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Death of my First Stag.
Where is the man who does
not remember and look back with feelings of energy and delight to the day,
the hour, and the wild scene, when he killed unaided his first stag? Of
course, I refer only to those who have the same love of wild sport, and
the same enjoyment in the romantic solitude and scenery of the mountain
and glen that I have myself; shooting tame partridges and hares from the
back of a well-trained shooting-pony in a stubble field does not, in my
eyes, constitute a sportsman, though there is a certain interest attached
even to this kind of pursuit, arising more from observing the cleverness
and instinct of the dogs employed than in killing the birds. But far
different is the enjoyment derived from stalking the red deer in his
native mountain, where every energy of the sportsman must be called into
active use before he can command success.
Well do I remember the
mountain side where I shot my first stag, and though many years have since
passed by, I could now, were I to pass through that wild and lovely glen,
lay my hand on the very rock under which he fell.
Though a good rifle-shot,
indeed few were much better, there seemed a charm against my killing a
deer. On two occasions, eagerness and fear of missing shook my hand when I
ought to have killed a fine stag. The second that I ever shot at came in
my way in a very singular manner.
I had been looking during
the chief part of the day for deer, and had, according to appointment, met
an attendant with my gun and pointers at a particular spring in the hills,
meaning to shoot my way home. This spring was situated in the midst of a
small green spot, like an oasis in the desert, surrounded on all sides by
a long stretch of broken black ground. The well itself was in a little
round hollow, surrounded by high banks.
I was resting here, having
met my gillie, and was consoling myself for my want of success by smoking
a cigar, when, at the same moment, a kind of shadow came across me, and
the pointers who were coupled at my feet pricked up their ears and
growled) with their eyes fixed on some object behind me. My keeper, who
had been out with me all day, was stretched on his back, in a half
slumber, and the gillie was kneeling down taking a long draught at the
cool well, with the enjoyment of one who had had a long toiling walk on a
hot August day. Turning my head lazily to see what had roused the dogs,
and had cast its shadow across me, instead of a shepherd, as I
expected—could I believe my eyes - there stood a magnificent stag, with
the fine shaped horns peculiar to those of the Sutherland forests. He was
standing on the bank immediately behind me, and not above fifty yards off,
looking with astonishment at the group before him, who had taken
possession of the very spot where he had intended to slake his thirst. The
deer seemed too much astonished to move, and for a moment I was in the
same dilemma. The rifle was on the around just behind the slumbering
Donald. I was afraid the deer would be off out of sight if I got up to
take it, or if I called loud enough to awake Donald. So I was driven to
the necessity of giving him a pretty severe kick, which had the effect of
making him turn on his side, and open his eyes with a grunt. "The rifle,
Donald, the rifle," I whispered, holding out my hand. Scarcely knowing
what he was at, he instinctively stretched out his hand to feel for it,
and held it out to me. All this takes some time to describe, but did not
occupy a quarter of a minute. At the same instant that I got the rifle,
the gillie lifted up his head from the water, and half turning, saw the
stag, and also saw that I was about to shoot at him. With a presence of
mind worthy of being better seconded, he did not raise himself from his
knees, but remained motionless with his eyes fixed on the deer. As I said
before, I had never killed a deer, and my hand shook and my heart beat. I
fired, however, with, as I thought, a good aim at his shoulder. The deer
at the instant turned round. After firing my shot, we all (including
Donald, who by this time comprehended what was going on) ran to the top of
the bank to see what had happened, as the deer disappeared the instant I
fired. I had, I believe, missed him altogether, though he looked as large
as an ox, and we saw him going at a steady gallop over the wide flat.
Donald had out the glass immediately, and took a steady sight at him, but
having watched the noble animal, as he galloped up the opposite slope and
stood for two or three minutes on the summit, looking back intently at us,
he shut up the telescope with a jerk that threatened to break every glass
in it, and giving a grunt, vastly expressive of disgust, returned to the
well, where he took a long draught. His only remark at the time was "
There's no the like of that stag in the country; weel do I mind seeing him
last year when shooting ptarmigan up yonder, and not a bullet had I. The
deil's in the rifle, that she did na kill him; and he'll cross the river
before he stops." It required some time and some whisky also to restore
Donald to his usual equanimity.
