Ladies in the Field: Sketches of Sport Part 8

Imagine the state of a thorough-bred racehorse, if it were kept standing for hours in a snowstorm, with no clothing on, directly after it had run a race. Yet, a like sudden change from violent exercise taken in great heat, to hours of immovability in the most bitter cold, is of constant occurrence when stalking deer in the late autumn, in the Highlands of Scotland. For instance, the stalker may have to toil with wearied feet up a steep hill, under the burning rays of an October sun, when, suddenly and unexpectedly, some deer will come in sight, hurrying over the ridge in front of him to seek for shelter from an impending storm. Retreat is impossible, there is no time even to choose a hiding-place; the stalker must throw himself face downwards, most likely in the middle of a bog, and remain there without moving hand or foot as long as the storm lasts and the deer remain in sight. In the meantime the sun has vanished, and the day has changed from broiling heat to piercing cold; and, while the wind gets up and the hail beats pitilessly on his prostrate form, the stalker must be ready, with numbed and aching finger to pull the trigger of his rifle, the moment the darkness has lifted sufficiently, for him to make out which are the largest and most shootable deer.

It will be seen from this that deer-stalking is not all pleasurable excitement, and that those who go after deer must be prepared to endure a certain amount of physical discomfort. Pipes cannot be smoked, nor can whisky be imbibed within sight and within shot of deer; neither can sandwiches be munched, nor may you even take a drink at a burn. The soul of the sportsman must soar above hunger and thirst--such luxuries as two o'clock lunch and five o'clock tea are not for him--even the simple use of a pocket-handkerchief is denied him under certain circ.u.mstances.

The paraphernalia needed by the stalker is very limited in extent. It consists of a rifle, a dozen cartridges, a telescope, and a long knife.

Stout, easy-fitting nailed boots are _de rigueur_ for walking; also thick stockings--not necessarily rough or irritating to the skin--and neutral-coloured clothes, light in weight. Nothing else is essential. I have given elsewhere a detailed description of the dress I myself found most suitable for the hills, so I will only repeat here that it should be of either drab or grey cloth--water-proof, but not air-proof--with a dash of pink, green, or orange in it according to the prevailing colour of the ground over which you have to stalk. A long grey macintosh of the best quality can be carried in the forester's pocket and put on during heavy storms. This should have a separate hood, which may be used either to sit on, or as a protection to the head and neck from rain and wind.

The fewer people the stalker has to accompany him the more likely he is to get sport. One man to carry the rifle, or stalk for him, is sufficient. It is quite unnecessary to have a second forester with dogs, as they only disturb the deer and are seldom required.

Foresters, whether from an imperfect knowledge of English or from "thinking the more," are usually a silent and uncommunicative race. The sort of way an ignorant--or supposed to be ignorant--sportsman is treated when sent out with an experienced stalker for the first time, is much after this fashion.

The forester shoulders the rifle and goes up the side of a hill with quick, elastic step, and you follow with aching muscles and panting breath. At last there is a halt, and he takes out his gla.s.s and looks carefully over the ground, first searching the places where deer are usually to be discovered, then scanning the rest of the vast expanse of hill and valley spread out before him. You, also, take out your gla.s.s and strain your unaccustomed eye in looking for deer. After a time you find some, and wonder if by chance they have escaped the keen eye of the forester, for he has shut his telescope, and is silently descending the hill again.

"Sandy!" you call out.

"Surr--mem?" correcting himself as he remembers your s.e.x.

"Did you see those deer?"

"Hwhich deer was it?"

"There are some deer feeding on that green patch, didn't you see them?"

"Ou--ay."

"But wouldn't they do to go after?"

"They're no verra bug, but I'm thunkin' one of them micht do," and Sandy moves on again.

"But, Sandy!"

"Surr--mem!"

"Why can't we go after the one that _might do_?"

"We'll require to go round a bittee and come doon on them."

To "go round a bittee" you find to your cost means to go right back to the bottom of the hill whence you came, to tramp miles round the base of the mountain, and finally to climb up over the top so as to come down on the deer. On the way you come across some small staggies which decline to move, being quite well aware that they are not worth shooting. Fearing they will spoil all your sport by moving the other deer, Sandy lies still and taps two stones together to frighten them a little, but they still refuse to go away and only stare stupidly at you.

"Ye'll jist wave yer hwhite mop," whispers Sandy.

