Part 1 - Chapter 5. Description Of Various Animals--Ruminants The Moose, Or Elk

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_ PART ONE
CHAPTER FIVE. DESCRIPTION OF VARIOUS ANIMALS--RUMINANTS THE MOOSE, OR ELK.

We shall not introduce the animals we are about to inspect according to a systematic classification, but bring them forward as they appear to the eye of the traveller or sportsman, giving the largest and the most important the first place. Our object is rather to view the characteristic animals of each region we visit than to attempt a scientific examination of the whole animated kingdom of the world--a task which must be left to those who have far more time at their disposal than we possess.

We will begin, therefore, with the animals belonging to the ruminantia-- the eighth in natural order; taking next the carnivora--the fifth; and the smaller rodentia--the sixth; while the birds and reptiles will follow in due course. Among these, however, we shall select only the most notable and curious; for although North America does not teem with animal life in the same degree as the southern half of the continent, were we to attempt to introduce all those existing in it we could give but a meagre account of each.

 

Without further preface, therefore, we will commence our survey with the elk.

The monarch of the American pine-forests--the superb moose or elk-- ranges from the mouth of the Mackenzie River to the shores of the Atlantic, at the eastern extremity of Nova Scotia, and passing the great lake region, is found even as far as the State of New York. Observe him as he stands with huge palmated horns ready for action, his vast nostrils snuffing up the scent coming from afar; his eyes dilated, and ears moving, watching for a foe; his bristly mane erect; his large body supported on his somewhat thick but agile limbs, standing fully six feet six inches in height at the shoulder, above which rise the head and antlers. The creature's muzzle is very broad, protruding, and covered with hair, except a small moist, naked spot in front of the nostrils. He has a short, thick neck, the hair thick and brittle. The throat is somewhat maned in both sexes. So large is the cavity of the nose, that a man may thrust his arm right into it. The inter-maxillaries are very long, and the nasals short. He differs from the European elk only by having much darker hair,--the coat of the male, when in its prime, at the close of the summer, being completely black. Under the throat the males have a fleshy appendage termed the bell, from which grow long black hairs. The bristles on his thick muzzle are of a lighter colour than those of the coat, being somewhat of a reddish hue. The neck and shoulders are covered with very fine soft wool, curiously interwoven with the hair. Out of this the Indians manufacture soft, warm gloves. The moose hair is very brittle and inelastic. It is dyed by the Indians, and employed for ornamenting numerous articles of birch-bark. The moose is of cautious and retiring habits, generally taking up his abode amid the mossy swamps found round the margins of the lakes, and which occupy the low ground in every direction. Here the cinnamon fern grows luxuriantly, while a few swamp maple saplings and mountain ash trees occur at intervals, and afford sufficient food to the moose.

It is to these regions the bull retires with his consort, and remains for weeks together, claiming to be the monarch of the swamp; and should he hear the approach of a distant rival, he will crash with his antlers against the tree stems, making sudden mad rushes through the bushes, the sound of his blows reverberating to a distance. He has also a curious custom of tearing up the moss over a considerable area, exposing the black mud by pawing with the fore-feet. He continually visits these hills, and in consequence a strong musky effluvia arises from them. The Indian hunter, by examining them, can ascertain without fail when they were last visited by the animal. He utters loud sounds both by day and night, described by the Indians in their guttural voices as "quoth, quoth," but occasionally becoming sharper and more like a bellow when he hears a distant cow. The cow utters a prolonged and strangely wild call. This is imitated by the Indian hunter through a trumpet composed of rolled-up birch-bark, when his dogs are in chase of the animal; and the bull being by this means attracted towards him, becomes more easily his victim.

During the early part of the year, and the summer, the antlers are growing; but this process ceases early in September, when the moose has got rid of the last ragged strip of the deciduous skin against the young larch-trees and alder-bushes. He now stands ready to assert his claims against all rivals. At this season the bulls fight desperately; often the collision of the antlers of huge rivals, driven with mighty force by their immense and compact necks, is heard to a great distance, like the report of a gun on a still autumnal evening. They probably approach from different directions, regardless of the rugged ground, the rocks, and fallen trees in their course, bellowing loudly, and tearing up the ground with their horns. Now they catch sight of each other, and rush together like two gladiators. Now butting for some time till their antlers become interlocked, perhaps both fall struggling to the ground. Frequently portions of skeletons, the skulls united by firmly-locked antlers, have been found in some wilderness arena, where a deadly fight has occurred. A magnificent pair of horns thus interlocked is to be seen in the Museum of the Royal College of Surgeons. Terrible must have been the fate of the combatants, illustrating Byron's lines:--

"Friends meet to part;
Love laughs at faith:
True foes once met,
Are joined till death."

Captain Hardy says he has twice heard the strange sound emitted by the moose, which, till he became acquainted with its origin, was almost appalling. It is a deep, hoarse, and prolonged bellow, more resembling a feline than a bovine roar. Sometimes the ear of the hunter is assailed by a tremendous clatter from some distant swamp or burned wood. It is the moose, defiantly sweeping the forest of pines right and left among the brittle branches of the ram pikes, as the scaled pines hardened by fire are locally termed. When, however, the moose wishes to beat a retreat in silence, his suspicions being aroused, he effects the process with marvellous stealth. Not a branch is heard to snap, and the horns are so carefully carried through the densest thickets, that a rabbit would make as much noise when alarmed. He will also, when hard-pressed, take the most desperate leaps to avoid his foes.

Though he seldom or never attacks human beings when unassailed, he will do so occasionally when badly wounded, if nearly approached. An old Indian hunter had one day followed up a moose, and wounded the animal, when it turned on him. There being no tree near, he jammed himself for safety between two large granite boulders which were at hand. The aperture, however, did not extend far enough back to enable him to get altogether out of the reach of the infuriated bull, which set on him with its fore-feet, and pounded him so severely that several of his ribs were broken; indeed, for several years afterwards he was nearly bent double by the severe beating he had received.

