338 APPENDIX. 



I 



alarm predominate even in the wildest districts, where the sight of 

 man is unknown, or at least unremembered. At the slightest sound 

 the ruminants and rodents cease feeding, remaining motionless 

 either from fear or instinct ; the rabbit or hare thus frequently- 

 avoiding detection, whilst the moose can so silently withdraw if 

 suspecting an enemy, that I have on more than one occasion 

 remained hours together on the stillest night, believing the animal 

 to be standing within a few yards in a neighbouring thicket, to 

 which he had advanced in answer to the call, and found at length 

 that he had suspiciously retreated. The great creature had retired, 

 worming his huge bulk and ponderous antlers through the entangled 

 swamp, without detection of the straining ear to which the nibbling 

 of a porcupine at the bark of a tree in the same grove was plainly 

 audible. 



The habits and sounds of animals at night are especially familiar 

 to the hunter when calling the moose in the clear moonlight nights, 

 of September and October, — the season when this animal, forgetting 

 his usual caution and taciturnity, finds a voice to answer the plain- 

 tive call of his mate, and often advances to sure destruction, within 

 a few yards of his concealed foe. As the sun lowers beneath the 

 horizon, and twilight is giving place to the uncertain light of the 

 moon, we listen between the intervals of the Indian's calls (about 

 twenty minutes is generally allowed) to the sounds indicating the 

 movements of nocturnal animals and birds. The squirrels which 

 have raced around us and angrily chirruped defiance from the sur- 

 rounding trees, all through the twilight, have at last scuttled, one 

 and all, into their holes and fastnesses, and the small birds drop, 

 one by one — the latest being the common robin, who is loth to leave 

 his rich pickings of ripe berries on the upland barren, on which he 

 revels ere taking his annual departure — into the bushes. No longer 

 annoyed by the multitudinous hum and bustle of diurnal animal 

 life, the ear is now relieved, and anxiously criticises the nocturnal 

 sounds which take their place. A little pattering amongst the 

 leaves, and cracking of small sticks (often mistaken by the ambushed 

 hunter. when listening for sounds of moose, for the cautious move- 

 ments of the latter animal), attests the presence abroad of the 

 porcupine, come forth from rocky cavern or hollow tree to revel on 

 berries, nuts, and the rind of young trees. A perfect " monitor " in 

 his coat of protecting armour, he fears neither the talons of the 

 swooping owl, or the spring of the wild cat. Woe to the peace of 

 mind and bodily comfort of his adventurous assailant, for the barbed 



