Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXIII. 
August 1, 1914 
No. 5 
Among The Wild Hyacinth 
Introducing the Caribou Dance and the Rollicking Evenings in Camp 
By Charles Frederick Holder 
Author of “The Game Fishes of the World,” “Recreations of a Sportsman” 
N EARLY every night I go out on to the 
broad veranda, which surrounds “San 
Souci” and is not a stone’s throw from 
the dense forest, and, in deep silence, listen. I 
am not a misanthrope. I like the big noises of 
the living world and am no recluse by nature, 
so can enjoy the not vain imaginings of this per¬ 
fect silence which come stalking out of the for¬ 
est. It is so eternally still and mysterious that 
all things are magnified—the falling leaif, the 
breaking of the slightest twig before the weird 
forest night wind; then silence profound settles 
down; silence so deep that I can feel it; and 
some how it beckons to me and I step out on to 
the lawn, take the little trail and move slowly 
on into the impenetrable gloom. 
I can just make out the trees, the weird white 
shapes of the silver birches, the deeper, darker 
forms of maples. I go on and on, up 'the trail, 
but can never, seemingly, reach the weird sounds 
which break the stillness of the night in the 
Laurentian forest. 
At last I stand and listen, as far away, near 
Grande Piles, I hear a gentle moaning sound. On 
it comes, high in air, like the rustling of wings. 
Louder and louder it grows, and suddenly the 
black forest seems filled with music, each leaf, 
bough or branch swept by some caressing hand. 
I stand transfixed, listening as it passes on and 
on, and is even now at St. Flore and far away. 
How environment and circumstances lend mys- 
ter and joy to the simplest things! This mys¬ 
terious something above the tree-tops is only the 
wind sweeping over the Laurentian woods and 
lakes, to startle birds, trout and anglers. 
I am called back to the caribou dance by all 
the habitants of the neighborhood, who have been 
invited for the occasion. Eubald is playing the 
fiddle. All the canoemen are here: Tom and 
George Cadarette, Gaston, Champaigne, and 
Madame Champaigne; and were it not so exe¬ 
crable a pun, I would affirm that Mons. Cham¬ 
paigne is extra dry — but I resist the inclination. 
He certainly was after the Caribou Hunt, but 
the hospitalities of “San Souci” saved the day. 
There, too, is the most famous caribou hunter of 
the whole country, that is, for the dance, and 
..when it comes to the caribou himself, no one will 
do but Eubald. Amid much laughter the hunt 
begins, for you must understand the caribou 
dance is carried on by two caribou hunters, men 
who enact the story of a real hunt. Mons. Gas¬ 
ton now has the fiddle and out comes the hunter, 
old Mons. Champaigne. 
He creeps slowly and gently through the 
brush; he parts it carefully, stopping now and 
then to put his hand up to his ear, listening in¬ 
tently, but always keeping time. Now he comes 
into the open on the edge of the forest and sees 
the caribou, who, in the guise of Eubald now 
appears, stopping suddenly to listen, then pre- 
Gee, He’s A Bird! 
tending to feed; moving slowly along, at first un¬ 
suspicious, then getting the scent. 
Mons. Champaigne, the hunter, now sees the 
game, raises his gun, and is about to fire, when 
the caribou perceives him and dashes away, the 
hunter in full pursuit. Louder rises the music, 
greaier the excitement, everyone on the qui vive, 
as the hunter has now cocked 'his gun and is 
winding about, this way and that, side-stepping 
from tree to tree. He is down the wind and the 
caribou is plainly demoralized. Suddenly the 
hunter creeps from tree to tree (to slow music), 
sees the top of the caribou’s head over the brush, 
aims, fires! and down Eubald goes, rolling over 
and over, trying to rise and escape, to tremend¬ 
ous music. 
But Mons. Champaigne is upon him and, draw¬ 
ing his fierce wooden knife, he seizes the caribou 
by the horns (Eubald’s hair) and cuts his throat, 
amid victorious applause and to slow music. He 
now cuts up the body and skins it, sitting on 
Eubald the while, rolling him over and over, 
amid great laughter. Not a move is missed in 
this really remarkable dance depicting the suc¬ 
cessful hunt, which occasions cheers and more 
laughter, and is a never-failing entertainment 
among the habitants. 
After the ending of the hunt Eubald took up 
his fiddle and sang: 
“En roulant ma boule roulant, 
En roulant ma boule 
Derrier’ ohez nous, yatun etang, 
En roulant ma boule. 
Trois beaux canards s’en vont baignant, 
Rouii, rcular.t. ma boule roulant, etc., etc., etc.” 
“San Souci” stands just above Lac Perchaude, 
which abounds in frogs. You could hear the 
deep booming notes of the big bullfrogs almost 
any time. It was one of the sports of the bear 
hunter to shoot them with a rifle, and so success¬ 
ful was he that we often had these choice viands. 
Almost every day, and often many times a day, 
I would go down through the silver birches and 
Tom or George Cadarette or Phil-o-rum Juneau 
would paddle me around the edge of the lake, 
the canoe gliding along . silently, as I cast for 
black bass. They were wary, and my habit of 
long casting was against me. For some reason, 
short casts were the most successful here, but I 
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