You wonder what he means, as you do not generally carry _mops_ about the hills. Then Sandy, seeing your bewilderment, makes a gesture with his hands over his face in the most solemn manner, and you are reminded of the children's game:--

"I wipe my face with a very good grace, Without either laughing or smiling."

and produce your white pocket-handkerchief--which certainly, there is no denying, _has_ been used as a mop pretty often on the way up--and waving it at the deer, have the satisfaction of seeing them trot away in a direction where they will do no harm.

After that Sandy says nothing more, but goes trudging on ahead till he stops to take the rifle out of its case and load it. Then he begins to crawl very slowly and cautiously, taking care not to sc.r.a.pe the heather, or knock the stones, and you do exactly the same till you join him behind a big boulder; when he puts the rifle in your hand, saying in a whisper,--

"Noo then, ye'll tak yon beast that's feeding to the west."

And you look up excitedly, not knowing in the very least the whereabouts of the deer; but while you are trying to make out which is the "beast that is feeding to the west," a greater beast that is feeding to the east, in the shape of a hind, has already made you out, and the whole herd of deer have galloped away without giving you the chance of a shot. You turn and look blankly at Sandy, and Sandy looks disgustedly at you, and behind your back he exclaims, that you "jist mak' him seeck."

Little of the science of deer-stalking can be learnt from following blindly behind a silent forester; though no doubt a novice would get more deer and disturb less ground by putting himself entirely into the hands of a first-rate stalker than by attempting to go his own way, and acquiring experience at the expense of repeated failure.

The two great difficulties with which the amateur has to contend are, the wrong impression given by the appearance of ground when seen from a distance, and the imperfect knowledge of the direction from which the wind will blow when he gets within reach of deer. The other difficulties, such as keeping out of sight of the deer he wishes to shoot, and avoiding other deer or sheep, can be overcome, with practice, by any intelligent person; but to know the direction in which certain winds will blow in certain places, is a constant puzzle even to the oldest and most experienced sportsman.

If a valley lies east and west, and the wind blows east or west, you can generally count on being able to stalk _up_-wind. But should the wind be _north_ in a valley lying east and west, it will constantly blow _south_ on the southern side of a northern mountain, or it _might_ blow east or west. There is only one manner of ascertaining the direction of a light and doubtful breeze, and that is by continually plucking little bits of the fluff off your homespun coat, and allowing them to float about in the air.

Deer are far more frightened at getting the wind of a human being than they are at seeing him; consequently they will gallop away faster, and run to a much greater distance after scenting a person than they will after seeing him. They are also far more frightened at sight of a man walking upright at a considerable distance, than at seeing one crouched up and immovable quite near them--though in the latter case he may be so close that his face, hands, and even the rifle are discernible.

When a seal is doubtful about anything floating on the water, it will take a long circuit round, and keep out of shot until it has got to windward of the suspicious object. Once to windward all doubt is at an end, and, if the object should prove to be an enemy, the seal will immediately disappear under water. But, fortunately for sportsman, deer are not clever enough to adopt this plan, or we should find stalking even more difficult than it is now. For if deer catch sight of a suspicious-looking object, the hinds generally come a step or two nearer to it, instead of going round to get the wind, and when they have quite decided that it looks like something uncanny, they will go off with a bark, occasionally stopping to look back. In the meantime the stags will be preparing to rise, so you must be ready to seize your chance of a broadside shot--for a stag lying with face towards you, will generally, on rising, turn his body broadside before bolting away.

Should the deer, however, get a puff of your wind, it is of no use to wait; you must either take a snap-shot at their retreating heels, or refrain from firing at all, and trust to getting another stalk when they have settled down again later in the day.

You can never, under any circ.u.mstances, take a liberty with the wind; but, on wet and stormy days, it is extraordinary how you may crawl about in full view of deer without frightening them, so long as they do not happen to be looking at you while you are actually moving. To begin with, the wet deadens any sound you may make in crawling; ferns do not crackle, nor does the gra.s.s rustle, and, as there is no light and shade, objects are less distinctly seen. But a sky line must always be avoided when possible, or, if not, it should be crossed with the utmost care by keeping flat and moving slowly; as deer are quick to note any strange excrescence on the edge of a hill.

There are only two really important things to avoid when out stalking.

