading
for Lake Merganser ; found our little canoe, which had been con-
cealed in the bushes by the shore; crossed, and struck off for the

APPENDIX. 361

island lake. The difficulties were great ; and we had to pull up for
the night, choosing a good place for calling of course, for one, though
only one, more moose must fall to our party, and that one must
carry the finest antlers. At night we called, and were answered from
the direction in which we had come on our trail. Being fatigued,
and somewhat indifferent from the reflection that a dead shot would
necessitate some nine hundred-weight of meat being ‘ backed’ out of
the woods, we gradually all slumbered. I was up very early. The
rocks on which I had lain had pierced almost to my bones, and I felt
particularly sore about the right hip. I smoked, then called, and
was at once answered by what was in my opinion the moose of the
previous evening. On he came dashingly—no signs of fear about his
note. I roused up Peter, and after some fifteen minutes attentive
listening, finding he was not far distant, sent him off to call from »
some bushes about one hundred yards away. The moose presently
came in view. He was crippled in his gait, almost dead lame in the
off fore leg. He carried just what I wanted, an A 1 pair of antlers.
I shot him, and am persuaded that he was not more than ten yards
from me at the time ; he was bound, with head erect, for the bushes
wherein was secreted Peter. All the noise (my shot having been
fired absolutely over the head of my other camp follower, the boy
Stephen) had failed to arouse the slumbering son of the forest.
There he lay until I hauled off his blanket, when he appeared quite
annoyed at the close proximity of the antlered monarch. Upon
examination we found that in the previous season this beast had
got sadly mauled in a fight. Five ribs had been broken on one
side, three on the other. His lameness was accounted for by the fact
that the outside joint of his foot on the off side had been dislocated
and had set out. |

“The morning being very calm Peter proposed that we should
leave the boy to get breakfast, and ourselves take up positions on
two hills adjacent to look for bear. In case we saw any, the signal
was to be the hat raised on the muzzle of the gun from the hill top.
I had not been long on my look-out when I espied black objects
moving, but not being certain of their genus, I started to ascertain,
and soon came upon a fine cow moose with an attendant bull, a two-
year-old. I strolled back to my look-out, and being tired, I suppose
I “slept upon sentry.” I was awakened by a shot, closely followed
by another, again two more in quick succession. Now I knew that
our party was alone in those deep woods, and that Peter had carried
my smooth bore, for which I had handed him only four bullets, with

362 APPENDIX.

what little powder remained, in a red half-pound canister of Curtis
and Harvey’s. I was alarmed, for I knew that my henchman would
only fire at vermin, and I started helter-skelter in the direction of the
firing. Fear accelerated my steps, for on my onward course I heard
two more shots, and what that meant, except in sign of distress, I
could not divine. On reaching the side of the hill, on the summit of
which I well knew that Peter had perched himself, I saw an object
which I readily recognised as a back view of the Indian actively
engaged. I rushed on and found this wonderfully powerful and.
agile youth hauling along the carcase of a young bear. He was full
of smiles, and chided me for not coming to the battle. He had seen
a bear feeding on berries, and had given me the signal, but it must
have been at the time I was off to the pair of moose, or—shall I write
it ? yes, truth is best told—perhaps it was when I slumbered. He
crawled down, and when about twenty yards distant had fired at the
animal. A second shot seemed at first to have proved inefficacious,
when the flying bear suddenly dropped dead in her tracks. It proved
afterwards that the first shot had told, hitting high up in the lungs,
. Hearing a noise to his right he looked round, and espied two young
bears in precipitate retreat. He made chase, when both treed simul-
taneously on the nearest ‘ram-pikes’—huge naked stems of burnt
pines, of which there was a bunch of five or six standing together.
Peter halted and loaded. He missed the nearest youngster with
shot number one, but the second brought it down dead from its;
perch. About fifteen yards from the spot there sat the other cub.
on a projecting branch, which, on the Indian’s approach, it left, and.
clasped the trunk for a downward retreat. (Those who have not
witnessed it can form but a faint idea of the rapidity with which a
bear when scared can ascend or descend a tree.) Peter had no more:
bullets, so what was to be done? Well, his first attempt to kill young
‘mooin’ was with the stopper, or rather charger of the powder horn,
which he rammed down into the right-hand barrel. This was a failure
and amiss. ‘ Mooin’ still clasped the tree in desperation. Reflection
made Peter search his pockets, when therein he found a halfpenny—a
fitting remaining coin to be in an Indian’s keeping. He sat down;
and underneath the tree where the poor victim clung, aided by the
butt-end of the gun, which bears the well-indented marks to this
day, he doubled up that copper, drove it down over the powder in
the left-hand barrel, fired, and brought down the bear from its
perch. He had broken its near thigh—a frightful fracture ; but,
falling with three legs to work on, it took to the bush at a great

