Chapter XVII: The Secret of the High Hills 215 (4)

On the day in question I was on the far beat and secured a good stag after an exciting stalk. After seeing the stag safely put on the pony in charge of the gillie, the stalker and I set off towards the farther end of the beat in the hope of getting a second stag. Not far from the march, on precipitous ground covered with rough boulders of rock, we spied a good stag with a large number of hinds. The deer were in an awkward position, and we found that it was impossible to get nearer to them than about 200 yards. The day was getting late, therefore this was probably our only chance. The stag was moving about and might very soon be over the march, so that there was no time to be lost. Getting quickly into the best position I could, I fired, and evidently hit the stag very hard. Directly I fired the deer disappeared as if by magic. The stalker said he was quite certain the stag could not go far. On reaching the spot on which the stag had been standing when I fired we found marks of blood, and had no difficulty in following these for some 50 yards, by which time we were close to the march, and in full view of a large corrie and other ground, all of which was in the neighbouring forest. We saw what were evidently some of the hinds making off across the march, but the stag and the rest of the hinds were nowhere to be seen. We moved a little farther on where we could get a view of other ground, when suddenly there was a tremendous clatter of loose stones, and we saw the stag and some twenty hinds about 120 yards from us. The deer stopped for a few seconds, the stag looking straight at us, and then away they went. We ran quickly to the point where they had disappeared, and saw the hinds we had last seen with the stag going in the direction which the other hinds had previously taken, but the stag was not with them. “He cannot go far,” said the stalker. The ground was very much broken up by large stones and boulders, and we both thought that the stag must be lying hidden not far from us. We were quite certain from the position we were in that we could not have failed to see him unless he had turned back below the hill and gone into the forest from which we had come. We noticed the hinds stopping every now and then and looking back, as they so often do when one of their number has been wounded and is behind them. By following the marks of blood on the stones we traced the course the stag had taken for about 200 yards, but after that we lost the tracks. We made the most careful search, and the stalker went some distance into the adjoining forest, but all in vain. The light was beginning to go, and at last we decided to give up the search, for that day at any rate. The stalker, who had had his glass on the stag when I had fired at him, said he was quite sure from what he saw then and from the way that the stag was bleeding that he had been mortally wounded and could not live long. I felt very much depressed, for if there is one thing that distresses me more than another it is to leave a wounded stag on the ground; and though I thought that the stalker with his experience was right in thinking that the stag could not live long, particularly as I knew my rifle and felt sure that I must have hit the stag somewhere not far from the heart, the fact remained that one could not be quite sure what had really happened. This was the last day of the season, and I was leaving on the following morning. The stalker promised me that he would search the ground on the following day, and that he would also tell the stalkers in the neighbouring forest, and that if he heard anything of the stag he would let me know. “I shall certainly know the head if it is ever found,” he said, “for when the stag looked straight at me I could see the space between his forks at the top. It was a ten-pointer, I think; the points were very regular, but as far as the head goes it is not much to grieve over, for it was on the narrow side.” “Still, it is a bad business,” I replied. “If we only had had a tracker we should certainly have got him without any trouble.” A really reliable tracker is indeed invaluable on an occasion of this kind, but it is only in a few forests that dogs are now used in following wounded stags. The noble deer-hounds which were the trusty allies of our fathers on the hill have during the last forty or fifty years been replaced in those forests where dogs are still used by the golden retriever, or more often by the collie, the two dogs last mentioned having been found more suitable for pursuing wounded deer. The deer-hound was so high-couraged that he would not bay the stag, but would pull him down or be killed by him. A further objection was that he would hunt by sight rather than by scent, it not being in his nature to put his nose to the ground, and it was therefore practically impossible to train him as a tracker.

From the Picture “After a Hard Day” by PHILIP STRETTON.

By permission of Messrs. Landeker & Brown, Ltd. London, E.C.2, Publishers of the large engraving.]

