MY FIRST SHOT AT A BUCK.—HUNTING AND SHOOTING PARTIES.—DESTRUCTIVENESS
OF WOLVES.—LOSS OF MY FLOCKS.—COWARDICE OF THE WOLF.—THE LADY AND HER
PET.—COLONEL CRAWFORD’S ADVENTURE.—INGENIOUS TRICK OF AN AMERICAN
TRAPPER.—A DISAGREEABLE ADVENTURE.—HOW TO POISON WOLVES.—A STERN CHASE.
My father-in-law had a large field of fall wheat, upon which, during
the night, the deer were very fond of grazing. Just before dark, the
herd used to make their appearance, and we tried repeatedly to get a
shot at them, but in vain. At the least noise, or if they winded us, up
went their tails, and they were off in an instant. I was determined,
however, not to be so continually balked. I had observed, by the
tracks, the direction they took in their way to the field; so, an hour
before their usual time of coming, I sallied out, and concealed myself
in the top of an old fallen tree which lay a few feet from the ground,
and about twenty yards from a path which I suspected had been beaten by
the deer, going backwards and forwards to the field.
The place I had selected to watch for them was an old settlement
duty-road, which had been cut out some years before, but was now
partially grown up again with a second growth of timber and underbrush.
Having seated myself very snugly, I took out of my pocket a volume of
Shakespeare to pass away the time. I had not been half-an-hour so
employed, before my attention was suddenly aroused by hearing a stick
break near me, when upon looking up I beheld the head and horns of a
large buck projecting from behind a thicket of trees. He appeared to be
in a listening attitude, so I durst not stir till he should have
lowered his head, as I knew the least movement then would make him
start off in an instant. Luckily, however, the wind was blowing from
his direction to mine. Presently, he walked into the open space; and
whilst I was cautiously raising my gun, he disappeared beneath the brow
of a small hill; but almost immediately, from the inequality of the
ground, his head and shoulders again became visible. On this, I
instantly fired.
Astonished and mortified was I, when I saw him scamper off with his
tail up, as if nothing had happened. Still, I was sure I must have hit
him, as he was not forty yards from where I sat, his broadside being
towards me. So I followed the track for about two hundred yards, but
without seeing any blood; and was in the act of turning back,
concluding, that as he had hoisted his tail, I had missed him
altogether. Indeed, I had often heard, that if they show the white
feather, as putting up their tail is called by Canadian sportsmen—they
are not hit. This, however, is a mistake; for, in the act of turning
round to retrace my steps, I saw a small drop of blood upon a dry leaf.
I now felt quite certain that I had struck him. On proceeding a few
yards further, I saw several large splashes of blood. There was now no
room left for doubt; and, in another minute I was standing beside the
first buck I had ever killed. On opening him, I found I had put a ball
and five buck-shot into him, which had entered just behind the
fore-shoulder; and though two of these shots had lodged in the lungs,
he had, notwithstanding this, continued to run on the full jump, more
than two hundred yards.
Not long after this adventure, my brother-in-law shot a deer through
the heart, which ran full a hundred yards before he dropped.
Two or three years after, in the township of Douro, where I now reside,
I was walking down to the saw-mill about half a mile from my house,
with my American rifle in my hand, when, on coming close to the river,
I saw a large buck swimming down the middle of the stream near the
mill-dam. I ran down to the spot as fast as I could, for I expected he
would land on the opposite shore, at the corner of the dam. The surmise
proved to be correct. He was in the act of climbing up the bank when I
fired, and he fell back into the river. Recovering himself, however, he
scrambled out and made off. I crossed the bridge and went round to the
spot where he landed, and followed on the track.
While in chase I was joined by an old hunter, who had been out since
day-light, still-hunting (deer-stalking); so he agreed to go with me
and examine the track, which we followed for about half a mile without
seeing any blood. But at last we came to a place where the buck had
stood and pawed up the ground. My companion, remarking upon the
circumstance, said—
“He was quite satisfied the fellow was hit; and you will find,” added
he, “if we get him, that he is hit on the top of the back, and that is
the reason there is no blood to be seen.”
The track led us round nearly in a circle; for we came back to the
river within a few yards of where I had fired at the buck. My companion
now suggested that we should recross the river and follow up the stream
on the opposite bank. “For,” said he, “we shall probably find him on
one of the islands opposite your house.”
Acting on his suggestion, we retraced our steps, and found, as he had
predicted, that the buck, after taking the water, had swum up the river
and taken refuge on the west side of the lower island. We saw him
standing near the edge of the water, partially hidden by the trunk of a
fallen pine, when we both fired our rifles at the same instant. This
did not, however, drop him, for he bounded across the island, and took
the opposite channel in gallant style.
