Part 14

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 circumstances.

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 glass 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 glass 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 sex.

"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 scrape 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.