I heard no more of the wounded stag until the following season, when I once more found myself in the same forest. I asked the stalker whether he had any news of the stag. He said: “That is a question. The stalkers in the other forest never found any stag, but a very curious thing has happened. About 20 yards inside the fence, at the nearest point in that part of the forest which is fenced in from where you shot the stag, that would be about a distance of three miles, the skeleton of a stag was found last April. The head stalker on that part of the forest tells me he is quite sure it was not a stag that was shot inside the fence. I have got the head here, and will show it to you.” I examined it carefully. It was a good regular head of ten points, with remarkably long forks at the top, and I thought it looked a better head than that of the stag I had shot, and said so to the stalker. He replied: “It is the same shape, and I well remember noticing the space between the forks at the top. Not only that, but in April when we found him there were no stags on that part of the ground and had not been for some time; also by the bleached condition of the horns, I am quite sure he must have died in October or early in November, and he could not have died a natural death after the winter was over. And as to his getting through the fence, at that season of the year stags have a wonderful way of getting through a fence if they want to do so. If he was mortally wounded after he got outside he would be sure to go back to the place where he was born and knew he was safe, and depend upon it he would find his way back through the fence where he got out. One can never be sure, but on the whole I think he is the stag you shot. You see the only way he could have gone that day without our seeing him was out of sight round that hill in the direction of the fenced-in part of the forest. I am sure he was mortally wounded, he had seen us; and after seeing us, being wounded, he would go straight on, as you know, so long as his strength would carry him and he would go straight to his old home. They’re wonderful in that way, deer are: I shall never forget how I was taught that years ago when I was out with the young chief at X.”

I asked the stalker to tell me the story, which I give in his own words: “About twelve years ago, when I was a gillie at X, I was out one day with the chief’s son late on in the season, about the end of the first week in October. About 2 o’clock in the afternoon we saw a Royal stag and some hinds above the black shed, between the lodge and the second stalker’s house, and after a successful stalk, he fired but wounded the stag, just grazing him in the lower part of the body. The stag did not give the rifle another chance, but turned his head fair south, towards the top of the C----. We watched him crossing the top, then we made for where we saw him crossing, and we saw him about 300 yards away as he was going down the opposite side, and he was still going south, then getting out of view, into a hollow. The stalker did not lose his chance, but made a sprint to get up to him, which he managed to do, but the wily fellow was always keeping his back to his enemy, and making fast for some private corner, where he hoped he would be safe. The trigger was not pulled for him. Being in plain ground there, and the Royal stag fast on the move, we could do nothing but wait and watch where he would cross the next ridge, which was fully a mile away. Once the stalker saw him cross, we made at once for the spot he went out of our view, getting there as soon as our legs could carry us, and after spying that part of the ground very carefully, we failed to pick him up. That was in the centre of the Glashan, a piece of ground about 1½ miles square, very level, with shallow peat bags, and guarded on three sides with slightly rising ridges. The distance between where the stag was wounded and where we lost him was about seven miles. By this time the light was failing, so we had to make tracks for home. One evening, a few days later, when it was beginning to get dark, the head stalker was out about the larder, and noticing a stag with some hinds above the lodge, and putting his glass on him, at once knew the stag he had the run after a few days before. I was just after getting home from the hill, and he ordered me to go and shoot him. The rifle I never fired before, and the sight although marked for 100 yards I afterwards found to be a 70 yards sight. I got to about 100 yards from the stag, but having the evening light, and being among juniper bushes, I had to shoot off my hand, and missed him. There was no other chance that evening, as the light was getting bad. Two or three days after, about 10 o’clock in the morning, I was going along to the E---- Bothy, about a mile from the lodge, when I saw about twenty hinds and a stag amongst them, and after putting the glass on him, I knew it was the same stag. I at once went back to tell the head stalker, but finding him not at home, I took the rifle. I got to about 120 yards of the stag, but shooting too low, I grazed his foreleg below the heart; he did not give me another chance then, but left the hinds and turned to the south across the top. When I got to the top I noticed him about half a mile from me; keeping him in view he went for about two miles south, then turning south-west I kept him in view for three miles, then lost sight of him, but I could understand by the movements of some hinds the line he was taking. I made for the place where I lost sight of him, but having got there I could see nothing. I followed up the burn that rises at Cairn-an-S----, and after getting half-way up the burn, I came out to the open to spy. I was spying for some time, and was putting my glass in its case when I noticed a black object about half a mile away, about the size of a blackcock. I used my glass, and who was this but the Royal lying in the centre of the Glashan, on quite level ground. He was lying down licking the scratch where I wounded him earlier in the day. With great difficulty and after a long crawl I got to about 70 yards of him, and shot him through the neck. That was a lucky range, as the rifle was sighted for 70 yards. I was in an awful mess through crawling in burns and gutters after him, but I was very keen on getting him, and as an old chap once said to me, ‘When you have a difficult thing to do you must not be minding your clothes.’ Well, I was pleased I got him as I was sure he could not live very long. I considered what to do; my first idea was to put him in some safe place, and come for him next day, so I took him to a burnside into a hollow and hid him, but before doing so I put a small chack with my knife above his brow antler, to know him if ever I saw him again, as I did not know who might be looking at me. I was in doubt whether I would take his head off or leave it there all night. I at once changed my mind, as it was so good a head I did not like leaving him out there all night. I cut his head off, giving him a long neck for being stuffed. That finished, I shouldered the Royal head, took him back five miles to the E---- Bothy, left him there that night, and took it two miles further to the lodge the next day, and to-day it hangs in the chief’s mansion. The young chief was very glad to get it. The head was a very good Royal, thick horns, points equal and well-shaped. The distance between the place where I shot him through the neck and the place we lost him the day the young chief wounded him is hardly half a mile apart. That day the stag was first wounded, he went whatever a distance of six or seven miles to that quiet spot in the centre of the Glashan. The day I shot him through the neck I followed him for about eight miles from the place where I grazed his foreleg below the heart. He never saw me, he never stopped, always making for that private spot, the place in the centre of the Glashan. So this stag went two times to that same place, as he hoped he would be safe there, and possibly that stag might have been lying in the same bed both nights.” This shows the distance a stag will go for safety, and that he goes back to his old home, the spot where he thinks he is safe. And so I believe that my friend the stalker must have been right in thinking that the stag he had found in April was the stag I had shot in the early days of the preceding October.

