velocity even as low as thirty miles an hour, which most people
would call a hurricane. But it is not perhaps so generally known
that in proportion to its weight, other things such as shape and
specific gravity being similar, a small body experiences much
greater resistance than a large body. The resistance of the air
to the fine particles of vapour which constitute a cloud is such
that they only fall at the same rate of a few feet per hour. And
in the case of two birds of similar shape and specific gravity,
but one eight times the weight of the other, the larger bird would
ultimately attain a velocity roughly twice as great as the other,
if both fell for a sufficient distance to attain their limiting
velocities, _i.e._ the velocity at which the resistance offered by
the air is equal to the attraction of gravity. Similarly if the
one bird were four times the weight of the other, the velocity
ultimately attained under the conditions mentioned would be roughly
one and a half times as great as the other.
In “Notes by an Old Stalker” in the _Field_ for September 9, 1922
(p. 370) there appears the following interesting account of a duel
between a golden eagle and a peregrine which the writer himself
witnessed:
“Although by a long way our most powerful bird, the eagle is by
no means a match for some much smaller combatants. Once I saw
an eagle soaring placidly along when from a range of precipices
immediately below him a falcon shot up into the air. Without a
moment’s hesitation he attacked the giant bird. The eagle at once
joined combat, and through the telescope I could see his efforts
to hit his adversary with beak and wing. One blow from either and
it would be all over with the falcon; but the latter evidently
realised this and regulated his tactics accordingly. The movements
of the eagle were slow and cumbrous compared to the rapid action
and lithe activity of his adversary. Every time he dodged the
eagle’s stroke and, wheeling rapidly, got in his blow before the
huge bird could recover himself. That the eagle was in a great rage
was evident, for I could hear him emitting sounds that resembled
nothing so much as the bark of a terrier. Finally, realising the
hopelessness of the contest, he took to flight. I previously knew
that the eagle was fast on wing, but the speed he now exhibited
was a revelation to me. With half-extended, half-curved wings,
showing never a tremor, he cleft the air straight as a bullet. The
falcon pursued, but, being left hopelessly behind, soon gave up the
chase.”
The flight of the eagle here described was obviously a glide or
downward flight, when, as I have pointed out, gravity would assist
his speed to a greater extent than it would in a bird of less
weight--the peregrine.
In the case of a bird of prey descending from a height on its
quarry, the nearer its downward flight is to the vertical the
faster will it descend. In coming down on its prey, neither the
eagle nor the falcon completely closes its wings, probably because
if it did so, it would lose control. This is also true of the
gannet or solan goose, which has been described as the largest
and noblest-looking of our sea fowl. The great speed which a bird
of large size can attain in downward flight can to some extent
be realised by watching the gannet when he drops head first as
he descends perpendicularly on to the fish in the water. I have
carefully examined and compared the skeletons of the eagle and
peregrine and have tried to form some idea as to the relative
muscular power and driving force of the two birds, and bearing in
mind the facts stated above, and the greatly superior size and
weight of the eagle, it seems reasonable to conclude on principle
that the eagle is probably faster than the gyr-falcon or peregrine
in a downward flight, assuming that both birds are putting forth
all their powers.
As regards the evidence of eye-witnesses, I have discussed this
question with many stalkers. The majority of them have never seen
the eagle stoop at its quarry and strike it a blow which sends it
to the ground as the peregrine so often does--though they have seen
the eagle seize its quarry in the air or pounce on it on the ground
and carry it off. Only a few of these, however, have any doubt as a
result of what they have heard from other stalkers and keepers that
the eagle on occasion does adopt the former method.
It is, however, an undoubted fact that although the eagle generally
captures birds which he is pursuing by seizing them in his talons
or, to use the falconer’s term, binding on them, he occasionally
stoops on and strikes them in the air, sending them hurtling to the
ground in the same way as the peregrine does.
The reason why the eagle so rarely adopts this method is probably
because it can secure its prey without doing so, and further if it
were to exert all its powers when descending from a considerable
height at an angle near the vertical on a grouse, blackcock, or
ptarmigan (which do not usually fly very high above the ground),
it would incur a serious risk of injury in consequence of being
carried on by its impetus and dashing against the rocks or ground
after striking down its prey.
