Caribou Hunting. 
It was settled that it was to be a hunting 
trip—my first one—and that I could allow my¬ 
self just ten days’ time; where to take it was 
very much unsettled. 
Then came my friends, and I must say there 
is the widest difference in the world between the 
hunter and the fisherman. The man with the 
rod will prospect around until he discovers a 
quiet pool where the big ones retire, and there 
he will hie himself in secret and never a word 
to any one. He will tell you readily enough of 
the two-pounder that he caught and also of the 
four-pounder that he lost, but when, slyly 
hiding all eagerness, you gently and uncon¬ 
cernedly ask where all this happened, he has a 
way of slowly closing his eyes in a dreamy 
reverie and you can feel that he is once more 
at the quiet pool, and that you have been 
left behind. 
Not so with the hunter. He is an open- 
hearted fellow, and whether it be the farmer’s 
boy who has successfully stalked a woodchuck, 
or the city man who comes back with the head 
of a moose, he will be all eagerness to tell you 
where it was done and all about it. 
And so. when I asked where to go, these 
friends of mine with the characteristic generosity 
of the hunter, kept nothing back. They said, 
go to Newfoundland for the caribou, and I went. 
Two days by steamer from Boston to Port 
Hawkesbury, half a day by rail to North Sydney, 
across the channel to Port au Basque, and I 
was in the land of promise. I telegraphed ahead 
for guide, cook and camping outfit, and so when 
I got off at Spruce Brook after a seven-hour 
ride on the little narrow gauge railroad, I found 
myself comfortably housed in a log camp with 
everything in readiness to start off in the morn¬ 
ing. This camp is the home of four young 
Englishmen who came over to colonize in this 
out-of-the-way place, and being men of educa¬ 
tion and refinement, and intending to make this 
their permanent home, they have surrounded 
themselves with every comfort. 
The house is one of the finest camps T have 
ever been in—more like a Swiss chalet than any¬ 
thing else; and while it is far away from any 
settlement, it has everything in itself for com¬ 
fort and even rough luxury. There is a little 
clearing of a couple of acres, and then on all 
sides are miles of dense forest of spruce and 
pine. 
It was late September, just before the rutting 
season, and I was told that we must go to the 
barren hills for the caribou, and as there was no 
waterway, everything had to be packed. We 
started at 5 o’clock in the morning, the guide 
and cook, both French natives, bowed down 
under packs of seventy pounds for our journey 
of twenty-five miles through the woods. They 
were small men, and the packs were great, un¬ 
wieldy bundles fastened by a broad strap across 
the breast and another brought over the fore¬ 
head, and, leaning forward, as they walked, with 
the strained expression the drawing straps gave, 
they looked like men undergoing some cruel 
punishment. In the goodness of my heart I 
told them not to try to go too far, to stop and 
rest often and to at least let me carry the axes. 
As I saw them stagger off, even then I felt 
compunctions of conscience to think that 
human beings should have such work to do and 
all for my pleasure. 
I who was following free and unencumbered 
with anything but my rifle and the axes, called 
to mind that passage in the Bible that refers to 
those that lay heavy burdens upon men and 
lift not one jot with their own hands, and it 
troubled me. 
It was very cold at first, with a little flurry of 
snow, but after walking for a mile or so I be¬ 
gan to feel warm enough. The growth was 
smaller than that of the Maine woods, but it was 
very thick and we had to wind our way in and 
out, over windfalls and under them, now making 
a detour around a large boulder and then 
through some tangled mass of thicket. With 
every footstep I sank into the spongy moss, and 
it was really hard work, and I leaned against 
a windfall now and then for a minute's rest. 
Then the sun came out in all the glory he re¬ 
serves for this particular country, and the mil¬ 
lions of drops of water that covered the spruces 
glistened and shone like diamonds. The air is 
different from anything I had known before. It 
was charged with elements quite unfamiliar, 
there was an exhilarating tingle to it, and I give 
up breathing and fairly drank it down in long 
draughts, stopping only to catch the flavor of 
the balsam and sweet grasses. It seemed as 
though if it were not for the hills one could see 
through it to the ends of the earth. 
