A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND.
How grandly beautiful the scene
Where ocean wrestles with its prey;--
The rugged rocks all fringed with green--
The iceberg glittering and serene--
And ocean, wearing both, away.
Away up on the northern coast of Newfoundland, in the month of
September, a group of pleasure seeking tourists were idly lounging about
a roaring fire, smoking and telling pleasing stories, while the aroma of
good coffee, and an occasional whiff of savory venison steak wetted
their appetites, and made them well pleased with themselves, the world
in general and Newfoundland in particular. Only a short distance across
the water they could see the smoke from the mining village of Pilley's
Island, and hear the shrill whistle that called the swarthy miners to
and from their labors in the cavernous drifts of an enormous mine of
iron ore.
Sharks swam recklessly near their anchored craft, and seals protruded
their shiny heads within easy vision.
Three pairs of enormous antlers spoke of their two days' sport, thus
far, and enthusiasm was at its wildest among the merry hunters.
Only one man of the six who composed the party, seemed indifferent to
the wild, untrammeled country; the possibilities of boundless wealth in
the forbidden rocks, and the abundance of trout, seals, otter and deer
that was to be had with little labor.
This man was Maurice Sinclair.
He had left London to save his liberty;--he had fled from New York on
this pretext of pleasure for the same purpose, and now, while the others
planned with great volubility the _modus operandi_ of the day's sport,
he was moodily thinking of the possibilities of life for him in the
wilds of this half explored country.
Mining villages he dreaded, inasmuch as there was always danger of
encountering some delegate from civilization--as the mining fraternity
are of a nomadic tendency--and there was also the fear of the periodical
steamer that conveyed the products of their labor to the States or
Canadian markets. True, his sin had been that of abduction only, so far
as the world knew, but "a guilty conscience needs no accusing," and
Maurice Sinclair, although cleverly disguised, lived in daily fear of
another and a worse crime being laid at his sinful door.
Under such mental strain it was not unnatural that the wondrous
handiwork of nature, and the limitless possibilities for human
advancement in this grandly beautiful region failed to excite his
admiration or interest. The beauty of landscape; the sublimity of sky
and ocean, inspired no sentiments of awe or appreciation in his debased
and guilty soul.
At last all was in readiness for the anticipated sail up the picturesque
bays, and Tommy Tully, a native hunter, whose services they had secured
as guide and general entertainer, tapped him lightly on the arm while he
stared with undisguised astonishment at so unenthusiastic a sportsman.
"It be your turn to-day, Sir," Tommy was saying, and taking the
extended rifle, Maurice sprang lightly into the boat and with a smile
accepted his position of honor in the prow.
According to Newfoundland game laws each stranger was allowed to shoot
eight deer for the trifling sum of two hundred dollars, and as this
amount, _per capita_, had been conscientiously paid down at the Crown
Office in St. Johns, each sportsman took his turn at whatever game
presented itself.
Tommy Tully was in himself a character typical of Newfoundland's
choicest hunters. Tommy's experience dated back to the days when
coraling deer was no unusual circumstance, and Tommy, in his own
peculiar dialect, told them of once meeting an unusually large Buck,
face to face, in a woodland path, unarmed and unexpectedly.
"He were too skeert to run an' so were I," said Tommy in conclusion.
Knowing the Newfoundlander's adherence to superstitious faiths, the
young men asked him with all gravity to relate some of the time honored
traditions and prevailing beliefs regarding the uncanny "Fetch" and his
nocturnal antics, and Tommy, nothing loth, regaled them with blood
curdling recitals of white robed figures, half fish, half human, that
skimmed the surface of the bay at midnight, searching with spirit
lanterns for belated victims, and dropping his voice to a husky whisper,
he continued, "jest over dis very spot, Sir, one night last summer, I
stopped rowin' fer a bit to light my pipe and somet'in' riz my feet
right up an' turned me clare roun' in de punt, jest hind side afore,
Sir, never knowed what did it."
Just at that instant Tommy's eyes, which had, all through his narrative,
been carefully scanning the opposite bank, glowed with excitement: His
nostrils quivered and expanded like those of a keen scented animal,
while with hardly a perceptible movement of the body he slackened the
speed of the dainty craft, and then in a short, sharp, but carefully
modulated voice, exclaimed "See him? Straight ahead,--Now! Fire!" But no
report followed the order.
The huge antlers of the deer that had been plainly seen protruding from
the dense thicket on the neighboring bank, trembled for a second as if
their owner was undecided what course to pursue, then suddenly
disappeared, and only the sound of crackling underbrush told of his
enormous bounds through the apparently impenetrable forest.
The young men looked savagely at Maurice, as by an effort he threw off
the spell that so completely enthralled him, and laughing pleasantly he
passed the rifle to the next in turn, saying brightly, "Don't scold,
Boys. The truth is, that fellow rattled me. I've lost my turn."
"And we've lost our supper, perhaps," they growled, rather savagely. But
another look at Tommy's face silenced them.
Every muscle was alert with expectancy.
With skilful hand he guided the boat along, through narrow passes and
wider openings, scanning the overgrown bank, and soon again his low
toned order sent the excited blood tingling through their veins. "Now!
Fire!"
This time a shot rang out sharp and clear upon the frosty air. A crash
was heard in the thicket and rapidly bringing the boat as near an open
space in the bank as possible, Tommy sprang ashore and dragged to the
water's edge the most magnificent specimen of Caribeau they had thus
far encountered.
"I knowed he'd hanker fer anudder look at us," muttered Tommy,
gleefully. "Dere's a lot of springs in dem bushes and dose boys always
knows where dere's good water."
Having acquired much expertness in their previous experiences, the _post
mortem_ operations were rapidly performed, and stowing away the
desirable portions of the carcass in the "cuddy" the young men, now in
thoroughly jovial mood, proceeded on their delightful excursion.
The obliging manner in which that particular deer had walked into rifle
range was being joyfully discussed when an exclamation of delight broke
from the lips of one of their number.
They were just crossing "Long Tickle," a narrow passage between two
enormous hills of stone, and gazing outward the blue waters of the
mighty ocean caught the eye, while far away on the very horizon there
arose, seemingly to the azure heavens, a gigantic pyramid of ice,
dazzling in its whiteness and reflecting with a thousand rays the glory
of the morning sun.
The young men shivered involuntarily and drew their hunting jackets
closer about them. They understood now the source of frosty breezes in
the midst of genial sunlight and verdant foliage.
At "Hall's Bay Head" a wider glimpse of ocean was obtained, and Tommy
noted with careful eye the "set" of the restless currents, while he told
them of many instances where miners, rowing to their homes from the
distant mining villages, had been caught in the treacherous tides at
this place and carried far out to certain death upon the ocean, while
the lights from their cottage homes were plainly visible on the rocky
shore.