This section is from the book "Moose-Hunting Salmon-Fishing And Other Sketches Of Sport Being The Record Of Personal Experiences Of Hunting Wild Game In Canada", by T. R. Pattillo. Also available from Amazon: Moose-Hunting, Salmon-Fishing and Other Sketches of Sport: Being the Record of Personal Experiences of Hunting Wild Game in Canada.
In the morning we went to the meadow, as already stated, having no luck, so after another trip by Bob to the lake without success, and of Jack and I to the trout-pool, where we caught twenty-five more trout, we had dinner, secured camp, and moved over to the Big Bog again. An hour's sun finds us on it. "Now," says Jack, "there is a kind of island about a quarter of a mile up; it is quite high, with good shelter for you and me, and we'll go up there." So we went, and it was the proper spot, apparently made on purpose for calling moose. It was about 75 yards from each side of the bog, with a mile of opening above, and 500 yards below. The island itself was 25 yards across and 70 yards up and down the length of the bog, the middle being raised some 12 feet, and this was covered with small trees of birch and maple. Jack takes the middle, gets on a boulder, and cuts the tops off the trees that would shut off his view in every direction. This done, Bob and I got down to the very edge, and cleared out tracks for us to see out easily, while being concealed ourselves. " Are you all ready, boys! " said Jack. " Yes," we replied, and immediately there rang out over the woods, " Mwar! " It was a proper evening for the business calm, bright sky, and a clear sunset; everything in our favour. Ere that sound had died on the ear, a responsive "Bwar!" was coming back. "I'll bet that's the big fellow," said Jack; "and he's fierce: I know by the way he answers." Jack gave a second low call. We spied the moose rolling along at a rapid rate down the bog, as though he were "lord of creation," not halting until he was within 125 yards of us. Oh, what a monster I What eyes! What horns! " If we miss, Bob, the Lord help us! we'll never see home again." He stood for a little, as if reconnoitring, then walked towards us; he was apparently fidgety, those big eyes were glaring as if looking into futurity, and those immense ears listening intently. Still he kept coming, until he was only 75 yards away, right head on, and, if he didn't come any nearer, was within shot. I can assure you, reader, that was an anxious time. If he would only come a little closer, we could scarcely miss him, if our guns were true. Jack gave a funny little coaxing call. He started quickly up, and came within 60 yards. "Now, my boy, if nothing happens as bad as the snapping of our caps, you are ours!"
I was so excited that it was hard to hold my gun steady. There he stood, his breath nearly falling on us, but looking directly, as we thought, at us. " If he would only turn quartering, so that we could get his shoulder ! We did not have to wait long before he turned side-to, as much as to say, "Shoot away I" "Are you ready, Bob?" One! two! "Bang-ang-ang!" all three guns. Our monster, where was he ? On the ground, kicking his last kick, and we his captors, having now all the moose we needed, shouted, hooted, halloaed, sang, whistled, and danced. What luck ! What luck! What luck I After we had partly recovered from our excitement, we went in for examination, and to bleed him. We found that every bullet had hit him, and any one of them would have eventually killed him, while one had gone through his heart. His antlers were six feet wide beauties, and his body weighed 950 lbs. "There," said Jack, "didn't I tell you we were going to see this big fellow, and would get a shot at him ? " We partly dressed him that night, and finished him next morning, when Bob at daylight started out to the Broad Rive* settlement, for a yoke of oxen and a couple of hands to help in getting the game to the post-road. This ox-team, with our own from town with a span of horses, reached the camp at ten o'clock. We took the oxen on to the Big Bog, and up beside the carcase of our big fellow just where he fell, and loaded him on there. While doing this, Bob and the town driver were loading up the other waggon at the camp, so that when we returned to them, everything was ready for a good-bye meal, and a speedy start for home. At one o'clock we bade the scenes of a pleasant week's sport adieu, with three rousing cheers for the Queen, and Broad River shooting-grounds, shouldered the guns, and started on foot for the main post-road, the teams following. As we expected to see partridges on our road home, we loaded accordingly, and secured thirteen before reaching town. At 3.45 the teams were out on the road; the town team was reloaded, carrying the contents of both, and it was loaded. Then we continued our homeward march, all of us riding. We created no little excitement passing through the settlements of Broad River, Hunt's Point, and White Point, while our approach had been heralded by teams going into town, and we were met at its entrance by an army of boys, with a pleasant greeting by scores of Mends, as we passed along to my residence. We disposed of sufficient game to pay all our expenses, remembered our hosts of friends with dainty morsels, had a week of rarely equalled sport, and without an accident apart from Jack's wetting. May a trip, as happy in its results as this, be in store for each and every one of my sporting readers!