In the summer, when the plague of flies commences, the moose takes to the water to avoid their bites. There are several species--one termed the moose-fly--which are equally annoying to the hunter. The animal strives to free himself from their irritation by running among bushes and brambles; and should he reach a lake, he will plunge into the water, allowing only his nostrils and mouth to remain above the surface. Sometimes, indeed, he will dive altogether, and is frequently known to hide himself from his pursuers by remaining for a long time below the water. He also feeds upon the tendrils and shoots of the yellow pond-lily, by reaching for them under water. An Indian, on one occasion, was following the track of a moose, when it led him to the edge of a little round pond in the woods, whence he could find no exit of the trail. After waiting for some time, he beheld the head of the animal rising above the surface in the very middle of the pond. While hastening for his gun, which he had left at a little distance, the moose made for the opposite shore, and emerging from the water, regained the shelter of the forest ere he could get round for a shot. The animals have been known also to visit the seashore, and one was seen swimming off to an island over a mile distant, which he reached in safety.

The moose feeds chiefly on the leaves of young shoots and bushes, or the smaller trees--the red and other maples, the white birch, the balsam, fur, poplar, and mountain ash; and occasionally, as has been said, on the roots of the yellow pond-lily, with a bite now and then at a tussock of broad-leaved grass growing in the dried bogs. To get at the foliage beyond the reach of his muzzle, he frequently charges a young tree and rides it down, till he has brought the tempting leaves within his reach.

The horns of the animal begin to sprout in April, the old pair having fallen some time before. In the middle of this month the coat is shed, when the animal for some time afterwards presents a very rugged appearance. The cow towards the end of May produces one or two calves, generally near the margin of a lake, or in one of the densely-wooded islands, where they are secure from the attacks of the bull moose, who, cruel tyrant that he is, often destroys them. Rarely more than two are born at a time.

Besides its human foes, the moose is attacked occasionally by the bear. Captain Hardy describes coming upon the traces of a recent struggle between a young moose and one of these animals. "The bear had evidently stolen through the long grass upon the moose, and had taken him at a disadvantage in the treacherous bog. The grass was very much beaten down, and deep furrows in the soil below showed how energetically the unfortunate moose had striven to escape from his powerful assailant. There was a broad track plentifully strewed with moose hair, showing how the moose had struggled with the bear, to the wood, where, no doubt, the affair ended, and the bear dined."

As the winter approaches, the cows, with the young bulls and calves, congregate in small parties on the open "barrens" and hill-sides. When the snow comes thickly down, they form what is called a yard; and in Canada, where its depth is very great, they have to remain in it during the whole winter, feeding round the area on the young wood of deciduous trees. In Nova Scotia, however, they migrate to other localities when they have consumed the more tempting portions of food in the yard. In the morning and afternoon they are found feeding, or chewing the cud; but at noon, when they lie down, they are difficult to approach, as they are then on the alert, employing their wonderful faculties of scent and hearing to detect the faintest taint or sound in the air, which might indicate the approach of danger. The snapping of a little twig, the least collision of a rifle with a branch, or crunching of the snow under the mocassins, will suffice to arouse them. Curiously enough, however, they are not alarmed by any sound, even the loudest, to which they have been accustomed. The hunter has, therefore, to approach the yard with the greatest possible caution, in order to get a shot.

We will, however, start off on a moose hunt, in autumn, with a practical Indian hunter. The air of the autumnal night is frosty and bracing. The moose are moving rapidly from place to place. Night is drawing on. The last fluttering of the aspens dying away, leaves that perfect repose in the air which is so necessary to the sport. The moon rises, shedding a broad and silvery light through the forest. Mysterious sounds greet our ears. The Indian hunter is provided with his trumpet of birch-bark, in the form of a cone, about two feet in length. He shelters himself behind the edge of the banks, a clump of bushes, or rocks; and now he emits the cry of the cow moose, so exactly, that the male animal is easily deceived by it. He waits: there is no response. An interval of fifteen minutes elapses; still no reply is heard. Again the Indian sends his wild cry pealing through the wood. Presently a low grunt, quickly repeated, comes from some distant hill; and the snapping of branches and falling trees attests the approach of the bull. The hunter is now doubly careful; kneeling down, and thrusting the mouth of his call into some bushes close by, he utters a lower and more plaintive sound. At length an answer reaches his ears. The snapping of the branches is resumed; and presently the moose is seen stalking into the middle of the moonlit "barren." Our weapons are ready; and as the magnificent animal stands looking eagerly around in the woodland amphitheatre, a rifle ball, laden with death, brings him to the ground.

In some districts the Indians employ another method of calling. They conceal themselves in a swamp, in the midst of some damp mossy valley, during a dark night. One holds a torch of birch-bark with a match ready for lighting. The hunter calls, and the moose approaches more readily than towards the open "barren." When the creature is within distance of the deadly rifle, the match is applied to the torch, which, flaring up, illuminates the swamp, and discovers the startled moose standing amidst the trees, and incapable apparently of flight. The Indians declare that he is fascinated by the light; and though he may walk round and round it, he will not leave the spot, and thus presents an easy mark to the hunter's rifle.

Let us set forth on an expedition to "creep" moose, which may be described as a similar mode of hunting to stalking. The ground we select is among the "barrens" before described. It is strewed with dead trees in all directions, amid which briars and bushes have grown up, and conceal their sharp, broken limbs, and the rough granite rocks scattered in all directions. Here, collecting wood for burning, we form our camp, and sit round the blazing fire, on which a well-filled frying-pan is hissing, while we are covered by our blankets to protect ourselves from the pattering rain-drops. Our suppers over, we stretch ourselves for repose, and gradually fall asleep, as the snapping of the logs on the fire, the pattering of the rain, and the hootings of the owls in the distant forest become less and less distinct. Our Indian brings us notice in the morning that two moose have passed close to the camp during the night. However, in spite of the plaintive call from the treacherous bark trumpet, they will not approach, having been forewarned of danger by the smell of our camp-fire. We make our way amid the bushes, already leafless, except that here and there are seen bunches of dwarf maples with a few scarlet leaves of autumn still clinging to them. Presently our companion whispers, "Down--sink down! slow--like me!" A magnificent bull appears about five hundred yards off. The wind is blowing from him to us. The Indian utters the usual call; but the moose does not answer, having already a companion close at hand. Presently he lies down in the bushes, and we worm ourselves slowly and laboriously towards the edge of the alder swamp. Gently lowering ourselves into the swamp, we creep noiselessly through the dense bushes, their thick foliage closing over our heads. It is an anxious moment!--the slightest snapping of a bough, the knocking of a gun-barrel against a stem, and the game is off. "We must go back," whispers the Indian. "Cannot get near enough on this side. Too open!" The difficult task of retreating is performed without disturbing the moose. Another half-hour is then employed in creeping like snakes through the wet bushes. At length, as we reach the edge of the swamp, the great animal rises directly facing us, gazing steadily towards us. We fire. A headlong stagger follows the report; and the creature, turning round, is hidden from sight behind a clump of bushes. The Indian at the same time fires at a large cow moose who has, unknown to us, been lying close to the bull. We dash forward a few paces. On the other side the great bull suddenly rises in front of us and strides on into thicker covert. Another shot, and he sinks lifeless at our feet.