[Illustration: THE GOLDEN EAGLE.
By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]
The interesting, and I think significant, fact is that although
some of these stalkers with whom I have discussed the question
think that the peregrine probably flies faster than the eagle,
every one of them who has seen the eagle kill its quarry in this
way (and I know several) has told me that in his opinion the
eagle in its final rush is faster than the peregrine. It is also
important in this connection to bear in mind the fact on which
Major Radclyffe lays such stress--that it is an optical illusion to
imagine that a smaller-sized bird is flying faster than a larger
bird of similar shape and make, and that, as he says, ninety-nine
sportsmen out of a hundred would probably tell you that a snipe
flies faster than a woodcock--whereas the converse is true. An old
keeper in the North, whom I have known for many years, told me that
he had seen the eagle stoop at and strike his quarry in this way on
two occasions, and that it moved in its final downward flight with
the same lightning-like rapidity as the peregrine.
John Finlayson, the head stalker at Killilan, wrote to me last
February as follows: “I have once plainly seen the eagle driving
after grouse and striking it down very similar like what the
peregrine falcon does. It happened at the north end of Corrie-ach.
I was going up to Patt from Mulbuie way. A covey of grouse came
tearing down from the low end of Aonachbuie in front of me, about
300 yards away, and an eagle in hot pursuit, wings gathered up, and
making a swishing noise; going through the air it struck one down,
with a cloud of feathers knocked out when it did so. The eagle
glided up a little, then balanced and dropped down where the bird
fell; it was a little over a ridge out of my view; when I got up to
the place I saw the eagle well up the glen going fast with the bird
in its talons.”
My gamekeeper, Donald McIver, who has lived all his life in
Ross-shire, on one occasion saw an eagle strike and kill
a blackcock. This is his account of it. “In the forest of
Strathconan, where I was for a number of years, I once saw a very
fine sight of an eagle pursuing a blackcock. The blackcock got up
at the head of a very deep corrie and came over at a very great
height. The eagle was about and soon after it. I could see him
overtake the bird, and I would say that he struck him the same way
as the peregrine does with his claw. I saw something drop, but
could not make out what it was at the time; then the eagle doubled
in the air and caught the bird before it reached the ground. None
of the other eagles I have seen after their prey have struck it
like this in the air. They have always clutched at their prey, but
this time the eagle struck the bird and went right past him. I was
not far off, and could hear a tremendous noise of the wings. When
the eagle doubled back and caught the bird in the air I would judge
that the bird would be as high up as three hundred feet, and when
he doubled back I should think he was not fifty.
“Perhaps the narrowness of the corrie might be the reason for him
taking the bird in the way he did--I went to the place and found
the head of the blackcock; there was about three inches of skin
hanging to the head, a tear like what would be done with the claw.
This is the only time I ever saw an eagle kill a bird in the air,
but it was a grand sight. This happened in January 1895, in Corrie
Vullin, Strathconan.”
This amazing feat in aerial gymnastics is no doubt also performed
on rare occasions by the peregrine. One of the most experienced
of living falconers wrote to me as follows: “I have seen a very
celebrated falcon which I owned for years bring off a remarkable
trick several times. She used to strike at the back of the grouse’s
head, and I have seen her just scalp the grouse, taking a piece
out of its skull not as large as a pea, and thus killing the bird
in mid-air just as if it was shot; often, when the grouse was high
above the ground, I have seen the falcon then take a sharp turn
in the air as the grouse was falling, like a spinning leaf, and
pick it up in her feet before it could touch the ground--a very
wonderful sight.”
An old friend of mine, who is head stalker in one of our best-known
deer forests and whose veracity I have every reason to accept,
told me an interesting story which further illustrates what fine
feats in the air the peregrine falcon can perform. He said that on
one occasion he saw a falcon strike and carry off a crow. As the
falcon was circling higher and higher up, carrying off this crow,
it was mobbed by a considerable number of other crows. For some
time it ignored them, continuing its steady upward circling flight
until one crow, becoming rather bolder than the rest, provoked
the falcon into retaliation. Dropping the crow it was carrying, the
falcon stooped on the troublesome crow, struck and killed it and,
turning with extraordinary rapidity, caught in the air the dead
crow which it had been carrying, and then recommenced its upward
flight without further trouble from the crows.