One is the unnecessary disturbance of deer by firing shots late at night, or by careless stalking--both of which will send them off the ground you are on, and over to that of your neighbour--and the other is shooting at deer when the chances are more in favour of wounding them than of killing them outright.

Sport is sometimes cruel--_though never so cruel as nature_, as any observer can bear witness--but that is no reason why sportsmen should be careless about giving unnecessary pain.

There are so many different sorts of rifles turned out by the various gunmakers, that it would be difficult to say which kind is the best. I have not had a large experience, but, having tried a single-barrelled Henry--with which I regularly missed--a double-barrelled Lankaster, and a Purdey, besides the various kinds of small rifles made by Rigby, Adams, and Holland, I do not hesitate to say that the best shots I ever made were at running deer with an old-fashioned _muzzle-loader_, with solid conical bullets!

One of the great charms of deer-stalking, besides the delightful feeling of being out all day long in the fresh air surrounded by the most beautiful scenery, is, that there is so much variety in it, as no two stalks are ever in the least alike. One might go season after season over the same ground, but it would be impossible to shoot two deer under precisely similar conditions.

A beginner can scarcely understand the fascination which deer-stalking exercises over a more practised sportsman. When a novice is taken out, the stalker is naturally anxious to give him every chance, and, at the same time, is not over-particular about the size of the deer--which may possibly be missed; so he generally manages to bring him up to within easy distance of a single stag, standing broadside. The novice knows nothing of the intricacies of the stalk, or of the difficulties which have been overcome. He has, perhaps, been taken up one deep burn, and brought down another on the same hillside, possibly without having had any climbing, crawling, or wading to do; after which he is told to look between some tufts of heather over the edge of a bank, when he will see the stag feeding just below. He then raises up the loaded rifle, and, feeling rather as though he were going to shoot at a red cow, calmly takes a deliberate aim, with his elbows resting on the bank, and hits the beast right through the heart. The whole business has appeared so easy that he cannot understand the excitement of the stalker over it; and he feels rather ashamed than otherwise of the fuss that is made about him on his return home. But, the next time he goes out, he may have to shoot immediately after a stiff climb uphill; the deer is further off than he thinks, and is very much the same colour as the ground; he is out of breath, and more careless about his aim, and the consequence is that he misses it clean, and fires the second barrel with no better result. After this, the novice begins to see that it is not altogether so tame and easy a business as it appeared at first; and, when next he gets a chance at a stag, his heart will commence to beat, he will feel nervous about his aim, his knees will tremble and his hand shake, and he will at last feel that there is some excitement about deer-stalking after all.

Deer-driving is by no means such good sport as deer-stalking. When deer are driven, if they go the way that is intended--which depends chiefly on the weather and not at all on the skill of the sportsmen--all that is necessary to obtain a large number of stags is to keep a cool head, and to take a steady aim. But these qualifications are usually just those which are conspicuous by their absence at the generality of deer drives; consequently, the number of shots that are fired at deer--all within easy distance--in proportion to the number of deer slain or wounded, is quite remarkable.

I have often wondered how soldiers behave on a field of battle, where there is danger to life and limb, added to the noise, smoke, bustle and excitement. _Do they ever hit a man at all except by accident?_ And is it likely that the time, ammunition and money annually wasted on firing at a mark will teach men not to lose their heads on a field of battle, with the enemy advancing towards them, when they cannot even keep cool at a deer drive, where there is absolute silence and stillness, and the deer are often too frightened and bewildered to do more than stand still to be shot at!

It would be very interesting to keep a record of the number of drives which come off properly, compared with those which are failures; and of the number of shots fired at each drive, in proportion to every deer killed. I also fancy it would improve the sport in a forest far more if a record were kept of all the misses which were made out stalking, than if a high average of weights were insisted on, as this can only be accomplished by sparing the old deer, which, being past their prime and deteriorating every season, should certainly be killed at the expense of the average.

Deer-driving, more than any other kind of sport, depends on weather.

When out stalking one generally succeeds in getting more deer on a stormy than on a fine day, but with driving it is just the reverse. The day cannot be too fine, as the mist and rain, which so constantly acc.u.mulate about high mountains, are the chief reasons why drives are such frequent failures.

The way a drive is arranged is as follows. Every available stalker, forester and gillie is sent out before daylight to make an immense circle round the corries and mountains from which the deer are to be driven. Unfortunately the mist usually comes low down in the night, and the men cannot possibly tell, when they make their early start, whether it will lift or not.