As the distance from which we fired was less than a hundred yards, we
concluded that one of us at least had hit him. Reinforced by my old
hound Towler, who, attracted by the firing, had joined us, we recrossed
the river, and put the dog on the track. Towler was in high spirits,
and soon made the wood ring with music pleasant to the hunter’s ear.
We momentarily expected to see our quarry again take the water; but
from the continued howling of the hound in the same spot, I began to
think the buck was standing at bay, which was really the case; for on
my near approach he was busily employed with his head down, keeping off
old Towler by making sudden plunges at him every now and then. The
moment he saw me, he made a rush for the river, but as he passed me on
the full bound, I fired at his fore-shoulder; and though he still
continued his course to the river, I knew by the jet of blood which
followed my shot that his fate was sealed. Near the river he made a
sudden turn, striking his head against a hemlock tree, and at the same
instant a shot from my companion stretched him lifeless on the ground.
And thus concluded an exciting chase of more than two hours.
This was the largest buck I ever killed, for he weighed, after he was
skinned and dressed, two hundred and thirty pounds. We found that four
out of the five shots had hit him. The last shot I fired, cut away the
small end of his heart, though he actually managed to run thirty or
forty paces afterwards.
Deer-hunting is a very exciting sport; but I prefer still-hunting (or
deer-stalling, as it is called in the Highlands of Scotland) to driving
them into the lakes and rivers with hounds.
The deer are not now nearly so numerous as they formerly were.
Civilization has driven them back into the unsurveyed lands or less
populated townships. To give my readers some idea how plentiful these
wild denizens of the forest were, some years since, I need only mention
that a Trapper with whom I was acquainted, and four of his companions,
passed my house on a small raft, on which lay the carcasses of
thirty-two deer—the trophies of a fortnight’s chase near Stony Lake.
The greater number of these were fine bucks.
I once had seventeen deer hanging up in my barn at one time—the produce
of three days’ sport, out of which I had the good fortune to kill
seven. Parties are now made yearly every October to Stony Lake, Deer
Bay, or the River Trent. I do not know anything more pleasant than
these excursions, especially if you have agreeable companions, a warm
camp, and plenty to eat and drink. Indeed, poor hunters must they be
who cannot furnish their camp-larder with wild-ducks and venison. This
is one of the great charms of a Canadian life, particularly to young
sportsmen from the mother-country, who require here neither license nor
qualification to enable them to follow their game; but may rove about
in chase of deer, or other game, at will.
The greatest enemy the deer has to contend with is the wolf. In the
spring of the year, when the snow is in the woods, and a crust is
formed on the surface, the deer are unable to travel any distance, the
snow not being sufficiently hard to bear their weight. Consequently,
great numbers of them are destroyed by their more nimble adversaries,
who from their lighter make and rounder-shaped feet, are able to run on
the top of the crust, which gives the deer but little chance of escape.
The wolves commonly hunt in packs, and generally at night. The deer,
when pursued, always make straight for the water, which, if they
succeed in reaching it, saves them for that time.
When the wolves reach the shore and find their prey gone, they utter
the most diabolical yells. One night I was awakened by a pack of these
rascals, who were in chase of a deer. They ran through my wood-yard
within sixty feet of the house in full chorus. I think I never heard in
the stillness of the night a more wild and unearthly din.
For some years, till the country became more settled, I was obliged to
shut up my sheep at night for fear of these prowling wretches. The
first flock I ever had were all killed by these thieves. One night I
was awakened by my dog barking furiously, and from the manner in which
he kept rushing against the door I was sure some wild animals were
about the premises. At first I thought it was useless to get up; for
the night was dark, and I knew the sheep were housed. However, the
increased fury of my dog Grouse, who seemed intent on getting into the
house, as if he were frightened, obliged me to dress and turn out. On
my opening the door, Grouse rushed in looking dreadfully scared, so
with a lantern in one hand and a gun in the other, I marched towards
the sheep-pen, the door of which not having been securely fastened by
my lad, I found open, and six sheep out, and for these I now commenced
a cautious search.
About twenty yards from the pen, I found one of my best sheep lying on
the grass with his throat cut very scientifically just behind the ear.
A few paces further on, I found another, and so on, till five were
forthcoming. The sixth I did not get till the morning, which was the
only one that escaped the teeth of the marauders. It seems that my
appearance with the light drove the wolves from their prey.