APPENDIX. 363

pace. Scarcely a match at any time in point of speed for this agile
young Indian, it was soon overtaken, and he had succeeded in beating
it almost to fragments with a stick which he had snatched up in the
wild chase when I arrived to see him hauling it out from the thicket
in which he had captured it.

“ Hearing his story, I went to the tree, and in it could distinctly
see the end of the charger, and feel confident that it may be still
seen there if the former is standing. That day we feasted gloriously
at dinner-time on the roasted ribs of young bears, one of which had
been shot with a halfpenny.”

THE CAPLIN.
(Mallotus villosus.)

This curious little Salmonoid, the smallest known member of its,
family, and, perhaps, the most ancient in type,* plays a very impor-
tant part in connection with the great cod fisheries on the banks and
along the shores of Newfoundland, proving the most tempting bait,
on which to take the latter fish when it approaches the shores to
spawn. ‘This it does yearly in numbers baffling description, and the
manner in which the operation is performed is one of the most sin-
gular and interesting facts in its character. It may be observed that
the male and female differ so much in appearance at this season that
it would be difficult to believe they were of the same species. The
females are very like the common smelt, possessing, perhaps, more
metallic lustre, but the males are adorned by lines or ridges of flaccid
fringe, resembling velvet, which run just above the lateral line from
the upper angle of the operculum to base of tail.. It is stated by so
many competent and credible authorities, that I think it deserves
to be placed on record as an authenticated fact, that the following is
the mode of proceeding. The time for the female depositing her
spawn having arrived, she is assisted by two male fish, one on each

* Hugh Miller, in his “Popular Geology,” thus speaks of the caplin as
an inhabitant of the deep, in the latter days of the tertiary period :—“ Clay
nodules of the drift period in Canada and the United States, are remark-
able for containing the only ichthyolite found by Agassiz among seventeen
hundred species which still continue to exist, and that can be exhibited in
consequence in duplicate specimens—the one fit for the table in the cha-
racter of a palatable viand; the other for the shelves of a geological museum,
in the character of a curious ichthyolite. It is the Madlotus villosus, or
caplin, ”

364 APPENDIX.

side, and when the surf offers, they all force themselves with great
swiftness on the beach, taking particular care that the female is kept
in the middle, and by thus compressing her the object of their visit
is accomplished. Many repetitions are undoubtedly required. The
three caplin then separate, and struggle back into the ocean with a
receding wave. It is difficult to say in what precise manner the
processes or ridges of the male are used ; probably some amount of
downward pressure is exerted through their aid in running on the
sand, and the female is assisted thereby in exuding the ripe and
readily expressed spawn.

The caplin arrives at its spawning beaches on the south-east coasts
of Newfoundland, about the 20th June, and remains close inshore for
about five weeks; beyond this period the fish is rarely seen or taken
under any circumstances. The warm days with light fogs occurring
at this season are looked upon by the expectant fishermen as favour-
able to their striking in; they call such days “caplin weather.”
Now all is rivalry as to who shall get the first haul for bait; a bucket
full would command any price—like new potatoes at Covent Garden
or the first salmon at Boston. In a few days’ time they will be
rolled over the roads by strings of carts, selling at 3s. a load, and
exported by thousands of barrels to the eager French fishermen on
the Banks; for now is the great banquet of the cod, and herring and
clam, mackerel and sardine, are each refused for the new and delicate