From a Photograph by the Author.]

XI

THE METHOD BY WHICH EAGLES AND HAWKS SECURE THEIR PREY

As is well known, the eagle lives largely on carrion such as dead deer and carcases of sheep, differing in this respect from the peregrine falcon, which lives exclusively on what it kills. Generally speaking, the eagle secures its prey by pouncing on it on the ground and carrying it away in its talons. He swoops down at a great pace in a slanting direction, and in this way not only captures hares and rabbits, but also grouse and ptarmigan on the ground and young ducks on the loch. It is very interesting to watch the great bird searching slowly along the side of a hill, about 50, 100, or 150 yards above the ground; then he suddenly pounces, and in a moment is up again and away with his prey in his talons. So regularly does the eagle adopt this method of capturing his prey on the ground, that I have met stalkers who have told me that they do not believe that an eagle can overtake any swift-winged bird such as grouse or black game. This is certainly wrong, for the eagle does sometimes, though comparatively rarely, adopt the other method of securing his prey--the method which I have already described (see p. 64, _supra_)--that of pursuing and catching his prey in the air, and in this way without doubt captures blackcock, grouse, and ptarmigan. I have already stated (see pp. 57-70, _supra_) that in my opinion the eagle in his downward flight is faster than the peregrine. Even in his horizontal flight, once he gets going he can fly very fast if he chooses, but of course is not nearly so agile and cannot turn and twist with the rapidity of the peregrine, and the result is that when he overtakes his quarry he frequently misses him.

Nearly a hundred years ago one of the most acute observers amongst ornithologists wrote as follows: “In another part of the Western Highlands of Scotland we had an opportunity of witnessing the powers of flight of this bird in pursuit of its quarry. An old blackcock was sprung and was instantly pursued by the eagle (who must have been on a neighbouring rock unperceived) across the glen, the breadth of which was at least 2 miles.

“The eagle made several unsuccessful pounces, but as there was no cover and the bird large, it probably fell a victim in the end.”[28]

Lastly, as I have already said in the pages just mentioned where I have fully discussed the matter, the eagle on rare occasions swoops down at a terrific pace on his prey in the air, striking it to the ground but not clutching it or, to use the falconer’s phrase, binding on it.

The eagle has a great partiality for hares, cats, young fox cubs, and young lambs. I remember James Macintosh, head stalker at Loch Rosque, telling me that on two occasions whilst waiting at a fox den he had shot an eagle. He added that, whilst the old foxes are away, the cubs, when they get hungry, sometimes make such a noise that they can be heard at a considerable distance, and that he believed this attracts the eagles, particularly if their eyrie in which they are rearing their young happens to be in the vicinity. He went on to say that he thought this accounted for his sometimes finding fox dens containing only one or two cubs instead of the usual number of three to seven. There is no doubt that eagles sometimes attack deer calves, fixing their talons in their victim’s neck or back and striking the calf with their wings. They frequently hunt in pairs, and have been seen to drive the calf over a precipice.

On rare occasions eagles have been known to attack a full-grown stag. In certain parts of the Highlands they have lately increased in numbers, and perhaps as a consequence, their ordinary food not being so plentiful, have become bolder.

Only last year I was stalking in a forest where a few days earlier a stalker had witnessed a most unusual incident. The following is his account of what he saw:

“A gentleman and I were out stalking on the 25th of September, and while the gentleman was having lunch, I went off about 200 yards to have a spy. I got a stag lying at the foot of a rock. While I had the glass on him, an eagle suddenly swooped down and attacked him. The stag went headlong into a bog, but managed to get up. I then ran back for the gentleman thinking we would have a shot, but by the time we got back the stag and eagle were over the sky-line and the eagle still following while going over the sky-line, but after that we don’t know what happened, as both eagle and stag went out of sight.”

