VISIT TO ST. FRANCIS. 59 



repelling the intruder. Listening to the repeated calls, 

 again and again the bull answers, till at length he is 

 drawn within the range of the rifle of the secreted hunter. 

 My maiden effort at moose-shooting was made in such a 

 manner. As if it were but yesterday, the whole adventure 

 is written plainly on my memory. I had only been in 

 America a few months. The attractions of Saratoga I 

 could not avoid, and when there became acquainted with a 

 family of St. Francis Indians, earning a precarious sub- 

 sistence by basket-making. Before this I had never met 

 any of the aborigines of the American continent, and 

 hour after hour I passed idling around their encampment, 

 listening to stories of the chase, and more especially of 

 moose-hunting. The dark-skinned race got my spare 

 pocket-money, and I in return all their knowledge of 

 woodcraft that could be theoretically imparted. The spirit 

 of adventure had become excited within me, and ere I left 

 Saratoga I had faithfully promised to visit St. Francis in 

 autumn, to join one of my new acquaintances in a moose- 

 .hunt. 



The beautiful tints of an American fall were in their 

 greatest brilliancy when I reached the termination of a 

 long and tedious journey to accept the proffered hospi- 

 talities. My reception was not so enthusiastic as I 

 expected ; in fact, my ardour was a little damped by the 

 marked coolness of my host. Yet after coming such a dis- 

 tance, I was determined to carry out my project, and a 

 well-stocked purse enabled me to do so. Starting at early 

 morning, on a beautiful clear day, we descended a tributary 

 stream of the Penobscot river, for eight or ten hours. 