morsel. It was the height of the caplin season when I arrived in St.
John’s one summer. Caplin were being wheeled through the streets,
caught in tubs, buckets, and ladled up in scoops by everybody from
the wharves of the town ; the air was strongly impregnated with the
smell of caplin ; they were scattered about in the streets, and you
trod on or drove over them everywhere. The fish-flakes, roofs of
houses, and little improvised stages attached to nearly every dwelling
were strewn with caplin drying in the sun. In the country, on the
roads to the out-harbours, a continual stream of carts was passing
loaded with glittering cargoes of fish, the whole mass moving together
like a jelly, and so likely to spill over the sides that division boards
are placed across the cart to separate the fish into two masses, and
thus keep them steadier. In the fields men were engaged in spreading
them broadcast, or sowing them in drills with potatoes; whilst others
were storing them for manure by burying enormous masses of fish in
mounds of earth. But it is on the beach only that a just conception
can be formed of the great multitudes in which this fish approaches
the shore, when sometimes the surface of the water appears as a

ae eee

APPENDIX. 365

living mass as far as the eye can reach ; with their heads towards
the land, they lie like a black line close in, each succeeding wave
dashing them on the beach, where, as the tide ebbs, they remain and
die. The seine, the cast-net, and the dip-net are being plied by the
busy fishermen, whose families are collecting the dead fish and
depositing them in heaps or in pits for manure. Sometimes the mass
is so dense that a boat is impeded in sailing through them, and in
dipping them up more fish than water are taken in a bucket. Num-
bers of the lively little tern wheel screaming through the air over the
school of fish, every now and then making a dash on their prey,
whilst out in the deep water lies the great army of codfish, ready to
feast on them as they return from the beach. In fact, as regards
their finny foes, every fish large enough to swallow them preys on the
caplin. Captain Murray, R.E., informed me that he had taken a
salmon with five, and a sea trout with two caplin in the stomach, the
latter being only 2 lbs. weight. A friend of his once thought he had
hooked a sea trout, but after a little play succeeded in landing a dead
caplin, to which the hook had affixed itself in the trout’s mouth, the
latter being apparently too full to complete the act of swallowing.

A scene of this description is exceedingly interesting, as I saw it
one deliciously warm sunny afternoon in July on the pebbly beach at
Topsail, near the head of Conception Bay. As we approached the
village from the road leading to St. John’s the prospect from the top
of the last hill was charming. The neat little village at our feet,
with its fish stages and patches of garden, bounded by the rough,
barren, sandstone cliffs of Portugal Cove; a pebbly beach in front,
dotted with groups of fishermen throwing their cast-nets over the
black patches which indicate the approaching beds of caplin; the
activity prevailing on board the boats and schooners moored a few
yards off ; the men dipping up the fish, and throwing them over their
shoulders into their boats, formed a pleasing and animated foreground
to a picture where the distance was formed of the lofty blue moun-
tains across the bay, whilst in middle distance reposed the well
cultivated islands of Great and Little Belleisle. In the centre of the
bay was grounded a large iceberg, which lay melting away in torrents
under the influence of the hot July sun.

Nothing could exceed the beauty of the iridescent colours of the
fish as I handled them fresh caught. The back of the male between
the ridges flashed from deep blue to emerald green as it caught the
light. The absence of timidity on the part of the fish was wonderful ;
it seemed as if no amount of splashing over them by the heavily

366 APPENDIX.

weighted cast-nets could frighten the remainder from the shore.
They appeared impelled to push in by strong instinct, and even when
wounded and dying from being struck by the lead weights of the net,
their heads would still point to the beach. We could readily capture
them with our hands as they swam close in, scarcely wetting our
feet. The sand and gravel of the beach was mixed with a large pro-
portion of spawn ; I found the latter in the stomachs of several of
the males which I opened.