Donald Matheson, who has had a lifelong experience in the forest and has only recently retired after having been for many years stalker at Glen Shieldaig to Mr. C. J. Murray of Loch Carron, told me that on one occasion, but on one occasion only, he saw an eagle attack an adult stag.

“It would be, as far as I remember,” he said, “between the 6th and 10th of October in the year 1888 when I was spying one morning at the forest stables. I picked up a stag on the top of Glen Shieldaig, quietly feeding on the Glaschnoc side, and while having my glass still on the stag an eagle swooped down on his head. The stag fell on his hind-quarters, but was soon on his feet again and ran for his life while the eagle was fixed on him. The stag made for a thick clump of birch-trees, and immediately the stag got under cover the eagle could not keep its hold, owing to the thick branches of the trees, and left the stag. The eagle kept hovering for some time above the wood where the stag was concealed, but at last flew away.”

Whilst stalking in the neighbouring forest of Applecross two years ago, Colonel the Hon. Claude Willoughby had a most interesting experience, a description of which he has kindly given me permission to reproduce here:

“On 30th September, 1921,” he writes, “I was stalking with Alick Mackenzie on Applecross. We had come through Corrie Chaorachan into Corrie Na Na and spied a stag with hinds on the west face above the loch. The wind was west, and after a difficult and exceedingly good stalk across the Corrie and above these deer, avoiding hinds, also another stag with hinds, we arrived at a point within 150 yards of the stag we were after and found him lying down. Owing to the light and the distance, I determined to wait for him to rise before shooting. After waiting half an hour, hinds which we had seen beyond the place where he was lying came galloping past him. He rose and I shot him; he fell dead. We at once saw that the reason of these hinds galloping was that an eagle was after a calf which had separated from the herd. We saw the eagle land on the calf’s back twice, but the calf escaped.

“The eagle then attacked a hind in the herd. A kestrel hawk now joined in, and mobbed the eagle. This attack lasted only a short time. The eagle then circled round my dead stag, the kestrel soon after disappearing. The eagle settled on a rock about five yards from the dead stag, and remained there until we showed ourselves. All this took place within 200 yards of us.

“On the Tuesday following Lord Derwent was also stalking on Applecross, near Corrie Attadale. He and the head stalker Finlayson saw an eagle attack a calf, which it knocked down twice, but the calf escaped.”

By FINLAY MACKINNON.]

There has been much difference of opinion, and from time to time considerable controversy as to how the peregrine kills its prey. Some stalkers and ornithologists believe that it is done with the edge of the wing, a smaller number with the beak, whilst others think it is done with the talons. The last-mentioned view is that which is, I believe, universally held by falconers, who after all have many more opportunities of seeing how it is done than any other class of men. I have frequently discussed this question with naturalists and stalkers, keepers and others interested in this subject, and have listened to all they could tell me. I have also had the great advantage of hearing at first hand from falconers of experience their views and their reasons for them. Further, I have myself been so fortunate as to see the wild peregrine pursue and stoop at its quarry. I have seen it strike and kill it and on occasion miss it. In addition to this, I have read everything I could find on this subject, both in the older and more modern books of authority. I am satisfied myself that the view held by the falconers is the true one, and I cannot state their conclusions better than, or indeed so well as, by quoting from three letters that I have received. The writers of these three letters have kindly given me permission to quote their Views.

Major C. E. Radclyffe, who has had almost unrivalled experience as a falconer, writes as follows:

“All forms of falcons and short-winged hawks, such as sparrow-hawks and goshawks, always strike their quarry with _their feet_, and never with anything else. The killers are those which ‘bind to’ their quarry in the air, that is, pick up a bird in their feet, and never let go of it until they come to the ground. A really experienced old trained falcon does this nine times out of ten.

“Sometimes, however, when stooping from a great height, the impetus of the falcon is so terrific that she seems to know if she ‘binds to’ her quarry, the impact will be so great as nearly to tear her legs from her body. Thus, when stooping at a heavy bird like a grouse, or a pheasant, at great speed, the falcon slightly throws upwards on her impact with the quarry, and delivers a raking blow with her single long back talon. By this means (her back talon being sharp as a razor) I have seen a grouse ripped open from its tail to its neck. I have seen its wing broken and I have seen its head cut off.

* * * * *

“All falcons are very careful not to risk touching anything with their wings, hence a falcon will never really stoop at a bird on the ground with an idea of catching it, but they will keep stooping just over a bird they can see on the ground in the hope of flushing it, and then they will catch it in a minute.