 

The Cariboo, or Reindeer.

We have before mentioned the extensive tracts existing in North America, which, from their desolate appearance, are appropriately called "Barrens." Far as the eye can reach the whole ground is seen strewn with boulders of rock and fallen trees, scattered round in the wildest confusion. Here and there charred stumps rise from the green-sward; in some spots clumps of spruce are seen, against which the white stems of the graceful birch stand out in bold relief; while the bank of some stream, or the margin of a lake, is marked by fringing thickets of alder. In many parts are moist, swampy bogs, into which the sportsman sinks ankle-deep at every step. The ground, however, is everywhere thickly carpeted by a luxuriant growth of a species of lichen. It possesses wonderfully nutritive qualities; so much so, that large quantities of alcohol have lately been extracted from it, as well as from other lichens growing in sub-arctic regions. It is the chief food of the cariboo, which animal frequents these desolate-looking "barrens."

Visiting one of these "barrens," we may perchance fall in with several of the noble-looking animals known in Europe and Asia as the reindeer, though we must look sharp to recognise them; for so similar are they in colour to the rocks and general features of the ground, that only the keen eye of the Indian can easily detect them, especially when they are lying down. Should we approach them on the weather-side, or should the slightest noise be made, they will quickly detect us. Up they spring, and after a brief stare, make off in graceful bounds at a rapid rate. Now, having got beyond danger, they drop into a long swinging trot, and proceed in single file across the "barren," till they enter the line of forest in the far distance.

The cariboo of North America is a strongly-built, thickset animal, compared to the more graceful of his relatives. He carries on his head a pair of magnificent antlers, varying greatly in different specimens-- some palmating towards the upper ends, others with branches springing from the palmated portions. In most instances there is but one developed brow antler, the other being a solitary curved prong. The back of the cariboo is covered with brownish hair, the tips of which are of a rich dun grey, whiter on the neck than elsewhere. The nose, ears, and outer surface of the legs and shoulders are of a brown hue. The neck and throat are covered with long, dullish white hair, and there is a faint whitish patch on the side of the shoulders. The rump and tail are snowy-white, while a band of white runs round all the legs, joining the hoofs.

As winter approaches, the hair grows long, and lightens considerably in hue. Frequently, indeed, individuals may be seen in a herd with coats of the palest fawn colour--almost white. The muzzle is entirely covered with hair. The fur is brittle, and though in summer it is short, in winter it is longer and whiter, especially about the throat. The hoofs are broad, depressed, and bent in at the tip. The full-grown bucks shed their horns, and it is seldom that they are seen in a herd after Christmas. The female reindeer, however, retains hers during winter. Several theories have been advanced to account for this. There seems no doubt, however, that the object is to enable the female to protect her fawns from the males, who are apt to attack the young and destroy them.

The cariboo is gregarious, and males, females, and young herd together at all seasons; and by this provision of Nature the females are able to defend the young, who would otherwise be subjected to injury. In another respect these animals are wonderfully provided for the mode of existence they are compelled to pursue. Not only have they to cross wide snow-covered districts, but frequently to pass across frozen expanses of water. To enable them to do this in the winter, the frog of the foot is almost entirely absorbed, and the edges of the hoof, now quite concave, grow out in sharp ridges, each division on the under surface presenting the appearance of a huge mussel-shell, and serving the office of natural skates. So rapidly does the shell increase, that the frog does not fill up again till spring, when the antlers bud out. With this singular conformation of the foot, it has a lateral spread; and an additional assistance for maintaining a foothold on slippery surfaces is given by numerous long, stiff bristles which grow downward at the fetlock, curving over entirely between the divisions. The cariboo is thus enabled to proceed over the snow, to cross frozen lakes, or ascend icy precipices, with an ease which places him, when in flight, beyond the reach of all enemies, except perhaps the nimble and untiring wolf.

The cariboo is essentially a migratory animal. There are two well-defined periods of migration, in the spring and autumn. Throughout the winter it appears also seized with an unconquerable desire to change its residence. One day it may be found feeding quietly through the forests in little bands, and the next, perhaps, all tracks show a general move in a certain direction. The animals join the main herd after a while, and entirely leaving the district, travel toward new feeding-grounds. Though often found in the same woodlands as the moose, they do not enjoy each other's company. In severe winters the cariboos travel to the southernmost limits of their haunts, and even sometimes enter the settlements. Not being aquatic, like the moose, to avoid the flies in summer they ascend the mountain ranges, where they can be free from their attacks. The hunter, however, follows them, and their speed being of no avail among the precipices, many are shot. During most of the year the flesh of the animal is dry and tasteless; but it possesses a layer of fat, two or more inches thick, which is greatly esteemed. This, with the marrow, is pounded together with the dried flesh, and makes the best kind of pemmican--a food of the greatest value to the hunter. The cariboo lives in herds, sometimes only of ten or twenty, but at others consisting of thirty or more individuals. They range across the whole width of the continent, being found in great numbers to the west of the Rocky Mountains, especially at the northern end of British Columbia. Although specifically identical with the reindeer of Europe, it has never yet been trained by Indians or Esquimaux to carry their goods or draw their sleighs, as in Lapland and along the Arctic shores of Asia.

The Wapiti, or Canadian Stag.

In the wilder parts of the Southern States of the Union, herds of the magnificent Canadian stag or wapiti--popularly called the elk--range amid the woods and over the prairies. Sometimes three or four hundred are found in one herd, always led by an old buck, who exacts from them the strictest obedience--compelling them to halt or move onward as he judges necessary. Now the superb herd of long-horned creatures are seen to wheel to the right or left, now to advance or retreat at the signal he issues.