As has been stated, the primary and most important use of the
caplin in Newfoundland, Labrador, and the Gulf is as bait for the
cod. During the spring the fish has been taken, both on the banks
and along shore, by herring, but in inconsiderable numbers; now,
however, they look for their great annual glut, and caplin alone will
take them. Lvery shore boat must have its fresh caplin,.as well as
every Frenchman on the banks. It is the bait of the hook-and-line
fisherman as well as for the destructive bultow. Were the supply of
caplin withheld from the French, their great fishery fleet could do
nothing, as, having exhausted the supply from their own islands of
_ St. Pierre and Miquelon, by taking and wasting the fish with too
great prodigality, they are now entirely dependent on the supply
from the harbours of the main island.

It is evident that any material and permanent decrease of this bait
must tell directly on the fisheries. The caplin may, as has been
proved, be so thinned by wholesale destruction whilst spawning on
the beach, whilst many are driven off and compelled to drop their
spawn in deep water, where it will not vivify, as finally to desert a
locality for ever. On many parts of the Newfoundland coast this has
been the case, and Perley states that the cod fishery of the Bay of
Chaleur has greatly fallen off since the caplin have almost ceased to
visit parts of it, and many houses in consequence found it necessary
to break up their establishments. The great complaints of the
scarcity of bait along the western shore of Newfoundland are owing to
the complete failure of a celebrated baiting place at Lamaline, where
formerly the strand looked like a bed of spawn, but now is completely
ruined, the caplin no sooner approaching the shore than they were
hauled before they had time to spawn. In fact little argument is re-
quired to prove that the cod fishery must stand or fall with the supply
of caplin. ‘The wasteful practice of manuring the land with caplin is
another incentive to taking the fish wantonly. Not only are the
dead fish, which are strewn in myriads on the beaches, collected for
manure, but live fish are hauled for the same purpose, and hundreds

APPENDIX. 367

of cartloads have I seen upset to form a heap of putrefaction, after-
wards to be spread on the soil, every fish composing which was good
and wholesome food for man, eaten fresh on the spot, or simply dried
for exportation or winter use. But Newfoundland is shamefully
prodigal of the great natural resources afforded to her. It is true
that the fish is dried and exported to the markets of Europe—and a
more delicious dried fish than the caplin does not exist; but why this
shameful conversion of food into manure from sheer laziness? Neither
does the caplin manure prove so very beneficial after all. Though
very efficacious for one year for grass and all root crops except
potatoes, it then requires renewal; the land cannot do without the
stimulus, or it soon falls off. About five loads of earth are mixed
with one of caplin, which is bought at three to four shillings. The
fish, well covered, are allowed to decompose till October; then mixed
and ploughed in the land either that fall or the ensuing spring. On
the other hand, the caplin requires little or no attention in drying to
become an article of food. A few hours in pickle, and a few more
exposed to the sun, on a stage or roof, or even on the ground, and

they may be packed loosely in a barrel, without salt, and headed up.
- Though its range is too great, and its spawning grounds far too
extended to render extinction of the species possible, yet, in the
baiting places whence it is obtained for the use of the neighbouring
cod fisheries, it has been in many instances rendered exceedingly
scarce; and its final total departure from these resorts must ensue
unless it is protected from being hauled before or in the act of
spawning, and for such a wasteful purpose as that of manuring the
land. The total absence of bait will at once ruin the fisheries, the
immediate effect of which must be the ruin, starvation, and abandon-
ment of their present residence on the part of thousands; and to
such a state of affairs the Newfoundland fisheries, including its very
vitality as a colony, seem rapidly drifting.

- THE GASPEREAU.
(Alosa tyrannus.)

Another example of an important and interesting fish, affecting
the shores of Acadie as far north as the Miramichi river in New
Brunswick, is afforded by the Gaspereau, a true alosa allied to the
shad, which ascends all the streams and brooks of these provinces
to spawn in the parent lakes in the beginning of May, those with

368 APPENDIX.

clean sandy beaches being its most favoured resorts. Dr. Gilpin
thus graphically describes its progress :—“'The stream before us is
crowded with a multitudinous marine army, coming up from the sea
with the last of the flood, and running to reach the lakes to spawn.
A little further up it becomes deep and smooth, and is crossed by the
high road. Lying our length on the log bridge, we watch a continu- —
ous stream passing slowly up, two or three inches apart. Further
up, and the river breaks over a smooth plane of slate stones too
shallow for the depth of the fish. Arrived at this plane the gaspe-
reau throws himself as far up as he can, and then commences a series
of spasmodic flaps with his tail.