The two little men, what of them? My pity 
had long since changed to wonder at their en¬ 
durance, for they had plodded on with the same 
strained look, but apparently as fresh as when 
they first started, while I was fairly blown. 
We had stopped for a short rest every half- 
mile, but while I stretched out full length to get 
the full benefit of it, these two occupied 
themselves by picking berries. They were 
quiet men and did not talk much, but I could 
feel that Mother Nature considered them as 
nearer and dearer children than we of the city, 
and she taught them many things she does not 
confide in us. 
When we stopped at noon for lunch, we built 
a big fire of dead wood and dried out our boots 
and socks, while from the other side of the fire 
there came a comfortable sizzle of bacon and 
for one moment there came the thought that, 
after all, if the scent of the ozone was good, so 
was that of sizzling bacon. Seven hours of 
walking in this country bears its fruit in the* 
way of an appetite and how good everything 
tasted, the bacon and bread and tea, with a little 
marmalade as dessert. 
We camped a little before sunset and were 
off again in the morning. Shortly after noon 
we made our final camp in the woods at the 
edge of the big barren hills. Having lunch and 
a short smoke— f or now all weariness had been 
shaken off, and I was all eagerness to get to 
work—we left the cook to put up the camp 
while the guide and I walked up to the barrens. 
The name well describes them; few or no trees, 
covered more or less thickly with blueberry 
bushes, lichen and moss and bound together by 
huge ledges of rock. These barrens occur all 
through the island and vary from a single hill 
to ranges sixty miles long by ten wide. This is 
the feeding ground of the caribou, and it is 
here they gather in herds on their migration 
from the North. 
Climbing up to a position beside a huge 
boulder on the highest part of the hill, we 
surveyed the wide expanse spread out before us. 
Miles upon miles of virgin country; wild, rugged, 
barren hills, long stretches of forest with a 
splash here and there showing pond or lake, it 
was the handiwork of God. Before this man 
and all his little undertakings, his ambitions, 
hopes and fears were dwarfed into utter insig¬ 
nificance and the Infinite alone existed. We 
both must have been actuated by the same 
thoughts, for it was several minutes before 
either spoke, and then it was with a hushed 
voice that even then sounded strange and un¬ 
familiar. However, it is not human to long re¬ 
main on a pinnacle of exaltation, and coming 
down to our own affairs again with all their 
usual weighty importance, we swept the nearby 
hills with the field glass in search of game. 
Nothing was in sight; but caribou are great 
travelers, and our chances were better here than 
anywhere else, so we lighted our pipes and 
trusted in the chance that some would come 
our way. Half an hour and then an hour crept 
by, and it began to look as though a change of 
position would be better, when, just as I was 
putting a match to a fresh pipe, there was a 
“Hist!” and I felt myself being gently pushed 
back under cover of the rock. Peering out to 
a distant part of the barren, the guide had his 
eye on something, while I. crouching down be¬ 
side the rock, occupied myself in developing the 
clammy sweat and nervous chill of the green 
hunter. Satisfying himself, the guide spent a 
couple of minutes pointing the caribou cut to 
me. Finally I caught the five little white spots 
in the distance with my glass and accepting 
blindly his statement that there was a big one, 
we' started. 
As we were to the windward, a long stalk 
was necessary, but we could take advantages of 
the unequality of the ground and keep out of 
sight for the first of the distance. Over one 
side of the rise we went, now running when 
under cover of the hill and now skulking 
through the low brushes, splashing through 
little marshes and scrambling over rocks, the 
guide always in front, and I scrupulously fol¬ 
lowing in his footsteps. Oh! the excitement of 
it all! No longer a clammy sweat, but one of 
a more wholesome order and breath that was 
coming in quick gasps, while for the hundredth 
time I tried the rifle action to see that it was in 
working order. 
Still we went on and we had to hurry, too, for 
