Chapter X: The Deer

In Mr. Mansfield’s neighbourhood resided a Mr. Ashley, a gentleman of large fortune, and of a very obliging disposition. He had heard that Arthur and Charles Benson were at their grandpapa’s on a visit, and one day he sent for them to play with his son William, a little boy nearly of their own age. The Bensons went, and William took them into the park, where they amused themselves for some time by the play of trap-ball. The game was at last suddenly broken off by master Ashley, who threw down the bat upon the ground, exclaiming that his pretty tame fawn was coming in sight, and that he must go and stroke it. The Bensons were rather sorry to be interrupted in their play; but, as they had been early taught, that it was often necessary to give up their own inclinations to the wishes of others, they left off with the utmost good humour. “Look at the pretty creature!” said William Ashley, caressing the fawn. “I wish I had a bit of bread here: it would eat it out of my hand.”

“I have found a piece of biscuit in the corner of my pocket,” said Charles. “Here it is. I will feed it, if you please.”

“How old is he?” inquired Arthur.

“Six weeks, or two months, I do not recollect which,” replied William. “But see, here comes the mother! I thought she could not be far off, for does never desert their young ones until the end of the summer.”

The little party was still admiring the fawn, when Mr. Ashley came, and told them that dinner was almost ready.

“We will come, papa,” said William, “as soon as we have done counting the spots upon my little fawn’s back.”

“Pray,” inquired Charles, “are all deer spotted?”

_Mr. Ashley._ No: their colour is various. Some are of a reddish cast, some of a deep brown, some white, and others spotted like these. Observe the herd that are feeding under those trees, and you will see a great difference amongst them.

“And those, sir,” said Arthur, “have all fine branching horns.”

“They are stags,” returned Mr. Ashley. “The does are the females, and never have any horns. But perhaps you did not know that even stags are without, for a part of every year?”

_Arthur._ Indeed, sir, I did not, and shall be obliged to you if you will tell me about it.

_Mr. Ashley._ I will readily. Towards the latter end of February, stags shed their horns, and soon after fresh ones begin to grow. These are at first very tender; and the flies, when they are in that state, are often extremely troublesome to the poor animals. Whilst the horns are off, they separate from each other, and endeavour to hide themselves from every other creature, as they are then incapable of making any defence; but in about three months, when the new ones have grown to their full size, they associate together again in large herds.

After these observations, the whole party returned to the house, and entered the dining-parlour, and their conversation was interrupted by the inquiries which Mrs. Ashley made, after the health of Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield: but soon after dinner, William renewed the subject, by asking his father, whether he might be permitted the next season to hunt with the stag hounds?

Mr. Ashley replied, that he was much too young; and then turning to Charles, he asked him if it was his wish also to be a sportsman?

“Indeed, sir,” returned Charles, “I don’t thoroughly understand what you mean by a sportsman; and I never wished nor even thought about it.”

“Oh, a sportsman,” said William, “is a man who is fond of hunting and shooting, and other field sports; and if you knew what they were, I am sure you would like them, for I think they must be the greatest pleasures of life.”

“In what way do they hunt?” inquired Arthur.

_William._ Why, a stag is turned out into the country, and then, fly where he will, a whole pack of dogs follow him in full cry; and a number of gentlemen, mounted on fine horses, gallop after with the greatest possible speed: and they don’t mind what they come to; for they leap over gates, and hedges, and ditches, and ride down hills that are almost as steep as precipices; and at last, when the stag can run no further, he is caught by the dogs, who kill him; but sometimes his life is saved, that he may be hunted again another day.

“What a cruel diversion!” exclaimed Arthur, shocked at the thought of what the stag must suffer. “I am sure I could never take pleasure in tormenting a poor animal in that way.”

“We huntsmen do not think of the _poor animals_,” returned Mr. Ashley.

“Perhaps not, my dear,” said his wife; “but your want of thought will not prevent them from feeling pain and terror; and I must own, I am always surprised when men of humanity join in such barbarous sports.”

“Do you hunt any thing besides deer?” asked Charles.

_Mr. Ashley._ Yes, my dear, foxes and hares; the former with fox-hounds, and the latter with harriers.

_Arthur._ Pray, sir, are deer ever wild in this country?

_Mr. Ashley._ Not the kind that we have in our parks, which are fallow deer; but there is another species, properly called stags, somewhat larger, differing in a few particulars from those that are wild in our forests. I do not mean that every body has a right to take them; for they are accounted the property of the king.

_William._ I forget, papa, where you told me that fallow deer were first brought from.

_Mr. Ashley._ It is said, they came originally from Bengal: but they were brought here from Norway by King James the first; and England is now more famous for venison than any other country in the world.

_Charles._ Is any use made of the skins, pray, sir?

_Mr. Ashley._ Yes: the skin both of the buck and doe makes the soft thick leather, of which gentlemen’s riding breeches and gloves are made. The horns are very hard and solid, and make excellent handles for knives and other utensils. They likewise contain a salt, called salt of hartshorn, from which is extracted spirit of hartshorn.

_Mrs. Ashley._ How should you like to go to Lapland, and ride over the snow in a sledge drawn by rein deer?

_Charles._ By rein deer, ma’am? What, have deer strength enough to draw carriages?

_Mrs. Ashley._ The rein deer, my love, is a very extraordinary creature. It inhabits Lapland, and other cold countries, and answers to the inhabitants the purpose of most of the animals we have among us. It serves them instead of a horse, and draws their sledges with amazing swiftness over the frozen country. It supplies them too with milk and cheese, instead of the cow; and answers the purpose of our sheep, in furnishing them with warm covering.

Providence, who has thus formed the rein deer capable of supplying the numerous wants of man, has provided with wonderful care for its support. That dreary country, where no grass will grow, and not any herb which we are accustomed to see, is nevertheless covered all over with a species of white moss, which serves as food for it. This is its only pasture; and it gets at it in winter, by scratching away the snow with its hinder legs.

_Arthur._ Is the rein deer good to eat, pray, ma’am?

_Mr. Ashley._ It is. So, when it has lived about sixteen years, the Laplander generally kills him for the sake of his flesh and his skin.