Luckily for me, the weather was cold, my sheep fat, and well-butchered,
as far as bleeding was concerned, so that I was no great loser, except
by having a rather larger supply of mutton at one time than was quite
convenient for the housekeeping department.
About eleven or twelve years since, I lost in one season a flock of
sheep by the wolves. This misfortune occurred, unluckily for me, in the
hottest month of the Canadian year, July. I had not housed my sheep,
because I found that, in very sultry weather, during the fly-season,
they would not feed in the day-time, but would creep under the fences
and into the Bush for shade. I, therefore, thought it best to risk
losing some, than to spoil the whole flock; for I knew the only time
they would graze was during the night, or very early in the morning.
Consequently, for three or four years previously, I had allowed them to
run at large during the summer months.
One morning, I observed from the veranda in front of my house, a sheep,
which was standing on the opposite bank of the river. As I knew there
was no farm within two or three miles of the river in that direction, I
thought I would go over in a canoe, and see what brought it there. I
had not gone half way to the river when I discovered the mangled
carcass of one of my own sheep, and on further search found ten more,
lying, half-devoured, in different directions—the murder was now out.
The sheep I had seen on the opposite shore was one of my own, which had
taken to the water, and had thus escaped the fangs of the wolves. I saw
two more of my luckless flock on a shoal more than a mile down the
river, which—less fortunate than their companion—had been swept down by
the current and drowned. Exactly a week afterwards, I had a similar
number destroyed by the wolves. As far as I was personally concerned, I
may say that they were a total loss; for the weather was too hot to
keep the meat any length of time, so I gave the greater part of the
mutton to my neighbours. Since that time, I have had better luck, not
having lost any part of my flock, although I have invariably left my
sheep abroad during the night.
Notwithstanding his ravenous propensities and cruel disposition, the
wolf is a very cowardly animal in his solitary state. Indeed, it is
only when he hunts in a pack, that he becomes formidable to man. Nature
has, in some measure, checked his evil disposition, by rendering him
timid. If he falls into a snare, he never attempts to get out of the
scrape; but crouches in a corner, awaiting his fate, without the least
intention of displaying any pluck to the trapper.
That the cowardice of the wolf is very great, the following anecdote
will sufficiently prove.
My wife’s youngest sister had a pet-sheep that she had brought up from
a lamb, and to which she was much attached. One afternoon she was going
down to the spring for a pitcher of water, when she saw a large dog—as
she thought—worrying her sheep, upon which, being naturally courageous,
she picked up a large stick and struck the beast two or three strokes
with all her strength, thus compelling him to drop her favorite. This,
however, he did very reluctantly, turning his head at the same time,
and showing his teeth with a most diabolical snarl. She saw at once,
when he faced her, by his pricked ears, high cheek-bones, long
bushy-tail, and gaunt figure, that her antagonist was a wolf. Nothing
daunted, she again bravely attacked him; for he seemed determined, in
spite of her valiant opposition, to have her pet, which he again
attacked. She boldly beat him off the second time; following him down
the creek, thrashing him and calling for aid with all her might; when,
fortunately, one of her brothers, attracted by her cries, ran down with
the dogs and his gun, but was not in time for a shot; for when the
felon wolf saw the reinforcement, he scampered off with all his speed.
There are few dogs bred in the Canadas fit to cope with the wolf;
indeed, they seem in general to have a great dread of him.
Colonel Crawford, a gentleman with whom I am well-acquainted, for he
was many years one of my nearest and best neighbours, was one day
partridge-shooting, near Buckhorn Mills, in the township of Harvey,
when his sporting-dog, which had been ranging the bush a little in
advance, came running towards him, yelping in a most piteous manner,
followed by a large wolf. So intent was the beast on his prey, that he
did not perceive the gallant colonel, who met his advance with both
barrels, which stopped his earthly career, and rescued poor Carlo from
his impending fate. The colonel was very proud of this exploit, both
because he had killed so large an animal with partridge-shot and had
saved his dog at the same time.
According to an act of the Provincial Parliament, six dollars must be
paid by the county treasurer for every wolf-certificate, signed by a
magistrate. No certificate now will be granted, unless the scalp of the
animal is produced, which is then taken possession of by the
magistrate. This precaution is absolutely necessary; for, previously to
this arrangement, it was found that double the number of wolves were
killed, or, rather twice the number of scalps were brought in—one wolf
often furnishing two pates—a curious feature in Natural History.