The wapiti is indeed a grand animal, growing to the height of the tallest ox, and endowed with wonderful activity, as well as power. See him as he dashes through the forest, his branched horns separating in serpentine curves, six feet from tip to tip, laid close over his back as he makes his way amid the trees. His head is of a lively, yellowish-brown hue, the neck covered with reddish and black hairs, the latter of considerable length, descending in a thick bunch below it. They are among the fiercest of the deer tribe. The bucks often enter into desperate contests with each other, battling--with their huge horns--the fight frequently ending only with the death of the weaker rival. Sometimes their horns have become so inextricably interlocked, that both have fallen to the ground, and, unable to rise, have perished miserably. They will frequently, when wounded, attack their human assailants; and the bold hunter, if thus exposed with rifle unloaded to their fierce assaults, will rue the day his weapon failed to kill the enraged quarry at the first shot.

The wapiti, when pursued, will boldly plunge into the lake or broad river, and breast the rapid current to avoid his foes; or will occasionally, if hard-pressed, attack the bold hunter who ventures to follow in his light canoe.

His cry is a sharp whistling sound, which rings through the air far and wide on a calm day. He feeds on the branches of the trees and grass, and in winter scrapes, with his powerful fore-feet, deep into the snow, to obtain the lichens and dry herbage which grow beneath. His flesh for several months in the year is dry and coarse, but his hide is much prized by the Indians, who manufacture from it a leather of a peculiarly soft character, which retains that quality after being wet,--instead of turning hard, as is the case with that manufactured from other deerskins. A remarkable feature of the wapiti is that the horns differ in form almost as greatly as do those of the branches of trees, no two specimens being found with them exactly alike.

 

The Karjacou, or Virginian Deer.

The most graceful of the deer tribe, the karjacou, scours in large herds across the prairies, frequently entering the haunts of man. Yet so easily is it scared that it takes to flight at the very appearance of a human being. Curiously enough, however, it will again return to its favourite feeding-grounds, even though the hunter's rifle may lay low many of the herd. It is about the size of the fallow-deer, and of a light brown hue. Its horns are slender, and have numerous branches on the interior sides, but are destitute of brow antlers.

Let us watch a herd startled by our approach. Away they spring, leaping into the air, turning their heads in every direction to ascertain the cause of their alarm, and then rush off at full speed; but in a short time, if they are not followed, we may see them return, especially as night draws on, and crouch down in their accustomed sleeping-places. Should a salt lake be near, they will come in vast numbers to lick up with their tongues the saline particles adhering to the surrounding stones, where the salt has crystallised from the evaporation of the water.

They are at all times thirsty, and they require constant draughts of pure water, to obtain which they are sure to visit the nearest stream or spring as night is about to close over the scene. Wherever the tenderest herbage grows upon the plain, there the karjacou comes to crop it during summer. In winter he finds an abundant supply of food from the buds and berries, or fallen fruits; or, when snow is on the ground, he eats the string moss hanging in masses from the trees. He willingly takes to the water, and will cross a lake or broad river, swimming at a rapid rate with his whole body submerged, his head alone appearing above the surface; thus he will often baffle his pursuers, even though they may follow him with a boat. He has been known, indeed, when hard-pressed near the sea-coast, to plunge into the ocean, and buffeting the waves, to make his way far from the land, rather than be captured.

His flesh affords the Indian a large portion of his winter supply of food, while his skin is manufactured into clothing, the leather from it being especially soft and pliable. From the settlers in the western provinces he receives little mercy, as, without hesitation, he leaps their fences, banqueting on their growing corn or vegetables; and, after doing all the mischief in his power, by his activity generally again makes his escape. No animal surpasses in beauty the young fawn, the fur of which is of a ruddy brown tint, ornamented with white spots arranged in irregular lines, merging occasionally into wide stripes.

Like others of his tribe, the male is excessively combative when meeting others of his own species; and a story is told of three animals thus encountering each other in a desert, when all their horns becoming entangled, they remained fixed, unable to separate, till they sank together on the ground, their skulls and skeletons afterwards being discovered, thus giving evidence of the combat and its fatal result.

 

The Antelope.

No animal of the American wilds surpasses the antelope in beauty. The little creatures congregate in herds of many thousands, though, from the exterminating war waged against them by the Indians, they have greatly decreased in numbers. The size of the antelope is about that of the common red-deer doe; the colour somewhat between buff and fawn, shaded here and there into reddish-brown, and a patch of pure white on the hind-quarters. This gives rise to the expression of the hunter, when he sees it flying before him, that the creature is "showing its clean linen." The ears are placed far back on the head, are very long, and curved so much that at a distance they appear like horns, while the horns themselves appear as if coming out of the animal's eyes; they are long and slender, curving slightly backwards, and have no branches, except a little bud, which is developed when the creature is about two years old. The chief peculiarity of the animal is its lack of a dewlap.

The feet have no rudimentary hoofs like the deer, yet this want in no way interferes with its speed. Often the creature may be seen for a moment browsing not fifty yards off, the next it has dwindled to a mere speck, and is in another lost to sight. They do not leap like deer, but run with level backs, as sheep do, their legs glancing faster than sight can follow. In vain the hunter attempts to follow the rapid movements of the creatures on horseback. Perhaps they will let him approach to within a short distance, and then away they float on a line at right-angles to their former retreat. To come up with them, indeed, as an American writer observes, is as hopeful an undertaking as trying to run down a telegraphic message. The only way to get near them is by a stratagem. They are not afraid of horses, and the hunter, by walking behind his horse, may often approach a herd without being discovered, provided the wind blows from them. He then pickets his horse with a sharp stake, and sinking down in the grass he ties a bright-coloured handkerchief to the end of his ramrod; he then crawls forward on hands and knees, dragging his rifle, till he approaches still nearer, when he remains concealed, and lifts his flag in the air. The antelopes, on catching sight of it, stop browsing, and raising their heads, peer towards it, exhibiting no signs of fear. For a moment he drops his flag; the beautiful creatures then resume their repast, but their curiosity gets the better of their prudence. Again they look forward, when the flag is once more raised and waved slowly backward and forward. The antelopes have now their curiosity excited to the utmost; for a moment they stop irresolute, then advance a few steps snuffing the air. Once more the flag sinks out of sight; they seem to be asking each other what is the cause of the strange sight they have seen. Again it is raised; they draw nearer and nearer, till they are within range of the hunter's deadly rifle; he fires, and almost to a certainty one of the beautiful animals springs into the air and tumbles head-foremost on the ground. For a moment the survivors run off from their fallen friend, but seldom go far. Once more they return within easy rifle-shot of the hunter. Unless, however, he requires the meat, he must be greatly lacking in right feeling if he slaughters uselessly so beautiful an animal. The antelope becomes so easily confused, that when met on the prairies it frequently runs headlong into the midst of the travellers. The creatures are often killed by being surrounded, when the whole herd are driven into an enclosed spot and become the easy prey of the hungry hunters.

