Gaut Gurley; Or, the Trappers of Umbagog: A Tale of Border LifeThompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
General
Gaut Gurley; Or, the Trappers of Umbagog: A Tale of Border Life
Thompson, Daniel P. (Daniel Pierce)
Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Maine -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction
"And I was on hand at the time, and the next hour on my way home, which I
duly reached, but only to start off immediately to the residence of a
hunter acquaintance, a dozen miles off, who, I knew, was about to start for
the head-waters of the Connecticut, on his annual fall hunting expedition.
I found him, joined him, and within ten days was entering, with pack and
rifle, the unbroken wilderness, by his side, though with many misgivings.
But my first night out tested and settled the matter forever. We had had a
fatiguing march, at least to me, and the last part of it in the rain. We
had to lay down in a leaking camp, and I counted myself a dead man. But, to
my astonishment, I awoke the next morning, unhurt, and even feeling better
than I had for a month. And I constantly grew better and hardier, through
that and my next year's campaign in that region, and through the two
succeeding ones I made on the Great Megantic; where the incident which I
propose to relate to you, it being my best strike in moose-hunting,
occurred, and which happened in this wise:
"It was a raw, gloomy day in November, and I had been lazily lying in my
solitary camp, on the borders of this magnificent lake, all the forenoon.
But, after dinner, I began to feel a little more like action, and soon
concluded I would explore a sort of creek-looking stream, four or five rods
wide, which I had noticed entering the lake about a mile off, but which I
had never entered. Accordingly, I loaded my rifle, took my powder-horn, put
two spare bullets in my vest-pocket, not supposing I could have use for
more, entered my canoe, and pulled leisurely away for the place. After
reaching and entering this sluggish stream, I went on paddling and pushing
my way along through and under the overhanging bushes and treetops,
something like half a mile, when I came to higher banks and a series of
knolls jutting down to the stream, which, with frequent sharp curves and
crooks, wound its way among them. On turning one of these sharp points, my
eyes suddenly encountered a sight that made my heart jump. On a high, open,
and almost bare bluff, directly before me, and not fifteen rods distant,
stood two tremendous moose, as unconcernedly as a pair of oxen chewing
their cuds, or dozing in a pasture. The last was unusually large, the
biggest a monster, appearing, to my wide-opened eyes, with his eight or
nine foot height, and ten or eleven foot spread of antlers, as he stood up
there against the sky, like some reproduced mastodon of the old legends.
Quietly falling back and running in under a screening treetop, I pulled
down a branch and put in under my foot to hold and steady my canoe. When I
raised my rifle, I aimed it for the heart of the big moose, and fired. But,
to my great surprise, the animal never stirred nor moved a muscle.
Supposing I had somehow unaccountably missed hitting him, even at all, I
fell, with nervous haste, to reloading my piece; and, having got all right,
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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