[Illustration: WHERE THE GOLDEN EAGLE REIGNS.
From a Photograph by FRANK WALLACE.]
The marvellous speed of the golden eagle and peregrine in their
final rush, when stooping from a height at their quarry, must be
seen to be believed. Few persons have been so fortunate as to have
this opportunity in the case of the golden eagle, although this
grand bird is often to be seen in some forests and has no doubt
increased in numbers in recent years. On the other hand, there are
of course many persons who have seen both the wild peregrine and
the trained gyrfalcon and peregrine strike down their quarry.
The well-known ornithologist and wild-fowler, Mr. W. H. Robinson of
Lancaster, in a letter in the _Field_ of January 28, 1922, after
stating from his own experience that the peregrine can overtake the
golden plover and the curlew with the greatest ease, says:
“To my mind one of the fastest things I have ever witnessed is the
last effort of a peregrine in chase of a wild duck when, fast as is
the accelerated speed of a mallard, it seems almost to be standing
still in the air when the peregrine stoops over it.”
Any one who has seen this, as I am glad to say I have, will
assuredly echo these words.
It is of course pure speculation whether, in the comparatively
short flight of an eagle or falcon stooping in its final downward
rush at its prey, its speed exceeds the maximum speed of the
spine-tailed swift. Those, however, who have seen the last effort
of the eagle or falcon in a flight of that unique kind will never
believe, without scientific demonstration to the contrary, that any
other bird in the British Isles can fly faster.
[Illustration: Donald]
[Illustration: (Antlers)]
V
A GOOD DAY IN THE FOREST OF COIGNAFEARN
Towards the end of a September several years ago I was so fortunate
as to be invited to stalk at Coignafearn, which has always been
famous for the size and weight of its deer. On reaching the lodge
on a Saturday night, I heard that the head stalker had met with an
accident, fortunately not a bad one, but possibly serious enough to
prevent his going out with me on the following Monday. He had been
out in the forest the day before I arrived, and on going up to a
stag to bleed him, the stag had given a sudden unexpected plunge,
which had caused the stalker to inflict on himself a nasty wound in
his right leg with his knife, which was open in his hand; another
instance that no one, not even the oldest and most experienced of
stalkers, can be too careful on these occasions. On Monday morning
he was much better but not fit to go with me. The season was well
advanced, and my host was very anxious to kill the usual number
of stags as soon as possible. It was therefore arranged that I
should act as my own stalker, and take with me a watcher named
Maclennan. I had also two gillies with me and a couple of ponies,
and my host told me that he would be only too glad, if I could
manage it, if I would kill as many stags as could be brought in.
Maclennan had never acted as stalker, but as there is nothing I
like better than to do the stalking myself, I was very pleased
with this arrangement, for Maclennan knew the ground thoroughly,
and I felt sure that his assistance would be invaluable; indeed,
without him I could of course have done practically nothing, as the
ground was strange to me. We were in the forest and spying by 10
A.M., and very soon we saw a good stag with some hinds. The stalk
was unsuccessful, but it was not long before we spied another good
stag, and without much difficulty I managed to get into a good
position within about 150 yards, and shot him through the heart.
He proved to be a good eight-pointer, and weighed 15 stone clean.
Shortly after this we spied a large herd of deer which were very
restless, continually on the move. There were several good stags
in the herd, and these were roaring and fighting and driving the
hinds about. Two of them in particular, which looked like the
heaviest, engaged in a battle which lasted for some time; but
gradually one of them showed signs of being worsted and, watching
his opportunity, suddenly turned tail and bolted. It is rarely
that battles of this kind end fatally--only once have I met an
eye-witness of such an occurrence. The battle was between a switch
and a ten-pointer. The combatants were fighting on the side of a
hill and were very evenly matched. My informant, the stalker at
Attadale, said that after some time the switch, taking advantage
of being on slightly higher ground, charged his adversary and,
getting past his guard, pierced his side with his antlers. The
ten-pointer immediately fell to the ground dead. The stalker ran up
and found that the dead stag had been pierced through the heart by
his conqueror.