 

The Bighorn, or Mountain Sheep.

Amid the almost inaccessible peaks of the Rocky Mountains, herds of animals with enormous horns may be seen leaping from rock to rock, sometimes descending at one spring from a height of twenty or thirty feet--when, the Indians assert, they invariably alight on their horns, and by this means save their bones from certain dislocation. They are bighorns, or mountain sheep, and are considered the chief game of these regions. The animals appear to partake both of the nature of the deer and of the goat. They resemble the latter more especially in their habits, and in frequenting the most lofty and inaccessible regions, whence, except in the severest weather, they seldom descend to the upland valleys. In size the bighorn is between the domestic sheep and the common red-deer of America, but is more strongly built than the latter. It is of a brownish-dun colour, with a somewhat white streak on the hind-quarters. The tail is shorter than that of the deer, and tipped with black. As the age of the animal increases, the coat becomes of a darker tinge. The horns, of the male especially, are of great size, curving backwards about three feet in length, and twenty inches in circumference at the roots.

Frequently on the highest spot one of the band is stationed as a sentinel, and whilst the others are feeding he looks out for the approach of danger. They have even more acute sight and smell than the deer. On an alarm being given the whole herd scampers up the mountain, higher and higher, every now and then halting on some overhanging crag and looking down oh the object which may have caused them alarm; then once more they pursue their ascent, and as they bound up the steep sides of the mountains throw down an avalanche of rocks and stones.

Occasionally the young lambs are caught and domesticated by the hunters in their mountain homes, when they become greatly attached to their masters, amusing them by their merry gambols and playful tricks. Attempts have been made to transport them to the States; but although milch-goats have been brought to feed the lambs, they have suffered by the change from the pure air of the mountains to the plains, or they have not taken kindly to their foster-mothers, and have invariably perished on the journey.

The creatures reach a height of three feet six inches at the shoulders, while the horns are of about the same length. In colour they vary greatly, changing according to the season of the year.

 

The Bison, commonly called the Buffalo in America.

Throughout the wide-extending prairies of North America, from north to south to the east of the Rocky Mountains, vast herds of huge animals-- with shaggy coats and manes which hang down over the head and shoulders reaching to the ground, and short curling horns, giving their countenances a ferocious aspect--range up and down, sometimes amounting to ten thousand head in one herd. They commonly go by the name of buffaloes, but are properly called bisons. Clothed in a dense coat of long woolly hair, the buffalo is well constituted to stand the heats of summer as well as the cold of the snowy plains in the northern regions to which he extends his wanderings.

Let us look at him as he stands facing us on his native plains, his red eyes glowing like coals of fire from amid the mass of dark brown or black hair which hangs over his head and neck and the whole fore part of his body. A beard descends from the lower jaw to the knee; another huge bunch of matted hair rises from the top of his head, almost concealing his thick, short, pointed horns standing wide apart from each other. As he turns round we shall see that a large oblong hump rises on his back, diminishing in height towards the tail: that member is short, with a tuft of hair at the tip. The hinder part of the body is clothed with hair of more moderate length, especially in summer, when it becomes fine and smooth, and soft as velvet. From his awkward, heavy appearance, when seen at a distance, it would not be supposed that he is extremely active, capable of moving at a rapid rate, and of continuing his headlong career for an immense distance. So sure of foot is he, also, that he will pass over ground where no horse could follow, his limbs being in reality slender, and his body far more finely proportioned than would be supposed till it is seen stripped of its thick coating of hair. While his thick coat protects him from the cold, he is also provided with a broad, strong, and tough nose, with which he can shovel away the snow and lay bare the grass on which he feeds. Sometimes, however, when a slight thaw has occurred, and a thin cake of ice has been formed over the snow, his nose gets sadly cut, and is often seen bleeding from the effects of his labours. It is said that when a herd comes near the settlements, the domesticated calves, and even the horses, will follow the buffalo tracks, and graze on the herbage which they have disclosed and left unconsumed.

The flesh of the buffalo, especially that of the cow, is juicy, and tender in the extreme. The most esteemed portion is that composing the hump on its back, which gives it so strange an aspect. It is indeed frequently killed merely for the sake of this hump, and the tongue and marrow-bones. Sometimes, also, when parched with thirst, the hunter kills a buffalo to obtain the water contained within certain honeycombed cells in its stomach. The buffalo is provided with this reservoir, in which a large quantity of pure water can be stored, that it may traverse, without the necessity of drinking, the wide barren plains where none can be obtained. Vast numbers, without even these objects in view, are wantonly slaughtered, and the chief part of the flesh utterly wasted, by the thoughtless Indians of the plain, who have thereby deprived themselves of their future support. Many tribes depend almost entirely for their subsistence on the buffalo, of which the flesh is prepared in several ways. When cut up into long strips, and dried in the sun till it becomes black and hard, it will keep for a long time. It is also pounded with the fat of the animal, and converted into _pemmican_--an especially nutritious food, which, if kept dry, will continue in good order for several years.

The prairie Indians make use of the hide for many purposes. They scrape off the hair and tan it, when it serves them for coverings for their tents. It is also carefully dressed, when it becomes soft and impervious to water. It is then used for clothing. Some of the tribes also form their shields from it. The hide is pegged down on the ground, when it is covered with a kind of glue. In this state it greatly shrinks and thickens, and becomes sufficiently hard to resist an arrow, and even to turn aside an ordinary bullet which does not strike directly.