“I have seen falcons and hawks break their wings by striking the smallest twig on the branch of a tree when misjudging a stoop at a bird.

“Therefore, you can imagine how easily a hawk would smash its wing if it attempted this, to hit a heavy bird like a grouse or pheasant going at terrific speed.

* * * * *

“If you threw a lawn-tennis ball against a falcon’s wing coming at you at the rate of over a hundred miles per hour, and hit its wing-bone, that hawk would never fly again.

“I have many times in my life, when casting lightly with a very small trout rod, just touched the wing of a swift or swallow with the tip of the rod. I never broke a rod thus, but nearly always broke the bird’s wing. I think, when you come to consider these things, you will see that a hawk dare not strike the smallest bird with its wing.

“It uses its beak only to finish off a bird on the ground, and this she does by breaking the bird’s neck with its beak.

“I have lived amongst wild and trained hawks all my life, and I can assure you the above facts are true.”

The reference in the above letter to the peregrine killing a grouse by striking it with its talon reminds me of the following interesting note in _Birds of Great Britain_ (5 volumes), published by the author, John Gould, F.R.S., in 1873.

“Evidence forwarded to Mr. James Burdett, keeper to the Earl of Craven.... On dissecting a coot I saw taken and dropped by a peregrine falcon, I found the neck dislocated at the third joint from the head and an appearance as if the sharp point of the hind claw had penetrated the brain at the occiput.”

Captain C. F. A. Portal, D.S.O., writes as follows:

“I have seen many dozens of game-birds struck down by trained peregrines within 50 yards of me, and I can definitely state that the hawk _invariably_ aims a blow _with the talons_ at his quarry....

“So true is a peregrine’s aim that he generally gets home with both his _hind_ talons somewhere near the middle of the quarry’s back, but often he hits a wing and breaks it, and occasionally he breaks the neck in the same way. I have examined hundreds of birds (partridges) killed by hawks, and I have always found the mark of two hind talons or one of them. The decapitation is generally performed within a few seconds of the hawk’s alighting on the dazed or crippled victim. It is performed by one powerful wrench of the beak. No peregrine will eat or even pluck a living bird.... In my experience it is a rare thing for a peregrine to strike a bird dead in the air. It does occasionally happen that the blow falls on the head or neck, but what generally happens is that the bird is thrown violently to the ground with a wing broken or the back dislocated. The concussion with the ground dazes it, and the hawk quickly drops down upon it and kills it with its beak.

“The merlin often kills comparatively large birds (_e.g._ the thrush, fieldfare, golden plover, etc.) by strangling them, as its beak is not strong enough to break their necks. It kills larks, etc., in the same way as the peregrine kills his quarry, that is, by sudden dislocation of the neck.

“The sparrow-hawk kills its prey by gripping it with its feet and driving the claws into its body; this is a slow death sometimes, and the sparrow-hawk has none of the true falcon’s scruples about plucking (and even, I fear, beginning to devour) a living bird.

“I do not like the sparrow-hawk for this reason, though, of course, the falconer can generally prevent cruelty by killing the quarry himself.”

Captain G. S. Blaine, another falconer of great experience, also has no doubt on the matter. In a letter to me on this question he writes:

“A peregrine strikes with its talons only. Of this I am certain, having seen the blow given to countless quarries at close quarters. How the other idea (that of striking with the wing) could possibly have originated I do not know. It is quite obviously impracticable.... If a peregrine administered the terrific blow which she delivers when striking a quarry with her wing, breast, or beak, she would be knocked out at once, and permanently injured. A peregrine can easily, after recovering from her stoop, turn over again and catch the quarry in the air. I have seen this often done, when the bird had been struck high up in the air. If near the ground, it would fall before the hawk could get hold of it. Many also often catch and hold a quarry without knocking it down. This is the way most successful game hawks catch grouse or partridges. When struck, the blow is delivered on any part of the body--it may be the head and it may be the back or the wing which may be broken.”

By J. WOLF.

Reproduced by kind permission of Messrs. Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh, from _Game-Birds and Wild Fowl_, by A. E. Knox.]

In _Reminiscences of a Falconer_ (John Nimmo, London, 1901) Major C. H. Fisher writes:

“The blow is given by the falcon’s strong and sharp hind talon of each foot--usually sharp as a needle and driven at great speed by a bird weighing over 2 lb.”

