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My first Successful Hunt

During the autumn and winter of last year, it was my lot to be quartered in an out of the way post in Upper Canada. Amongst the several sportsmen of the regt to which I belonged (then first arrived in the country) not a little rivalry existed, as to who should attain the reputation of a hunter by killing the first deer or wild turkey. The gun had ever been my delight, and my ardor venandi had been worked up to the highest pitch by reading adventures of Natty Bumppo & his friends the Mohegans in the admirable romances of Cooper. I had always longed to pull a trigger in the woods of America, and now the opportunity had arrived.

Many wagers were laid by our confident sportsmen as to flooring the first deer of turkey. I had sternly resolved that I should be the man. On our arrival I had formed an acquaintance with an old Indian Hunter, and had hunted with him once (unsuccessfully) in the summer. However, I had found out the way in which the Indians followed their game, and treasured the knowledge carefully in my mind.