The buffalo is especially a gregarious animal, and is found in herds of immense size, many thousands in number. Their dark forms may often be seen extending over the prairie as far as the eye can reach, a mighty moving mass of life. Onward they rush, moved by some sudden impulse, making the ground tremble under their feet, while their course may be traced by the vast cloud of dust which floats over them as they sweep across the plain. They are invariably followed by flocks of wolves, who pounce on any young or sick members of the herd which may be left behind. They range throughout the whole prairie country, from the "Fertile Belt," which extends from the Red River settlement to the Rocky Mountains in British Central America, to Mexico in the south. The bulls are at times excessively savage. They often quarrel among themselves, and then, falling out of the herd, they engage in furious combats, greatly to the advantage of the pursuing wolves. In the summer, the buffalo delights in wallowing in mud. Reaching some marshy spot, he throws himself down, and works away till he excavates a mud-hole in the soil. The water from the surrounding ground rapidly drains into this, and covers him up, thus freeing him from the stings of the gnats and flies which swarm in that season.

The buffalo is hunted on horseback both by whites and by Indians, though the sport is one in which a considerable amount of danger must be braved. Let us set off from a farm in the Western States, on the border of the prairie. We have one or two nights to camp out before we reach the buffalo grounds. Mounting our horses by break of day, after an early breakfast, we ride on with the wind in our faces, and at length discover across the plain a number of dark objects moving slowly. They are buffaloes, feeding as they go. We see through our field-glasses that there are calves among them. It is proposed that some of our party should ride round, so as to stampede the herd back towards us, and thus, by dividing them, enable us to get in the centre. We wait for some time, when we see a vast mass of hairy monsters come tearing over a hill towards us. We have shot several of the bulls, but our object is to secure their calves and cows. As the herd approaches us, it swings round its front at right-angles, and makes off westward. We dash forward, and divide it into two parties. We also separate, some of our hunters following one part of the herd, the others the remainder. The enthusiasm of our horses equals our own. Away we go; nothing stops us. Now we plunge with headlong bounds down bluffs of caving sands fifty feet high,--while the buffaloes, crazy with terror, are scrambling half-way up the opposite side. Now we are on the very haunches of our game; now before us appears a slippery buffalo wallow. We see it just in time to leap clear, but the next instant we are in the middle of one. Our horses, with frantic plunges, scramble out; and on we go. We get closer and closer to the buffaloes, when a loud thundering of trampling hoofs sounds behind us. Looking over our shoulders, there, in plain sight, appears another herd, tearing down on our rear. For nearly a mile in width stretches a line of angry faces, a rolling surf of wind-blown hair, a row of quivering lights burning with a reddish-brown hue--the eyes of the infuriated animals. Should our horses stumble, our fate will be sealed. It is certain death to be involved in the herd. So is it to turn back. In an instant we should be trampled and gored to death. Our only hope is to ride steadily in the line of the stampede, till we can insinuate ourselves laterally, and break out through the side of the herd. Yet the hope of doing so is but small.

On we rush rapidly as before, when suddenly, to our great satisfaction, the herd before us divides into two columns, to pass round a low hill in front. Still on we go, pushing our horses up the height. We reach the summit, the horses panting fearfully, and the moisture trickling in streams from their sides. But now the rear column comes on. They see us, not fifty rods off, but happily pay no attention to us. We dismount, facing the furious creatures. Should they not divide, but come over the hill, in a few moments we must be trampled to death. The herd approaches to within a hundred yards of the hill. We lift our rifles and deliver a couple of steadily aimed bullets at the fore-shoulders of the nearest bulls. One gives a wild jump, and limps on with three legs; the other seems at first unhurt; but just as they reach the foot of the mound, they both fall down. The whole host are rushing over them. We rapidly reload. The fate of their comrades, however, sends a panic into the hearts of the herd. Another falls just when they are so close that we could have sprung on their backs. At that moment they divide, and the next we are standing on a desert island, a sea of billowing backs flowing round on either side in a half-mile current of crazy buffaloes. The herd is fully five minutes in passing us. We watch them as they come, and as the last laggers pant by the mound we look westward and see the stampeders halting. We soon understand the cause. They have come up with the main herd. Yes, there, in full sight of us, is the buffalo army, extending its deep line as far as the western horizon. The whole earth is black with them. From a point a mile in front of us, their rear line extends on the north to the bluffs bounding the banks of the river on which we had camped. On the south it reaches the summits of some distant heights fully six miles away. When it is known that with our field-glasses we can recognise an object the size of a buffalo ten miles distant, and that the mass extends even beyond the horizon, some idea may be formed of the immense number of animals congregated in the herd. To say that there are ten thousand, would be to give a very low estimate of their numbers.

The same writer from whose work the above is taken, describes an extraordinary instance of friendship exhibited by a buffalo bull for one of his comrades. (Generally speaking, the buffalo, even in the pairing season, will forsake the wounded cow, and the cow will not stay one moment to protect her hurt calf.) He was out hunting on one occasion, when, having been for some time unsuccessful, and being anxious to retrieve his character by bringing home some meat to camp, he caught sight of two fine buffalo bulls on a broad meadow on the opposite side of a stream. Dismounting from his horse, he took steady aim at the nearest buffalo, which was grazing with its haunches towards him. The ball broke the animal's right hip, and he plunged away on three legs, the other hanging useless. He leaped on his horse, put spurs to its flanks, and in three minutes was close on the bull's rear. To his astonishment, and the still greater surprise of the two old hunters who came after him, the unhurt bull stuck to his comrade's side without flinching. He fired another shot, which took effect in the lungs of the first buffalo. The second moved off for a moment, but instantly returned to his friend. The wounded buffalo became distressed, and slackened his pace. The unwounded one not only retarded his, but coming to the rear of his friend, stood, with his head down, offering battle. "Here indeed was devotion which had no instinct to inspire it. The sight was sublime! The hunters could no more have accepted the challenge of the brave creature, than they could have smitten Damon at the side of Pythias. The wounded buffalo ran on to the border of the next marsh, and, in attempting to cross, fell headlong down the steep bank, and never rose again. Not till that moment, when courage was useless, did the faithful creature consider his own safety in flight. The hunters took off their hats as he walked away, and gave three parting cheers as the gallant buffalo vanished beyond the fringing timber."