“ Slowly and painfully he passes over and drops exhaustall into the
tranquil pool above. Utterly exhausted, they lie heads and tails in
a confused mass. Presently recruiting, their heads all pointing up
stream, they again commence their march. In countless hordes they
sweep through lonely still waters, the home of the trout, cool and
pellucid enough to tempt a weary way wanderer, but on and on his
irresistible instinct drives him. A natural dam, some two or three
. feet elevation, and over which the waters fall with a perpendicular
rush, now arrests his progress. He throws himself (no doubt with a
vigorous sweep of tail) directly at it. That about two and a half to
three feet is his utmost range, the many failures he makes before he
drops into the pool above attest.

“He has now gained his lake, often a very small one in the heart
of the forest, and perhaps at six hundred feet elevation from high
water mark. And now commences his brief courtship, for, unlike
the lordly salmon who dallies until November, our fish has but little
time for delay. Camping on the lake-side of a moonlight night, you
hear a swash in the water. ‘ What fish in that ?” you ask your
Indian ; “ Gaspereau,” is his answer. The trout-fisher by day sees the
surface of the lake ruffled by a hundred fins, then the trout break all
around him. ‘See the gaspereau hunting the trout,” he says. But
these are only his harmless gambols, coloured by the resistless instinct
of reproduction. He has even been known to rise at a fly, and to take
a bait on these waters. Although the salmon and trout are often seen
spawning, I never met any one who has seen the Gaspereau in the act.

«In three or four weeks after leaving the salt water, his brief
holiday over, our fish commences his. return. ‘Unnerved by the
exhausting toil of reproduction, by the absence of food (on the lakes
their stomachs are found empty), and perchance by the warming
summer waters, he addresses himself to the perils and dangers of

APPENDIX. 369

descent. ‘Too poor for an object of capture, he slips down unnoticed,
save by the idle or curious, where, a few weeks before, a whole popu-
lation watched his ascent. It is said those marine wolves, the eels,
follow the advancing and retreating armies in their rear, gobbling up
many a weak fish, or unlucky little one on the march. A dry
summer has emptied the lakes and turned the foaming torrents of
the spring into dusty rills. He often gets caught in these lukewarm
shallows and dies. Not unfrequently the hunter finds them in
bushels in the fords; quite as often the bear secures a rich feast—
dipping his hairy paws into the shallow pools. He may be seen
approaching nervously and timidly a rapid, then striking up stream,
and returning pass down tail first. Those which are seen in July
or passing down in August, we must consider fish that have left the
sea late in May, or that are caught by the dry season, and go down
during the August freshets. Finally, October seems to be the last
date for even the fry to be seen in fresh water.”

The advent of this fish in fresh water just at the time when fly-
fishing is at its best, often proves a source of vexation to the angler.
It is so disappointing, just as one is commencing to ply the rod over
some favourite pool for sea-trout, to see the sharp splash of the
gaspereau, and the gleam of their silver sides as they dash round the
pool in reckless gambols. The trout are quite cowed, and further
fishing is useless ; for, although this fresh-water herring will some-
times take the fly, it is a worthless fish when caught—thin, tasteless,
and full of bones. Drenched in brine, and eaten as a relish with a
mess of potatoes, it forms a common diet throughout the country ; |
and as there is scarcely a brook too small for the gaspereau to
ascend, provided it comes from a lake, the luxury is brought fresh
from the sea to the very door of many a settler in the remote
backwoods. Great fun to the youngsters is dipping for gaspereau.
A noisy crew of juveniles, half-clothed in homespun, stand on oppo-
site sides, or striding across a forest brook; presently there is a
shout of “here they come!” and in go the dip-nets with which they
are armed, working with the stream. At every scoop two or three
bright silvery fish are brought out, and deposited in a tub or barrel
behind. It is a picturesque scene—the brook dashing between the
dark-brown rocks, the surrounding bushes tinged with the pale green
of their young leaves, and laden with blossoms—the excited boys
with their high-braced trousers tucked up over the knee, and
tattered straw hats, and the gleam of the fish as they are quickly
hoisted out.