Many petty frauds of this kind have been brought to light; amongst
other cases, that of a magistrate, not a hundred miles from the county
town, who forged seventeen wolf certificates, and succeeded in getting
the money for them; and, most likely, emboldened by his success, would
have continued to drive a flourishing trade, had not his career been
suddenly stopped in the following manner.
One of the persons, whose name had been made use of in one or more of
the certificates, was congratulated on his recent success. He, however,
denied that he had either shot or trapped a wolf during the last year,
and declared, “that there must certainly be some mistake.” An inquiry
was accordingly made, whereupon the whole nefarious transaction was
brought to light.
Our magistrate was not long in availing himself of the proximity of the
United States; for the next day saw him an inhabitant of the good city
of Rochester, in the State of New York, where, I make no doubt, over
gin-cocktail, or mint-julep, he entertains the free and enlightened
citizens with an account of his adroit manner of “sloping” the British
Government. Luckily for Rochester, there are no wolves in that
neighbourhood.
A celebrated wolf-trapper, in the township of Smith, once caught a fine
she-wolf, big with young. Her fore-paw broken below the knee, was the
only injury she had sustained. So he thought, if he could but keep her
alive till after her accouchement, he should be able to demand the
bounty for every scalp; for he considered that as there was no mention
made in the act respecting the size the wolves must be, he might as
well have the benefit of that oversight. He put his scheme,
accordingly, into effect, and it proved quite successful. Her wolfship
in a few days was safely delivered of five fine whelps, whose scalps,
with that of their mother, were duly presented to the magistrate. At
first he demurred respecting the certificate, but upon referring to the
statute, he found there was no provision to meet a case of this kind.
He, however, satisfied his moral justice by the reflection, “that if
the dam had remained at large a few days longer, and whelped in the
Bush, it would have amounted to the same thing, and that, perhaps, many
sheep had been saved from the greedy fangs of the growing family, by
the ingenious plan of the trapper.” It was a clever trick, no doubt—a
real Yankee shave; but one for which the sternest moralist can scarcely
get up an effective lecture.
The Canadian wolf is not nearly so ferocious as the European animal,
nor I believe quite so large. I have heard of very few
well-authenticated accounts of persons having been destroyed by these
creatures, though I must say I should not like again to be in their
vicinity in a dark night, as more than once I have been. I was
returning from Whitby after dark, and had just entered the woods,
through which my path lay for a full mile and a half. The night being
dark, and the road not particularly good, I gave Prince the rein, and
allowed him to choose his own pace. Presently, I thought I heard a
pattering on the leaves, like the tread of animals, at which sound my
horse pricked up his ears, snorted, and shied nearly across the road,
so suddenly that I was nearly thrown out of the saddle. Well for me was
it, however, that I kept my seat; for instantly such an infernal
howling was raised all round me as made my heart leap up to my mouth,
and I must candidly own I felt horribly afraid I should fall into the
clutches of devouring wolves. My good steed Prince, I fancy, was as
scared as myself, for he galloped off, followed by the pack, who fairly
made the woods ring with their unearthly yells. They did not chase us
far, and ceased howling, having seemingly lost the scent; but in a few
minutes a fresh burst in the direction of the lake-shore plainly told
me they had regained it, and were on the track of a deer, which most
probably had crossed the road at the time when I first heard their
chorus. It is not very easy to describe one’s feelings on such
occasions.
There is something particularly appalling in the full cry of a pack of
wolves, especially when alone in the woods, and at night. I have
frequently heard them at such times, when camped out on hunting
expeditions. However, we mustered strong and were well armed, so we
cared little for them or their yells.
The only instance of any one being killed by wolves, to which I can
speak with certainty, occurred a few years back in the township of
Douro. A young lad of the name of M’Ewen was sent by his father to a
shoemaker, one George Disney, for his shoes. The distance was not more
than a mile by a path through the woods, and the boy was well
acquainted with the road. It appears, he went to Disney’s, and waited
for his shoes till nearly dark, when he started for home. But nothing
more was ever heard or seen of him till the thaw in the spring,
although diligent search was made at the time. Owing to a snow-storm
which fell the same night, he was lost. It was impossible to follow the
boy’s tracks, and as a pack of wolves had been heard the same night in
the immediate neighbourhood, no doubt was entertained that he had been
attacked and eaten by these ravenous monsters. Some bones and pieces of
clothing, supposed to have belonged to the unfortunate youth, were the
only memorials found of him.
I have heard the old settlers say, that very few instances have
occurred like this in their recollection, though from the many persons
lost in the woods and never again discovered, it is more than probable
that some of them, when weakened by fatigue and hunger and no longer
able to defend themselves, may have fallen victims to their insatiable
maws.