As illustrating the falcon’s stoop Major Fisher describes how he saw a wild falcon strike a greyhen twice. He says (p. 97):

“As illustrating the force of a falcon’s stoop, I may mention an incident which occurred to me on the banks of the river Orrin when fishing. From some bracken I put up three greyhens. Down came a wild falcon from the sky at the middle bird. I saw and heard the blow. The greyhen staggered on, leaving the usual tribute of feathers behind her. Up rose the falcon in the grand and stately style so few trained hawks can ever adopt or regain (so much do they lose by captivity); over and down she came, and down fell the quarry, as dead as though shot by a bullet.... Down too went my long rod and off went I.... On this occasion I took possession ... of the wild hawk’s prey. On examining the effect of her two blows, I found that three ribs on one side were clean cut through and separated from the backbone as by a chop with a heavy knife and strong hand, and one talon had entered and split the base of the skull, from which the brains were protruding.”

One of the foremost advocates of the contention that the fatal blow is inflicted by a stroke of the wing is Mr. Tom Speedy, who deals with this subject in his _Natural History of Sport in Scotland with Rod and Gun_ (pp. 102, 103). He bases his argument first on the supposition that when the fatal blow is struck on the back of the quarry, the skin is only bruised and not torn. He writes:

“A keeper friend of mine near Kingussie witnessed a grouse struck down by a peregrine, and as there was not a mark on it he sent it to me. Carefully plucking it, I noted that with the exception of a bruise along the spine there was no other mark on it; yet the blow had been sufficient to cause instant death. This comports with my own observations, and it is difficult to understand how this blow could be struck by these terrible talons without the skin being torn. As the heads of grouse are frequently cut off when struck by a peregrine, it is the opinion of foresters who have watched them with their glasses that it is done by the wing. Falconers deny this and maintain that it is done by the hind talon. How, then, it may be asked, can this be done when there is not a scratch on the victim, but only a bruise indicating where the blow was struck?”

The answer to this argument is that there is absolutely reliable evidence to the contrary--in other words, that sometimes the skin is torn.

Major Radclyffe in his letter referred to above writes: “I have seen a grouse ripped open from its tail to its neck.”

Captain Portal says: “I have examined hundreds of game-birds killed by hawks, and have always found the marks of the two hind talons or one of them.”

Sometimes, no doubt, as in the instance referred to by Mr. Speedy, there is a bruise along the spine and the skin is not torn, but this is no doubt to be explained, as is pointed out by a writer cited below, by the way in which a falcon shuts its feet when stooping, the hind talon on each foot closing over the fore talons, thus forming a kind of keel--and the bone on the back of the grouse is strong enough to prevent more than a severe bruise.

Mr. Speedy continues:

“It is argued that it is impossible the bird could be killed by a blow from a hawk’s wing, as the wing would certainly be injured. I have seen a retriever stunned by a blow from the wing of a swan, and but for my being in close proximity in a boat it would certainly have been drowned. Those who have put their hand into the nest of a wood-pigeon are familiar with the blow even a half-fledged bird can give with its wing. I have been struck with the fight a wounded wild goose can put up, and the blows it can inflict on a retriever with its powerful wings.”

But, with all respect, surely the blow of a large powerful bird like a swan or a goose delivered in this way is a very different thing to the blow which is delivered by a peregrine when stooping at its quarry at the terrific speed with which it then flies, and, in my opinion, the view taken by experienced falconers, such as those quoted above, that the wing would most certainly be broken or badly injured, is the correct one.

Finally, Mr. Speedy says:

“When a falcon strikes a bird in the air there is a loud ‘clap’ which I have heard several hundred yards away. This would not be the case if struck by the talons.”

I venture to think, however, that the argument based on the sound caused by the impact carries Mr. Speedy’s contention no further. Would not this loud “clap” naturally be expected if the peregrine struck its quarry in the manner described?

In conclusion, then, what is the correct view of the matter? In the words of a recent writer:[29] “The truth ... seems to be that the falcon shuts its feet when stooping, the hind talon on each foot closing over the fore talons, thus forming a kind of keel. When the falcon strikes a grouse, the latter may be partially or wholly decapitated, or it may be severely bruised on the back. The neck of a grouse is soft, and the ‘keel’ of a peregrine’s hind talon is sufficiently sharp to cut it, whereas on the back of a grouse the bone is strong enough to prevent more than a severe bruise. The shock of impact must, however, be tremendous, for a bird so struck hurtles to the ground at once. When the peregrine strikes, one hears a loud ‘clap’ audible at a considerable distance, and it is this noise that has given rise to the theory that the falcon strikes with its wing. If the peregrine used the latter, however, in all probability the wing would be seriously damaged or broken, because the pace at which a falcon stoops must be seen to be believed.”

There is another interesting fact in regard to this fine bird which is not generally known. There seems little doubt that he deserves the description which has more than once been applied to him--that of a wanton murderer. Thus Charles St. John in his classic work, _Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands_, says (chap. x.): “The peregrine seems often to strike down birds for his amusement, and I have seen one knock down and kill two rooks, who were unlucky enough to cross his flight, without taking the trouble to look at them after they fell.”