This was on a Saturday. On
the Monday following, at a very early hour, Donald appeared, and after his
morning salute of "It's a fine day, Sir," he added, "There will be some
deer about the west shoulder of the hill above Alt-na-cahr. Whenever the
wind is in the airt it now is, they feed about the burn there." We agreed
to walk across to that part of the ground, and were soon en route. Bran
galloped round us, baying joyously, as if he expected we should have good
luck. We had not gone half-a-mile from the house when we met one of the
prettiest girls in the country, tripping along the narrow path, humming a
Gaelic air, and looking bright and fresh as the morning. "How are you all
at home, Nanny, and how is your father getting on? does he see any deer on
the hill?" said I; her father was a shepherd not far from the house, and
she was then going down on some errand to my servants. "We are all no'
that bad, thank you, Sir, except mother, who still has the trouble on her.
Father says that he. saw some hinds and a fine stag yesterday as he
crossed the hill to the kirk; they were feeding on the top of Alt-na-cahr,
and did na mind him a bit."
Donald looked at me, with a
look full of importance, at this confirmation of his prophecy. "Deed, Sir,
that's a bonnie lass, and as gude as she is bonnie. It's just gude luck
our meeting her; if we had met that auld witch, her mother, not a beast
would we have seen the day." I have heard of Donald turning home again if
he met an old woman when starting on any deer-stalking excursion. The
young pretty girl, however, was a good omen in his eyes. We passed through
the woods, seeing here and there a roebuck standing gazing at us as we
crossed some grassy glade where he was feeding. On the rocks near the top
of the woods Donald took me to look at a trap he had set, and in it we
found a beautiful marten cat, which we killed, and hid amongst the
stones—another good omen in Donald's eyes.
On we went, taking a
careful survey of the ground here and there. At a loch whose Gaelic name I
do not remember, we saw a vast number of wild ducks, and at the farther
extremity of it a hind and calf feeding. We waited here for some time, and
I amused myself with watching the two deer as they fed, unconscious of our
neighbourhood, and from time to time drank at the burn which supplied the
loch. We then passed over a long dreary tract of brown and broken ground,
till we came to the picturesque-looking place where we expected to find
the deer—a high conical hill, rising out of rather flat ground, which gave
it an appearance of being of a greater height than it really was. We took
a most careful survey of the slope on which Donald expected to see the
deer. Below was an extensive level piece of heather with a burn running
through it in an endless variety of windings, and fringed with green
rushes and grass, which formed a strong contrast to the dark-coloured moor
through which it made its way, till it emptied itself into a long narrow
loch, beyond which rose Bar Cleebrich and some more of the highest
mountains in Scotland. In vain we looked and looked, and Donald at last
shut up his telescope in despair; "They are no' here the day," was his
remark. "But what is that, Donald?" said I, pointing to some
bluish-looking object I saw at some distance from us rising out of the
heather. The glass was turned towards it, and after having been kept
motionless for some time, he pronounced it to be the head and neck of a
hind. I took the glass, and while I was looking at it, I saw a fine stag
rise suddenly from some small hollow near her, stretch himself, and lie
down again. Presently six more hinds, and a two-year old stag got up, and
after walking about for a few minutes, they, one by one, lay down again,
but every one seemed to take up a position commanding a view of the whole
country We crept back a few paces, and then getting into the course of the
burn, got within three hundred yards of the deer, but by no means whatever
could we get nearer. The stag was a splendid fellow, with ten points, and
regular and fine-shaped horns. Bran winded them, and watched us most
earnestly, as if to ask why we did not try to get at them. The sensible
dog, however, kept quite quiet, as if aware of the importance, of not
being seen or heard. Donald asked me what o'clock it was; I told him that
it was just two. "Well, well, Sir, we must just wait here till three
o'clock, when the deer will get up to feed, and most likely the brutes
will travel towards the burn. The Lord save us, but yon's a muckle beast."
Trusting to his experience, I waited patiently, employing myself in
attempting to dry my hose by wringing them, and placing them in the sun.
Donald took snuff and watched the deer, and Bran laid his head on his paws
as if asleep, but his sharp eye and ear, pricked up on the slightest
movement, showed that he was ready for action at a moment's warning. As
nearly as possible at three o'clock they did get up to feed : first the
hinds rose and cropped a few mouthfuls of the coarse grass near them,
looking at and waiting for their lord and master, who, however, seemed
lazily inclined, and would not move; the young stag fed steadily on
towards us.
Frequently the hinds
stopped and turned back to their leader, who remained quite motionless,
excepting that now and then he scratched a fly off his flank with his
horn, or turned his head towards the hill side when a grouse crowed or a
plover whistled. The young stag was feeding quietly within a hundred and
fifty yards of us, and we had to lie flat on the ground now and then to
escape his observation. The evening air already began to feel chill, when
suddenly the object of our pursuit jumped up, stretched himself, and began
feeding. Not liking the pasture close to him, he trotted at once down into
the flat ground right away from us. Donald uttered a Gaelic oath, and I
fear I added an English one.
