in the snow had not convinced me of the reality. I did not long indulge in useless meditation on the cause of this nocturnal flight through the forest in mist and snow, and soon I was happy enough to find a wheel-track. After about an hour and a half’s walk, I saw a light in the distance, and in a short time knocked at the door of a small farm-house. A voice called out in German—“Who’s there?” It fell like balsam on all my organs, but more particularly on my stomach. The door was opened by the wife of a German wheelwright, whose husband had ridden into a village some miles off, and whose return was expected every moment. The warm stove restored my benumbed limbs to fresh life, which a cup of hot coffee served to heighten. The husband, a good-natured German, came back in the course of an hour. He had arrived in the country three years ago, without a farthing, and now he had a nice little house, a portion of land, and plenty of work. We went to bed about ten o’clock. It snowed heavily all night, so, in the hopes of good sport, I started early, and, as my host would not accept money, I left him the ducks I had killed yesterday. Loading my left barrel with buck-shot, and fixing fresh caps, I hastened out of the hot room, and inhaled in long draughts the fresh morning air.
After an hour’s march, and shooting nothing more than a pheasant and a rabbit, I was startled by seeing a man approach unlike any I had ever seen before. I soon found that he was a civilized Indian. He was dressed in a short woollen frock, blue cloth trowsers, with broad seams, mocassins on his feet, glass earrings in his ears, and on his head a red woollen shawl, wound like a turban, under which sparkled his dark fiery eyes, while his black straight hair hung over his temples. He carried the long American rifle, and had altogether a bold and romantic appearance. His Indian belt, ornamented with beads, held a tomahawk; and his powder-horn and shot-belt hung on his right side. After a short and friendly greeting, we attempted to converse—but that was no easy matter, he speaking broken English, while I was, as yet, only partially acquainted with that language. On my asking him if he had seen any game, he pointed to the ground before him, showing the fresh trail of a bear in the snow, which I had not observed, as my attention had been drawn to him. He made signs for me to go with him, and I need hardly say that I followed him with a heart beating with joy and excitement. We may have gone about five miles, through marsh, moor, and bush, over hill and valley, and hundreds of fallen trees, constantly following the trail, when my silent comrade came to a halt, and pointing to a thick coppice, said—“I believe we find him.” My excitement was now at its height; but the Indian directed me quietly to take my stand by a tree, while he went round the coppice to see if the trail was continued on the other side. I had in the mean time dropped a ball over the swan-shot, and eagerly watched every motion of the bush. It opened suddenly about fifty paces from me, and the bear, a dark brown fellow, walked out to seek his safety in flight. In an instant my ball with the swan-shot, was in his skin, and immediately after that the barrel of buck-shot. Perhaps surprised by the report of the gun, perhaps smarting from the buck-shot, Bruin stood for a moment snuffing the air, and then ran furiously towards me. A ball from the Indian’s rifle stopped his attempt to revenge himself, and stretched him dead upon the earth. The Indian cut down a young straight tree with his tomahawk, and having ripped open and cleaned out the bear, we bound his paws together, and, as he was not very large, slung him to the tree, and carried him to Preston, which was not very far off. We arrived in the evening, and my Indian friend sold the bear for four dollars. He would probably remain in Preston till he had spent it all in drink, and then take to the woods again for more game.
I began to find the climate too cold for me, and several Germans had told me that here it was much colder in winter than in our own country. I had no fancy for that, so turned south towards Lake Ontario, in order to get on to Buffalo. I shot a pheasant which gave me a delicate meal, and had hardly left the fire to recommence my march, when I saw seven wolves standing at a distance of about seventy yards. Without a moment’s consideration, I dropped lightly down in the snow to load one barrel with ball, fearing that I should not do much with No. 4 shot; but when I got up again the wolves had taken their leave. As they had fled towards the S. E., I thought of following, to try and get one or two of their scalps (government gives six dollars for a wolf’s scalp), but as the sun was getting low, and looked very red, I gave up the chase. I had seen several deer in the course of the day, but could not get a shot at them, and my stomach began to complain considerably. An American would have helped himself by shooting squirrels, of which there were plenty, but I hadn’t the heart to eat one of these happy little creatures. Luckily I shot a hare, and had now the comfort of being able to appease my hunger. It was out of the question to think of finding a house for the night, as I was no longer in a track, but in the thick of the forest, and so, before it became quite dark, I collected as much dry wood as I could, cleared away the snow from under a fallen tree, and lighted a fire beneath it, which soon blazed up merrily. When I had got comfortably warm, I set to work on my hare. I opened it, cleaned it out with snow as well as I could, and stuck it on a piece of wood before the fire, placing a piece of bark under it to catch the dripping, with which I basted it. I felt very much the want of salt and bread, but hunger is a good sauce. With the exception of the two legs, which I reserved for breakfast, I devoured the whole. When I had finished, I heaped more wood on the fire, and prepared to pass my first night in the open air in America. I laid my game-bag under my head, pulled my cap well over my ears, and with my feet to the fire was soon asleep. I slept soundly till the sharp morning air awoke me. The fire had burned out, and I was quite benumbed by the frost, and shook so that I could hardly light the fire again. At last I succeeded, and gradually thawed. The rising sun found me deep in consideration of my two legs of hare, which I looked at so long that at length I could see only the bones. After thus taking care of myself, I resumed my march southwards with fresh vigor, and about ten o’clock the crowing of a cock denoted that I was not very far from a human habitation. I hastened forward, and was soon saluted by the barking of dogs. The proprietor was in the forest, cutting wood for a fence. His wife, a pretty little American woman, treated me hospitably with bread and milk, and assured me that I was not above twenty miles from the Buffalo road, and that I should find plenty of farm-houses as I went south. She would not on any account accept payment for my refreshment, and so, with hearty thanks, and working my way through a legion of dogs, I sallied joyfully forth, making the Canadian woods resound with German songs.
On the following morning I reached the Buffalo road, lined on both sides with farms, and on which a sort of stage-coach runs. I was now again in the cultivated part of the country. Wheat is grown in large quantities, and answers very well, as do oats and barley; Indian corn does not attain the degree of perfection in which it is found further south. The ears were small, and most of those I saw had yellow grain.
About thirty miles from the town, I overtook a cattle dealer from the United States, who was on his road back. He seemed a good sort of fellow, and I resolved to travel the thirty miles in his company. We soon became acquainted. He had two enormously fat oxen, which he had bought in Canada, and a dreadfully thin horse, on which he kindly invited me to take turns to ride, as he would willingly walk a little.
A light but penetrating rain was falling, and the ride would not have been disagreeable, though the road had become slippery; only the good man was constantly offering the horse, while I was riding, to every person he met, and would have been glad to exchange it for a couple of cows. When tired, he mounted again, and I walked. He carried a book in his pocket containing a deeply affecting tragedy, and as soon as he was firmly fixed in the saddle, he invariably took it out, and began to declaim, holding the book in his left hand, and gesticulating vehemently with his right, in which he brandished his long cattle whip. Whenever the more interesting parts of the tragedy occasioned an extra forcible movement of the right arm, and with it of the whip so formidable to the oxen, an implement on which they kept a constant watch, they started on one side or ran back, and only the prosaic “Quiet there! Gently!” &c., &c., uttered in a pathetic tone, brought back the horned audience to their duty.
On the evening of the 11th of November, I came a second time to the Falls of Niagara, and could now admire their grandeur and majesty from the Canadian side. From thence a beautiful road runs along the Niagara river to Lake Erie. The road itself is good and dry; on the left the glorious wide river, shaded with trees of the original dark forest, on the right a succession of prosperous farms, with excellent orchards;