XII

INSTANCES OF WOUNDED STAGS ATTACKING STALKERS

It must often have occurred to every one who has had experience in stalking what a very different sport stalking would be if stags realised their power and had no fear of man. It is, of course, well known to every one who is interested in the habits of deer that a tame stag in the rutting season is one of the most dangerous animals, and some years ago a tragedy occurred in Ross-shire, when a stalker was attacked and killed by a stag which he had himself brought down from the forest as a calf and which knew him well. I have often asked experienced stalkers whether they have ever known an unwounded stag attack a man, but with one exception I have never heard of any such case.

The one instance to the contrary is that given by Mr. Frank Wallace in his delightful book, _Stalks Abroad_. In describing his stalking in New Zealand, Mr. Wallace gives what he describes as the only really well-authenticated instance which he can vouch for of a wild stag attacking a man, and adds that most likely the darkness and time of year had something to do with the stag’s boldness. He thus describes the incident: “It was dark by the time B. and his guide reached the river-bed, which at the point they struck it is very wide. They had scrambled along over the boulders and rocks with which their course was strewn for some distance, when they saw a dark object lying on the stones in front of them. This presently resolved itself into a sleeping stag, who, hearing them approach, jumped up and disappeared. They had not seen the last of him, however, for a little later they encountered him again, apparently very annoyed at having been aroused from his beauty sleep and determined to wreak vengeance on some one. Seeing them, he seemed to think they would be suitable objects on which to make a start, and advanced with lowered head. B. threw a stone and hit it in the flank; but this had no effect, and the animal advanced a few paces nearer and stood swaying its head from side to side a few inches off the ground. As some one had to go and the stag seemed disposed to give no quarter, B. fired a shot, but without effect. The stag still advanced, until a second shot took him in the chest and finished him off. I saw him the next day where he had fallen. He had a small head of six points, and was obviously a young beast.”

There are no doubt rare instances of a wounded stag attempting to attack a man.[30] I myself have never known such an instance, and, although I have often asked old stalkers whether they have ever known of anything of the kind, I have only once met with any one who has had such a personal experience. The head stalker of a well-known forest recently told me that on two occasions he had known of wounded stags attacking a man. The story of his experiences interested me so much that I asked him to write it down in his own words. This he did, and the account he sent me was as follows:

“I enclose here a long detail about the only time I happened to see wounded stags attacking. You will find it a long story, but it so impressed itself on my mind I could not help giving the movements of each day in full. Twice in my experience of twenty-four years I have seen a wounded stag attacking a man. The first happened on September 25, 1902, when I was stalking with Mr. A. In our start in the morning to the first spying place we usually on the way moved some hinds, but did not trouble about this, as seldom stags were seen so low down till October and stormy weather came. But this morning, when near the spying place, what was my surprise to see to our right lying on a flat, mossy bank a fine big stag with ten points. He did not see us, and we were preparing to stalk him when some of the hinds we moved passed a little beyond and carried him away, so we sat down and kept our glasses on them for a long distance till they settled and began to feed, but the stag kept on walking slowly and climbing till he went out of sight over the ridge beyond. We had to make a long detour to get past the hinds, and when we got to the top and spied we found our stag some two miles away lying with a few small stags close to the march in a position fairly easy to stalk if he waited for about half an hour. We at once dipped down into the corrie at his right and moved along till opposite him. We then climbed till within 80 yards; he was still lying, so Mr. A. came to the conclusion to take him before getting up in case he would lose him on the march. Mr. A. fired, and hit high near the spine. The stag got up, but fell without making a step. I ran up to bleed him, and, crossing below, I noticed his head up again, and hurried up, when he made a straight bolt at me. With a quick jump to one side, I got clear of his head by a few inches. He toppled down the face and fell in a hollow. I think it was then he broke his back, as he could only raise his forepart. I called on Mr. A. to come up and finish him, as he was a dangerous beast. When he came in sight to one side and raised the rifle the stag half turned towards him and gave a loud, defiant roar, which was cut short by a bullet through the neck. He weighed 18 st. 2 lb.; the head had a wide span and long, but the horn was rather thin and smooth, which showed he was past his prime. Whether he roared because he could not manage to get at the man or with fright when he saw the rifle it is hard to guess, but I remember thinking how like his roar was to the roar of two stags at each other on opposite sides of a corrie.

