DEER-SICKNESS.
The Indian term "deer-sickness" is in reality a misnomer, as it is
not the deer that is sick but the party following its tracks. The
idea of writing this article came to me by reading "Scent Glands of
the Deer," which appeared in _Forest and Stream_ of May 13, and I
remembered how I had the deer-sickness thirty-eight years ago.
There are many surprises for a tenderfoot or greenhorn in the wild,
but the name given to one of these very-much-to-be-pitied parties in
the bush country from the Labrador to Lake Superior is _mangers du
lard._ This is the universal cognomen by which a stranger in the
north country is known. I found by tracing back that this soubriquet
was first given by the French _courriers du bois_ to a new hand
entering the back country for the first time.
It is said that in those early days the French youths, from which new
hands were recruited, lived at home on very scanty food, and when
they got away working for the fur company, where pork was,
comparatively, in abundance, they let their young appetites loose and
ate the flesh of swine in prodigious quantities, whereby they became
known as _mangers da lard,_ i. e., pork eaters, and this denoted a
stranger or greenhorn, the tenderfoot of the Western prairie.
I was somewhat of a greenhorn myself and suffered thereby by catching
the deer-sickness. Like a good many other bad knocks that a beginner
has to endure, this bit of sickness had an abiding effect on me and
was never repeated.
My experience came about in this wise. I had accompanied a family of
Indians to a deer battue, and after the general slaughter was over I
was allotted the duty of following up a wounded deer; by the word
deer I mean a wood caribou.
This particular buck had been shot at close quarters, the ball going
clear through its stomach. While the shot had the effect of bowling
the deer over it had not touched a vital spot, and during the
excitement of the other shooting the animal got up and traveled away
unobserved. The snow was pretty deep, nevertheless the further the
deer went the better he appeared to get along. When this fact became
evident to me, who was following his track, literally with my nose to
the snow, I put on a greater spurt to try and end the jig. The deer
by this time had become cognizant of being followed and he also
increased his pace.
I now became aware of a weakness in my limbs, a nauseating smell in
my nostrils and a faint and giddy sensation in my head. This
uncomfortable feeling grew worse, and at last to save myself from
falling I had to lean against a tree and wipe my brow with a handful
of snow.
This had a momentary good effect. I saw clearly once more and pushing
ahead redoubled my efforts to come within shooting distance of my
deer. But I had not gone far before I felt a relapse coming and in a
few moments I was in worse distress than ever. The last I remember
was seeing a whirl of trees going around me. It was the last
conscious moment before I fainted dead away and fell in my tracks in
the snow.
Luckily the chief had sent his two boys to follow me up, not that he
anticipated this ending, but for the purpose of skinning and cutting
up the deer. It was providential he did, for otherwise I would never
have awakened in this world. As it was, the cold had thoroughly
penetrated my body and it was only after drinking a quart or two of
hot tea that circulation resumed its functions.
After I had come around to the youth's satisfaction the eldest one
started off after the cause of all my trouble, leaving his younger
brother to replenish the fire and attend to my wants. The elder boy
returned after an hour or two, having killed the deer, the proof, the
split heart tucked in his belt. Darkness was then setting in, but the
boys made ready to start for camp. What had taken me hours of toil to
cover, they passed over in a very short time; in fact, we only saw my
trail once or twice on the way out to the lake.
That night, after supper the chief told me of the "deer-sickness,"
and warned me against persistently following the trail. He continued
and told how the Indians did and in after years I saw their mode and
practiced it myself. He explained to be that a pungent odor exuded
from the deer's hoofs when they were pursued and it was this that
caused my weakness and distress.
The Indians in following deer cut the trail once in a while merely to
make sure they are going in the right direction and to ascertain the
freshness of the tracks. This is done with a two-fold purpose, first
to avoid the odor from the fresh tracks and secondly to run or walk
in the most open parts of the forest. Moose, caribou, and deer when
fleeing from an enemy invariably pass through the thickest bush,
because the snow is shallower under thick, branchy trees than in the
open, therefore the Indian walks a spell on the right hand side of
the trail, then crosses over and passes on the left.
From the topography of the country the Indian has a pretty good idea
of the trend of the caribou's course, and the cutting of the trail
from time to time is only to assure himself that he is correct in his
surmise, and to judge by the tracks how near he is to the quarry. He
thereby passes through the clearest country, has the best walking and
escapes the nauseous effluvia emitted from the animals' hoofs.
* * *
It falls to us who live in the country the year round to hear amusing
stories from the guides of their experiences with the "tenderfeet"
that visit the north country during the open season. One that showed
the cuteness of the guide was told me shortly ago by the man himself.
Dr. S---- came to Roberval with the expressed wish of taking home a
caribou head of his own killing. He engaged George Skene as man of
all work, and Old Bazil, the noted guide and successful hunter.
Although it is not customary for guides to take their guns when out
with gentleman sportsmen, yet Old Bazil was an exception, as he
always insisted on taking his. Around the camp-fire Dr. S---- spoke
of his great wish to kill a caribou.
"Now," he said to old Bazil, "You bring me up close to one and I kill
it, I'll give you a bonus of $10."
Several times next day during the still-hunt old Bazil would leave
the doctor to await his return, while he would go forward
reconnoitering carefully so there might be no mistake. At last he
came back with the glad tidings to the doctor, that he had seen two
caribou not far in advance of where they now were.
When it got to sneaking after Bazil through the last hundred yards to
the few trees at the extreme edge of the forest, the doctor's heart
was beating with such thumps that he thought the noise would start
the game. The doctor at last reached the guide in the fringe of
trees. Bazil told him that one of the deer was standing up, broadside
on, while a little to the right was the second one lying down. The
standing one being the larger of the two, and the only one having
horns, was for the doctor to shoot, while the guide would take a
pot-shot at the other. The doctor flattened out on his stomach and
wriggled a few feet further, saw the deer through the branches, took
aim and waited for Bazil to count the agreed one, two, three.
Bazil argued with himself that from the uncertain way the doctor's
gun was wabbling about there were several hundred chances to one
against his hitting the deer, and as a consequence, he would be minus
his bonus.
So he employed a ruse. He counted the agreed signal to fire, but
instead of firing at the one lying down, he drew a bead on the
doctor's, and, of course, killed it.
At the report of the guns the caribou on the ground sprang up, and
old Bazil, with consummate prevarication, said, "Oh! I missed it!"
Aimed again, let go the other barrel, and killed this one also.
The doctor was wild with delight at his successful first shot, and
expressed in many words his pleasure to old Bazil, who took it all in
without a blush.
The old guide, who was standing up back of where the doctor fired,
had taken no chance of missing with his smooth bore, but fired point
blank at the deer's fore quarters. There was found on examination a
frightful wound, and smashed bone; but the doctor was not versed
enough in woodcraft to distinguish if this had been caused by a round
bullet, and not the conical one from his own rifle.
The doctor was not a pot-hunter; he had what he came for, and had got
it in almost record time, and was satisfied, so he fished for brook
trout while Bazil carefully prepared the head for transportation and
dried the meat for his own family. Then they journeyed back to
Roberval, where the men were paid off, Bazil receiving a bright $10
gold piece as promised over and above his wages.
The doctor no doubt has that head, beautifully gotten up, hanging
over his sideboard, and points to it with pride to his guests,
saying, "I killed that head back of Kis-ki-sink, in Canada."