Several plans have been devised by the inhabitants for the destruction
of these animals. That most commonly resorted to, and which is
considered the least troublesome and the most efficacious, is poison.
The best and surest for that purpose is strychnine, one grain of which,
if genuine, will kill the largest wolf in Canada. I have used this
poison myself, when baiting for foxes. The properest method in the
winter-season, is to take a piece of hog’s-lard, about the size of a
walnut, make a hole in the centre, and insert it carefully with a quill
or the point of a small knife, taking care not to spill any on the
outside, then to fill up the puncture with some fresh lard.
If you have heard, or have reason to know, that wolves are in the
vicinity, your best way is to bait with pieces of carrion of any
description. This must be done at some distance from the clearing, or
you will be sure to lose your own dogs, or kill those of your
neighbours, when you come to lay your poison, which you need not do
till you see some of your bait taken, and observe their fresh tracks.
I know a gentleman who had lost an ox, which he had drawn away some
distance into the Bush. In a few days, finding the wolves had paid
their respects to the carcass, he laid out several poison-balls, and
actually killed six of them before the carcass was eaten. The value of
the wolves, including their skins and the bounty-money, amounted to
forty-four dollars, a nice little sum for a few hours’ trouble, not to
speak of the satisfaction of having contributed to extirpate this
devouring crew. I must, however, caution the uninitiated to be very
careful in the use of this deadly poison: indeed it should only be used
by the most experienced trappers, and then at some distance from the
settlement.
The price of the wolf-skin varies from 5 shillings to 7 shillings, 6
pence, Halifax currency, according to size and quality: they are always
in good demand for sleigh-robes.[1] Those made of this species of fur
are considered the most elegant and _distingué_.
[1] Sleigh-robes are commonly made of bear or buffalo skins dressed
with the hair on. The most fashionable are racoon or wolf. Several of
these skins are sewn together, with the tails of the animals stitched
to the bottom of the robe. The inside lining is generally scarlet or
purple cloth. A well equipped sleigh should have two robes for each
seat, one of which should cover the cushions, and fall gracefully over
the back of the seat, whilst the other is drawn over the passengers,
and wraps them securely from the cold.
A perilous adventure once befel my brother-in-law, James. He was a bold
brave boy, of ten years old at the time, and was on his return home
with a pair of oxen, with which he had been assisting a neighbour
residing about six miles from his father’s house. His road lay by the
river shore, which was dreary enough at the fall of the year and in the
evening hour: but the child was fearless, and saw the deepening shades
sink into night without experiencing anything like apprehension.
He was trudging on steadily, singing cheerfully as he walked, when a
sound came on the night-air that sent a shiver through the young
pedestrian’s frame—the war-cry of the wolves. At first he hoped he was
not the object of pursuit; but the hideous uproar came nearer and
nearer, and then he knew that he must instantly adopt some plan for his
escape.
His route lay by the river shore, and he could swim well; but the night
was dark, and he might be hurried into the rapids; and to be dashed to
pieces on the rocks was scarcely less dreadful than to be mangled and
devoured by wolves. In this extremity, the child lifted up his brave
young heart to God, and resolved to use the only chance left him of
escape. So he mounted Buck, the near-ox, making use of his goad,
shouting at the same time to the animal, to excite him to his utmost
speed.
In most cases, the horned steed would have flung off his rider, and
left him for wolves’ meat, without hesitation; but Buck set off with
the speed of a race-horse, as if fully aware of his young rider’s
peril. Nor was his companion less tardy. Fast, however, as the trio
fled, still faster came upon them the yelling pack behind; and James
could ever hear—
“Their long hard gallop which could tire
The hound’s deep hate and hunter’s fire.”
Fortunately for him, old Buck heard it too, and galloped on and on; but
still the wolves came neater and nearer. James shouted to keep them
off; the oxen almost flying; their chains rattling as they went. This
clanking sound, to which the hateful pack were unaccustomed, made them
pause whenever they came close upon the oxen, whilst the latter
redoubled their speed, till at length these gallant racers left the
wolves behind, and finding themselves within a short distance of home,
never stopped till they brought the brave little fellow safely to his
own door.
He had felt afraid but once; and that was when those dismal yells first
broke upon his ear—and _never_ lost his presence of mind. He trusted in
God, and used the means within his reach for his preservation, and
arrived safe at last.
Few boys would have displayed so much sense and spirit—but the boy is
almost always the father of the man; and what James was then, he is
now.