The half-breed hunters of Rupert's Land make two expeditions in the year in search of buffaloes--one in the middle of June, and the other in October. They divide into three bands, each taking a separate route, for the purpose of falling in with the herds of buffaloes. These bands are each accompanied by about five hundred carts, drawn by either an ox or a horse. They are curious vehicles, roughly formed with their own axes, and fastened together with wooden pins and leather thongs, not a nail being used. The tires of the wheels are made of buffalo hide, and put on wet. When they become dry, they shrink, and are so tight that they never fall off, and last as long as the cart holds together. The carts contain the women and children, and provisions, and are intended to bring back the spoils of the chase. Each is decorated with some flag, so that the hunters may recognise their own from a distance. They may be seen winding off in one wide line extending for miles, and accompanied by the hunters on horseback. These expeditions run the danger of being attacked by the Sioux Indians, who inhabit the prairies to the south. The camps are therefore well surrounded by scouts, for the purpose of reconnoitring either for enemies or buffaloes. If they see the latter, they make a signal by throwing up handfuls of dust; if the former, by running their horses to and fro.

Mr Paul Kane, the Canadian artist, describes one of these expeditions which he joined. On their way they were visited by twelve Sioux chiefs, who came for the purpose of negotiating a permanent peace; but whilst smoking the pipe of peace in the council lodge, the dead body of a half-breed, who had gone to a distance from the camp, was brought in newly scalped, and his death was at once attributed to the Sioux. Had not the older and more temperate half-breeds interfered, the young men would have destroyed the twelve chiefs on the spot: as it was, they were allowed to depart unharmed. Three days afterwards, however, the scouts were observed making the signal of enemies being in sight. Immediately a hundred of the best-mounted hastened to the spot, and concealing themselves behind the shelter of the bank of a stream, sent out two of their number as decoys, to expose themselves to the view of the Sioux. The latter, supposing them to be alone, rushed upon them; whereupon the concealed half-breeds sprang up and poured in a volley which brought down eight. The others escaped, though several must have been wounded.

Two small herds having been met with, of which several animals were killed, the scouts one morning brought in word that an immense herd of bulls was in advance about two miles off. They are known in the distance from the cows by their feeding singly, and being scattered over the plain,--whereas the cows keep together, for the purpose of protecting the calves, which are always kept in the centre of the herd.

We will start at daybreak with our friend, and a half-breed as a guide. Six hours' hard riding brings us to within a quarter of a mile of the nearest herd. The main body stretches over the plains as far as the eye can reach, the wind blowing in our faces. We should have liked to have attacked them at once, but the guide will not hear of it, as it is contrary to the law of his tribe. We therefore shelter ourselves behind a mound, relieving our horses of their saddles to cool them. In about an hour one hundred and thirty hunters come up, every man loading his gun, looking to the priming, and examining the efficiency of his saddle-girths. The elder caution the less experienced not to shoot each other,--such accidents sometimes occurring. Each hunter then fills his mouth with bullets, which he drops into the gun without wadding; by this means loading more quickly, and being able to do so whilst his horse is at full speed. We slowly walk our horses towards the herd. Advancing about two hundred yards, the animals perceive us, and start off in the opposite direction, at the top of their speed. We now urge our horses to full gallop, and in twenty minutes are in the midst of the stamping long-haired herd. There cannot be less than four or five thousand in our immediate vicinity,--all bulls; not a single cow amongst them. The scene now becomes one of intense excitement,--the huge bulk thundering over the plain in headlong confusion, while the fearless hunters ride recklessly in their midst, keeping up an incessant fire but a few yards from their victims. Upon the fall of each buffalo the hunter merely throws, close to it, some article of his apparel to denote his own prey, and then rushes on to another. The chase continues for about one hour, extending over an area of about six square miles, where may be seen the dead and dying buffaloes to the number of five hundred. In spite of his horsemanship, more than one hunter has been thrown from his steed, in consequence of the innumerable badger-holes in which the plains abound. Two others are carried back to camp insensible. We have just put a bullet through an enormous bull. He does not fall, but stops, facing us, pawing the earth, bellowing, and glaring savagely. The blood is streaming from his mouth, and it seems as if he must speedily drop. We watch him, admiring his ferocious aspect, combating with death. Suddenly he makes a dash towards us, and we have barely time to escape the charge; when, reloading, we again fire, and he sinks to the ground.

The carts bring in the slaughtered animals to the camp, when the squaws set to work, aided by the men, to cut them up, and prepare them for drying and for making pemmican. The women are soon busily employed in cutting the flesh into slices, and in hanging them in the sun on poles. The dried meat is then pounded between two stones till the fibres separate. About fifty pounds of it is put into a bag of buffalo skin, with about forty pounds of melted fat, which, being mixed while hot, forms a hard and compact mass. Hence its name, in the Cree language, of pemmican--_pemmi_ signifying meat, and _kon_ fat--usually, however, spelt pemmican. One pound of pemmican is considered equal to four pounds of ordinary meat,--and it keeps for years, perfectly good, exposed to any weather.

The prairie Indians obtain buffaloes by driving them into huge pounds, where they are slaughtered. The pounds, however, can only be made in the neighbourhood of forests, from whence the logs for their formation can be obtained. The pound consists of a circular fence about 130 feet broad. It is constructed of the trunks of trees laced together with withies, with outside supports about 5 feet high. At one side an entrance is left about 10 feet wide, with a deep trench across it, on the outside of which there is a strong trunk of a tree placed, about a foot from the ground. The animals, on being driven in, leap over this, clearing the trench, which of course prevents them from returning. From the entrance two rows of bushes or posts, which are called "dead men," diverge towards the direction from which the buffaloes are likely to come. They are placed from 20 feet to 50 feet apart, and the distance between the extremities of the two rows at their outer termination is nearly two miles. Behind each of these "dead men" an Indian is stationed, to prevent the buffaloes when passing up the avenue from breaking out. Meantime, the hunters, mounted on fleet horses, range the country to a distance of eighteen or twenty miles in search of a herd. The buffalo has an unaccountable propensity which makes him endeavour to cross in front of the hunter's horse. They will frequently, indeed, follow a horseman for miles in order to do so. He thus possesses an unfailing means, by a dexterous management of his horse, of conducting the animals into the trap prepared for them. The men also conceal themselves in hollows and depressions in the ground, so as to assist in turning the herd, should they attempt to escape in that direction. And now some three or four hundred head of shaggy monsters are driven to the expanded mouth of the avenue. The horsemen follow in their rear, and prevent them turning back. Meantime the Indians stationed behind the "dead men" rise, shaking their bows, yelling, and urging them on. Thus they proceed, madly rushing on, the passage growing narrower and narrower, while they, pressed together, are unable to see the danger ahead. The foremost at length reach the fatal ditch, and leaping over, enter the pound, the rest madly following. "The animals now begin to gallop round and round the fence, looking for some means of escape; but women and children on the outside, keeping perfectly silent, hold their robes before every orifice, till the whole herd is brought in. They then climb to the top of the fence, and the hunters, who have followed closely in the rear of the buffaloes, spear and shoot with bows and arrows or firearms at the bewildered animals, rapidly becoming frantic with fear and terror in the narrow limits of the pound. A dreadful scene of confusion and slaughter then ensues. The older animals toss the younger. The shouts and screams of the Indians rise above the roar of the bulls, the bellowing of the cows, and the moaning of the calves. The dying struggles of so many powerful animals crowded together, create a revolting scene, dreadful for its excess of cruelty and waste of life." [Hind.]

