FOREST LIFE IN ACADIE.*
Tins is a sportsman's narrative, and Captain Hardy has told his tale so agreeably that the reader who is in search of amuse- ment for an idle hour will find all that he looks for in these lively and picturesque "sketches." The book has the interest of per- sonal knowledge and experience, and the enthusiasm of the author is so keen that he fairly carries us away with him, until we are ready to believe that moose-hunting in North America is the most important pursuit in which a rational being can engage. Not that the book is confined to that sport, for there is much else in it to allure the naturalist and sportsman ; but the moose or elk—for the moose of North America is the elk of Sweden—is the chief game of the country over which Captain Hardy has rambled and shot for more than fifteen years. His hearty enjoyment of the sport and his delight in the solitudes of American forests give zest to a record of travel which might otherwise prove monotonous. There is no grand scenery to describe ; there are no ferocious beasts to encounter, as in the jungles of India or the primeval forests of Africa. There is the satisfaction, however, of being, as it were, within call of civilized life, even while separated from it ; and it is curious, by the way, to note that the moose, which is startled at the faintest foot- tread or by the rustle of a branch, will listen unmoved to the steam engine as it roars through his woods :— " I have waited motionless [says the author], 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 mocassin, 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 through the air on a clear frosty morning to an astonishing distance in America. Indeed, I once was lying in the bushes in full view of a mag- nificent 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 rumi- nation."
The days of this noble animal are numbered. His domain, like that of the Red Indian, is being rapidly encroached upon by civilized man, and ere long both the moose and the reindeer will share the fate of the dodo. The sportsman who would shoot either of these animals has no light task to accomplish. He must be con- tent often to wander for days in the forest without a sight of his prey, to wade through swamps, to lie upon the damp ground, or creep noiselessly through the wet bushes ; he must care nothing for fatigue or hardships, and for his guide and companion must be satisfied with the society of the red man. Without his aid the huntsman avers that it is useless to attempt the pursuit of either the elk or reindeer. He once hoped to be able to master the art and hunt on his own account, but the experience of years has shown him that this is impossible. Indeed, a cariboo or reindeer is so similar in colour to the objects surrounding it that when motionless it is scarcely possible for a European eye to detect the animal, although within range of the bullet, while the moose is so " Forest Life in Acadie: Sketches of Sport and Natural History in the Lower Provinces of the Canadian Dominion. By Captain Campbell Hardy. London: Chapman and Hall. 1869.
wary and has such an exquisite scent, that he can only be approached by the exercise of rare caution, patience, and skill. The Indian's art, we are told, is not only the result of long practice, but of the skill he has inherited from his forefathers,—another proof, if proof be needed, of the wonderful acuteness which the mind attains when exercised for generations in one direction. Ignorant of aught else, the red man's knowledge of his own art is incom- parable :—
"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 hesita- tion, though miles away from the spot. The slightest disarrangement 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 exactness."
This imitative faculty serves him in good stead in capturing his prey. When the Indian huntsman is in the neighbourhood of a male moose he allures him to his destruction by imitating the voice of the female, or if he suspects that the animal has a mate by his side, he draws him from his security by a rival challenge. The same device was formerly resorted to in hunting the cariboo, but Captain Hardy states that the call-note is now lost. Foxes are readily destroyed in this way :—" A little shrill squeak pro- duced 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."
The author has a very lively chapter entitled, " Camping Out." A sportsman, like a traveller, should be blessed with a cheerful temperament. What matter if he sinks in a bog, or stumbles in a rocky stream, or brushes his shins against the stumps of trees, or, owing to a sudden flood, finds his bed three inches in water ; what matter if he is overrun with ants or plagued with mosquitoes, under all circumstances he is bound to be cheerful and even merry, or he is unfitted for a life in the forest
" To let you know [says Captain Hardy] what is 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, 1. 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 honeypots, or mud holes. Then walk across this with a good load on your back and your gun under your arm without losing your temper !"
A wholesome discipline this, which might prove of infinite ser- vice to scores of idle men in London, who are the prey of dyspep- sia and ennui, the victims of too many home or club comforts. To such we commend this volume, but not to them only. There are few readers who will not gain some knowledge and much pleasure from these pleasantly written chapters.
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