Deer have certain pa.s.ses which they use when going from one corrie to another, and, if they are disturbed, they make for one of these pa.s.ses _up_-wind. But when everything has been settled, the guns are placed in a pa.s.s which is _down_-wind to the deer, and out of sight of the corrie, into which they are being collected by the beaters.

It is a very difficult matter to force deer to go down-wind, as it is against all their instincts to do so, and, if they have had much experience, they will be perfectly aware that men with rifles are awaiting them on the ridge, and, instead of going forward over the pa.s.s, they will break back at the last minute and rush through the beaters--who can only pelt them with sticks and stones--rather than face the known danger of the guns in front of them.

In a deer drive it is necessary for the day to be clear, in order that the beaters may see each other as well as the deer. It is equally important that the deer should see the beaters, as these latter are placed as stops to prevent them going to the pa.s.ses up-wind where there are no guns. If the deer are quite determined not to go down-wind over a pa.s.s, nothing that the beaters can do to force them will make any difference, and the drive is consequently spoilt. If the wind changes, or does not blow fair, the guns know at once that their chance of sport is over, for deer would rather face an army which they can see, than a puff of wind from an unknown foe.

Shooting at driven deer is much less fatiguing than stalking. The drive is fixed to come off at a certain hour, and the sportsmen ride ponies or walk to their posts, each carrying his own rifles--as the foresters are all employed in beating. The ponies are then left in charge of some boys, and each man is allotted a post in which he can make himself comfortable, put on his cloak and eat his lunch; pipes also are not forbidden for a while. But, after a bit, he must, on no account, move or leave his place, even if there is snow on the ground and he is perished with cold, for it is very possible that a few deer, not belonging to the drive, might be feeding just below the ridge of the hill, and, seeing other deer disturbed and coming towards them, they would probably feed quietly over the pa.s.s close to all the guns. If they were to see anyone move, they would at once bolt back whence they came, and every deer in sight would know that they were fleeing from danger, and would refuse to come up the pa.s.s. But if they were allowed to move quietly on till all the guns were pa.s.sed, they would soon disappear, and their fresh tracks would be of use in keeping the deer which followed from being suspicious of any lurking danger.

The first deer to appear over a pa.s.s are usually a hind and calf; and hearts begin to beat furiously as, after many hours of waiting, they walk slowly past the line of guns, p.r.i.c.king their long ears forward and staring right and left suspiciously. Suddenly the hind gives a start--she has come across a footprint; she sniffs at it, quickens her pace, and trots away with her little calf beside her. All at once she gets a puff of the wind and away she goes--bark, bark, bark--but as there are no other deer in sight she can do no harm. Then some more hinds come on, followed by a few small staggies, and the excitement among the guns becomes intense as they know now that the drive has begun. As the first deer get the wind and begin to gallop, a grand Royal appears. He pa.s.ses most of the rifles scathless--for there is no greater crime than to fire at one of the first few deer and so turn all the others back--but the last gun, seeing that there are now plenty of good stags over the brae, lets fly at him and may bowl him over (this is purely imaginary, for my experience is that he _does not_ bowl him over), then crack, crack, go the other rifles as barrel after barrel is fired--two or three rifles to each man, and two barrels to each rifle--and the fat and heavy deer come panting by, bewildered by the incessant firing and the whizz of the bullets about their ears, driven forward by the shouts of the beaters behind, who are pressing them on to their death, and terrified when some magnificent beast makes a plunge forward on receiving its death-wound, and tears up the soft ground with its hoofs as it rolls over and over, its thick horns crashing against the rocks. Then the last and heaviest of the deer come rushing down the pa.s.s followed by the beaters, capless and perspiring.

The ground is strewn with dead and dying, the sportsmen leave their posts and each claims his deer (many more claims being made for the large than for the small ones); the dogs are let loose after the wounded, and thus the most successful drive of the season comes to an end.

The ponies which have conveyed the sportsmen up the mountain now come in useful to carry home the dead beasts; and, in the evening, after dinner, the ladies, in their dainty dresses and flashing diamonds, come out across the yard to inspect the trophies of the chase which are laid out on the ground in front of the larder; while the weird and fantastic scene is lighted up by blazing torches held aloft by kilted Highlanders.