In consequence of this wholesale and wanton destruction, the buffalo has greatly diminished; and the Indians agree in the belief that their people, in like manner, will decrease till none are left. It is computed that for many years past no less than 145,000 buffaloes have annually been killed in British territory; while on the great prairies claimed by the United States a still greater number have been slaughtered. In one year--1855--on the British side of the boundary, there were 20,000 robes of skins received at York Factory alone; and probably not fewer than 230,000 head of buffalo were slaughtered in the previous year. This number would have been sufficient to sustain a population of a quarter of a million. Yet so vast a number of the animals are left to rot on the ground, that in all probability not more than 30,000 Indians fed on the flesh of the slaughtered buffaloes.

The civilised fur-traders, however, with greater forethought, take means to preserve the flesh of the animals they kill in the neighbourhood of the forts, so that it may last them through the summer. For this purpose they dig a square pit capable of containing seven or eight hundred carcasses. As soon as the ice in the river is of sufficient thickness, it is cut with saws into square blocks, of a uniform size, with which the floor of the pit is regularly paved. The blocks are then cemented together by pouring water in between them, and allowing it to freeze into a solid mass. In like manner the walls are built up to the surface of the ground. The head and feet being cut off, each carcass, without being skinned, is divided into quarters; and these are piled in layers in the pit, till it is filled up, when the whole is covered with a thick coating of straw, which is again protected from the sun and rain by a shed. In this manner the meat is preserved in good condition through the whole summer, and is considered more tender and better flavoured than when freshly killed.

Even in the winter the buffalo continues to range over the plains in a far northern latitude. Mr Kane mentions seeing a band, numbering nearly ten thousand, at the very northern confines of the Fertile Belt, where the snow was very deep at the time. They, however, had never before appeared in such vast numbers near the Company's establishments. Some, on on that occasion, were shot within the gates of Fort Edmonton. They had killed with their horns twenty or thirty horses, in their attempt to drive them from the patches of grass which the horses had laid bare with their hoofs. They were probably migrating northward, to escape the human migrations so rapidly filling up the southern and western regions which were formerly their pasture-grounds.

The Cree Indians use dogs to draw their sleighs. They are powerful, savage animals, having a good deal of the wolf about them. They are considered as valuable as horses, as everything is drawn over the snow by them. When buffaloes have been killed in winter, the dead animals are drawn in by them to the camp; and two can thus easily drag a large cow buffalo over the snow. The sleigh or cariole used in these regions is formed of a thin flat board about eighteen inches wide, bent up in front, with a straight back behind to lean against. The sides are made of fresh buffalo hide, with the hair completely scraped off, and which, lapping over, entirely covers the front part, so that a person slips into it as into a tin bath. Each carries but one passenger. The driver, on snow-shoes, runs behind to guide the dogs. Each sleigh is drawn by four dogs, their backs gaudily decorated with saddle-cloths of various colours, fringed, and embroidered in the most fantastic manner, and with innumerable small bells and feathers. Two men run before on snow-shoes to beat a track, which the dogs instinctively follow. A long cavalcade of this description has a very picturesque appearance.

While thus travelling, our friend Mr Kane caught sight of a herd of buffaloes, which did not perceive the approach of the party till the foremost sleigh was so near as to excite the dogs, who rushed furiously after them, notwithstanding all the efforts of the drivers to keep them back. The spirit of the hunt was at once communicated through the whole line, and the entire party were in an instant dashing along at a furious rate after the buffaloes. The frightened animals made a bold dash at length through a deep snow-bank, and attempted to scramble up the steep side of the river, the top of which the foremost one had nearly reached, when, slipping, he rolled down and knocked over those behind, one on the top of the other, into the deep snow-drift, from which men and dogs were struggling in vain to extricate themselves. It would be impossible to describe the wild scene of uproar that followed. One of the sleighs was smashed, and a man nearly killed; but at length the party succeeded in getting clear, and repairing the damage.

In some districts, where the buffaloes can with difficulty be approached, the Indians employ a stratagem to get them within reach of their arrows or rifles. One of the Indians covers himself in a wolf's skin, another with a buffalo skin. They then crawl on all-fours within sight of the buffaloes, and as soon as they have engaged their attention, the pretended wolf jumps on the pretended calf, which bellows in imitation of the real one. The buffaloes are easily deceived in this way, as the bellowing is generally perfect, and the herd rush on to the protection of their supposed young, with such impetuosity that they do not perceive the cheat till they are quite close enough to be shot.

On one occasion Mr Kane and his Indian companion fell in with a solitary bull and cow. On this they made a "calf," as the ruse is called. The cow attempted to spring towards them, but the bull, seeming to understand the trick, tried to stop her by running between them. The cow now dodged and got round him, and ran within ten or fifteen yards of the hunters, with the bull close at her heels, when both men fired, and brought her down. The bull instantly stopped short, and, bending over her, tried to help her up with his nose--evincing the most persevering affection for her; nor could they get rid of him, so as to cut up the cow, without shooting him also, although at that time of the year bull flesh is not valued as food when the female can be obtained. This, and another example which has been given, show that these animals are capable of great affection for each other.

The Indians also occasionally approach a herd from leeward, crawling along the ground so as to look like huge snakes winding their way amid the snow or grass, and can thus get sufficiently near to shoot these usually wary animals. _

Read next: Part 1: Chapter 6. Rodents

Read previous: Part 1: Chapter 4. General Survey Of The Zoology Of North America

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