“The second time was in 1907, about October 1st. This season we got some heavy stags on my beat. The heaviest was 20 st. 5 lb., and Mr. B., with whom I was then stalking, was keen to make a record average weight. One day we were spying near the far end of the beat, and saw a stag travelling on to our ground. At first we could not make out what he was, until he joined a bunch of hinds and showed us his broadside, when at once we saw he was a fine big beast, and, although neither of us said so, I believe we both thought at the time it was bigger than our 20-stoner. The day was getting late, and it was hard to stalk him where he was, and so near the march, if a failure, so we left him in peace, hoping for favourable wind and weather next day. Next morning we were early on the move and over the tops at best pace till we came to the spying point. We saw the same stag and hinds on the same face, but lower down, and, if anything, harder to get at. We went round the top of the corrie to get straight above them. The place was a green steep face without a particle of cover, but fine and smooth to slide down at a steady, flat crawl. When within 300 yards I raised my head up to spy out the best way. What did I see right in our path and under a small bank, and not over five yards away, but a small knobber! To pass to either side without him seeing us was impossible. I turned to Mr. B. and asked him what he proposed we should do, but got no answer, and I then said I would pitch a small stone to make him move somewhere. I saw Mr. B. nodded assent. Then, after having a look to study the little stag’s position, I lowered down and pitched a stone on a guess, when I heard a sharp click like as if I hit him on the horn. He got sharply up and ran down at a terrific pace towards the near hinds, and they ran for a short distance down, when they suddenly all stopped and began to look sharply up towards us. I may admit I got palpitation, and from what I heard at my back I was getting no praise for my aim. Then we noticed the big stag, which was lying below and on the far side, rise, and, giving a loud roar, he made straight for the knobber, and drove him out and up towards us. But the little fellow got round him, and ran again into the hinds with the big stag in hot pursuit. The big stag drove him down and across the river, which was the march. He stood on the bank and gave a parting grunt, and then began to drive his hinds up towards us. We at once began to crawl slowly down so as to get the cover of a small hump that was between us, which we managed to do in good time and get the rifle ready, for shortly we saw the first of the hinds appearing about fifteen yards to our left. They at once noticed us, but as we were then turned into two stones they only shied off a little and moved slowly uphill, except one, which began to circle round to get into our wind. I kept my eye on her to see when she would give the alarm, when we were to move over the hump and chance the stag being within shot. But before anything happened I felt a touch from Mr. B., and, looking round, saw the top of the big stag’s horns appearing quite close. When he noticed us he stood with a ferocious look towards us. Mr. B. quickly took aim and fired. I saw the blood gushing from the stag’s throat, low, and near his foreleg. He staggered and fell. Mr. B. getting up suddenly threw his rifle down and ran over to bleed him. I went to pick up the rifle, and then, turning to have a look at our trophy, lo! there was the stag up and Mr. B. holding on firmly to both horns, his arms well out and rigged and kept well back close to his shoulders, the stag giving nasty digs and always trying to get into him. I saw at once that things were not looking well, so I loaded the rifle so as to disable the stag by shooting him through the haunches. When I stepped near for fear of accident they began of a sudden a merry go round and round, so fast that I dare not shoot. They went round and round six or seven times. I saw something would have to be done quickly, so, putting the rifle away, I stepped close and plunged in on the opposite side, taking hold of his horns, so with the weight of 30 st. between us we pulled the noble brute down, when Mr. B. managed to put the knife into his throat.

“Now this stag was losing a lot of blood all the time, and must have been losing his strength, which I consider saved us, and in my opinion the stag was keener to get into the man than to get away, for I noticed he always circled towards him. Mr. B., as a rule, always bled his own stags, and this time, after taking hold of the horn to bleed him, the stag got up suddenly, and Mr. B. stuck to him, and then Mr. B. found he could not safely let him go, as he saw at once the stag would turn on him if he got the least chance. He said to me after it was all over, ‘That was a very near thing,’ and so it certainly was.”

My friend Vincent Balfour-Browne has reminded me that the latter instance of a wounded stag attacking a man is similar in some respects to Charles St. John’s thrilling story of the Muckle Hart of Ben More in his _Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands_, in which case, to use Balfour-Browne’s words, the stag was certainly keener to get into the man than to get away.

XIII

TRAPPED

I never hear any one mention Spring-Tide without thinking of an experience which I had whilst duck-shooting on the north-west coast of Scotland.

On the afternoon of a certain autumn day I went out to try to shoot wild duck, the plan being that I should be landed with my gun and spaniel on a rocky islet in a certain sea loch, and that I should wait, taking what cover I could amongst the rocks, whilst the boat from which I was landed should be rowed up to the head of the loch in order to flush the wild duck of which there were always numbers there at that time of the year. It was known that on being disturbed the duck would fly down the loch towards the open sea, and some of them would probably cross the rocks on which I was waiting.