The stag that had been
feeding so near us stood still for a minute to watch the others, who were
all now several hundred yards away, grazing steadily. I aimed at him, but
just as I was about to fire he turned away, leaving nothing but his haunch
in view, and went after the rest. Donald applauded me for not shooting at
him, but told me that our case was hopeless, and that we had better make
our way home and attempt no more, as they were feeding in so open a place
that it was impossible to get at them : even Bran yawned and rose, as if
he too had given up all hope. "I will have one try, Donald; so hold the
dog." "You need na fash yoursel, Sir: they are clean out of all hope and
reason." I determined to make an effort before it became dusk; so leaving
Donald, I set off down the burn, looking for some hollow place that might
favour my getting up to them, but I could find none: at last it struck me
that I might by chance get up within a long shot by keeping a small
hillock, which was in the middle of the plain, between me and the deer.
The hillock was not two feet high, and all depended on the animals keeping
together and not outflanking me.
On I went, not on my hands
and knees, but crawling like a snake, and never rising even to my knee. I
could see their hindquarters as they walked away, feeding, however, most
eagerly, and when they looked up I lay still flatter on the ground with my
face buried in the heather. They appeared, however, not to suspect danger
in the open plain, but often looked anxiously towards the burn or the
rocky side of the mountain. One old long-legged hind kept me in a constant
state of alarm, as she frequently looked in my direction, turning her ears
as if to catch some suspicious sound. As for the stag, he never looked
about him once, leaving that to the hinds. I at last got within about a
hundred yards of the whole of them: as they fed in a group turned away
from me, I could not get a shot at anything but their hind-quarters, and I
did not wish to shoot unless I could get a fair broadside towards me.
While waiting for an opportunity, still flat on the ground, a grouse cock
walked out of the heather close to me, and strutted on with head erect and
his bright eye fixed on me till he came to a little hillock, where he
stopped and began to utter a note of alarm. Instantly every deer left off
eating. I saw that no time was to be lost and raised myself on my elbow,
and with cocked rifle waited for the hinds to move, that I might get at
the stag, who was in the midst of them. The hinds soon saw me and began to
trot away, but their leader seemed determined to see what the danger was,
and before he started turned round to look towards the spot where the
grouse was, giving me a good slanting shot at his shoulder. I immediately
touched the trigger, feeling at the same time sure of my aim. The ball
went true, and down he fell. I began reloading, but before I had half done
the stag was up again and making play after the hinds, who were galloping
up a gentle slope of the hill. The poor beast was evidently moving with
the greatest difficulty and pain; sometimes coming to his knees, and then
recovering himself with a strong effort, he still managed to keep not far
behind them. I sat down in utter despair: looking round too for Donald and
Bran, I could see nothing of them. Between anxiety and vexation I did not
know what to do. All at once I saw the hinds dash away in different
directions, and the next moment my gallant Bran appeared in the midst of
them. I shouted with joy. On came the dog, taking no notice of the hinds,
but making straight for the stag, who stood still for one instant, and
then rushed with apparently full vigour down the hill. Down they came
towards the burn, the dog not five yards behind the stag, but unable to
reach his shoulder (the place where he always struck his game). In a few
moments deer and hound went headlong and seemingly both together into the
burn. Donald appeared running like a lunatic : with good judgment he had,
when I left him, gone to cut off the deer in case I wounded one and it
took up the hill. As good luck would have it, the hinds had led off the
stag right up to where Donald and Bran were, notwithstanding his
inclination to go the other way. I ran to see what had become of them in
the burn, expecting to find the stag at bay. When I got there, however, it
was all over.
The deer had probably
tumbled from weakness, and Bran had got his fangs well into the throat of
the poor brute before he could rise again. The gallant dog, when I was up
with him, lay down panting with his fore-paws on the deer, and wagging his
tail, seemed to congratulate me on my victory, and to expect to be
caressed for his share in it. A fine stag he was, in perfect order, with
noble antlers. Donald added to my satisfaction by applauding my manner of
getting up to him, adding that he never would have thought it possible to
kill a stag on such bare and flat ground. Little did I feel the fatigue of
our three hours walk, two of them in the dark and hard rain. We did not go
home, but went to a shepherd's house, whose inhabitants were at evening
prayer when we arrived: we did not interrupt them, but afterwards the wife
prepared us a capital supper of eggs and fresh trout, which we devoured
with vast relish before the bright peat-fire, our wet clothes steaming all
the time like a boiler. Such was the death of my first stag. |