BB

370 APPENDIX.

The damming up of many of these forest brooks to supply saw
mills, and the disgraceful plan of stopping the now worthless fish on
their return from spawning, by brushwood weirs stretched com-
pletely across the stream, is fast shortening the supply of these
welcome visitors to the interior waters of the backwoods, thereby
also depriving many of the harbours of the anxiously-sought visits of
the mackerel, which come in vast shoals in search of the young fry
of the gaspereau and the smelt. To enable this fish to ascend the —
rough waters and falls of the streams through which it must pass to
get to the lake, it is provided with a horny ridge or keel, passing
along the belly, and armed with recurved teeth like those of a saw,
enabling it to hold its ground and rest on the rocky bottom in the
roughest water.

VOICES OF REPTILIA IN SPRING.

The subjoined passages from my note books advert to the multi-
tudinous sounds emitted by reptile life in the warm nights of spring
and early summer, which to a stranger appear one of the most
striking features of New World natural history :—

May 10th.—Driving homewards this evening our ears were almost
deafened by the chorus of frogs in the road-side swamps. For some
days past we have been cheered by their welcome voices, but to-night —
they seemed to outdo themselves. The principal and noisiest per-
former is a little fellow, not more than three quarters of an inch in
length, and so shy and acute that it is almost impossible to get a
glimpse of him, even by the most artful approach. This is the —
common peeper or cricket frog (Hylodes Pickeringii). Its quickly
repeated, chirping note is very like that of the common house cricket,
and equally joyous. If we stand by to listen, they somehow or other
slacken gradually, as if a warning of danger was being passed
through the community: we remove a few paces, and a solitary peep
of a bold frog announces that the danger is past, and away they all
start again into the maddest chorus, each trying to outvie the others.
At the edge of the swamp sits the common toad (B. americanus),
and, with a distended throat, pours out that rapid and peculiar
trilling note which may always be heard as an accompaniment to
the frog chorus throughout the warm nights of spring. He is not
quite such an ugly reptile as the English toad, though very similar
in general appearance and form; the colour is lighter and brighter,
sometimes approaching an orange-yellow, and the spots and markings

APPENDIX. berger:

are more conspicuous. At intervals we detect the solemn croak

of the large green-headed frog (Rana fontinalis), which seems to
put periods to the incessant rattle of the hylodes and toads. They
seem half afraid of this great handsome bully, and his authoritative
“down, down!” comes from the undoubted monarch of the swamp.

_ » This is a very pretty reptile—a dark brown skin barred with black,
the head and upper portion of the back bright grass green, and the
throat a glaring yellow. Their colours are most developed at mid-
amer, when they sit croaking in shallow ponds throughout the
$ well as night, and pursue one another with prodigious leaps.
seen them clear eight feet at a jump. Returning from fishing,
tempted these frogs to spring on a red fly dangled over their

d a disagreeable business the releasing of the slimy monsters

scene for a Christmas pantomime would be a representation
our swamps, with an opening chorus of the little “ peepers,”
...wughable representation of bull-frogs by agile humans meta-
morphosed into reptiles, whilst the staid old toad slowly waddles up
the bank, and pours forth his monotonous trill. The hylodes might
be shown clinging to the stems of rushes above the surface of the
pool (a position in which I have discovered them by the aid of a
_ bull’s-eye lantern at night), inflating their immense throat bags to
produce their shrill pipe, whilst an admirable scenic effect might be
rendered by imitation of the swamp vegetation—the tussacs of pink
sphagnum perforated by the crimson and green vases of the pitcher
plant and covered by the creeping tendrils and great shining
apples of the cranberry, clumps of bulrush, purple iris, and other
waterside plants, arrow heads, and the two water lilies, white and
yellow.

THE END.

RRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.

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AUG 10 1983

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