The stag with the best horns is generally not the best fighter and
is frequently driven out by a switch-horn or “caberslach,” whose
long skewer-like antlers are the most effective horns for fighting.
The best fighter of all is, however, the hummel--a stag which has
no horns at all, and which is in consequence a very heavy beast.
It is astonishing how a stag will sometimes acknowledge himself
beaten without any fight at all. I remember when stalking at Fealar
that I had been trying without success for nearly two hours to get
a shot at a big black stag which was in pursuit of a large number
of hinds and was constantly on the move, skirmishing with smaller
stags and driving them away. Suddenly we heard the sound of great
roaring and saw coming from the direction of Mar Forest a huge red
stag which evidently had for its objective the hinds who were in
charge of the black stag. The newcomer kept running for a short
distance and then stopped to roar and grunt. We thought that by
running hard we might reach a point near enough to get a shot at
him. We accordingly ran as fast as we could in order to try to cut
him off, but in vain. Before we could get within shot of him he
had passed this point we were making for. As soon as he got within
sixty to seventy yards of the black stag, who was waiting and
every now and then roaring defiantly in answer to his challenge,
the latter seemed suddenly to realize that the contest would be
hopeless and turned tail and bolted ignominiously, being pursued
only for a short distance by his adversary, who then rounded up the
hinds and drove them off.
But to return to my story. We tried to stalk the victorious stag,
which seemed to be the best beast in the herd, but found it
extraordinarily difficult to get within shot of him. There always
seemed to be several hinds in the way, and, as it was now getting
towards two o’clock, we decided to have luncheon, in the hope that
in the meantime the deer would settle down, and that we should then
have a chance at the stag we were after. We did not waste any time
over lunch and very soon again had the deer in view. They were
still on the move and we followed them for some time. The stag
which we were after, which we made out to be a nine-pointer, was
evidently much troubled by two other stags only a little smaller
than himself, and presently, after chasing away first one and
then the other, these three stags were between us and the herd.
Now at last it seemed there was some chance of getting a shot at
the nine-pointer, but before we could get up to him he began again
to chase off the other stags, and then turned, and at a good pace
followed the herd which was moving away from us. The other stags
then also turned and followed in the same direction, though at a
respectful distance from the nine-pointer. Maclennan and I, by
running and crawling quickly, gradually diminished the distance
between ourselves and the deer, and at last, after a quick run
when out of their sight, crawled up a small hill and saw the three
stags, the nine-pointer watching the other two. The nine-pointer
was nearly 200 yards from us when he suddenly stopped and turned,
standing for a moment about three-quarters on. I saw that this was
my only chance, as the stags were just on the brow of the hill,
and in a few moments would almost certainly be out of sight. I
therefore decided to take the chance and fired.
“You have him, sir,” said Maclennan, as the stag, evidently hard
hit, disappeared over the brow of the hill. We made our way as fast
as we could over the hill, but saw no sign of the stag.
[Illustration: PREPARING FOR BATTLE.
By FRANK WALLACE.]
The ground was rocky and very broken, and I felt sure that he
could not have gone far, and was lying down hiding himself. We
began to search, when suddenly the stag jumped up from under a
rock about some eighty yards from us, and after running for about
500 yards farther lay down behind a rock, showing only the point
of his horns. I had not shot at him again, as he was end on, and
was evidently in such a condition that he could not go very far.
We followed up, keeping well out of sight, but found it impossible
to get a chance of shooting, so cleverly had he concealed himself.
Whilst hesitating as to what would be the best course to take, the
stag suddenly got up again and bolted, but this time he gave me a
fair chance of a shot, and I killed him before he had gone more
than a few yards. On getting up to him, we found that my first shot
was not sufficiently forward, but was a raking shot through the
body, and the stag could not in any case have gone very far. He was
a good beast with a strong horn, and later turned the scale at 16
stone 9 lb. clean. After gralloching the stag, one of the gillies
went off to signal to the ponyman; and Maclennan, the other gillie,
and I proceeded to work our way back to the lodge, hoping to get
another shot on the way home. We soon spied a good stag with a
number of hinds, and, after a long stalk, I got a good chance of
taking a quick shot at a little over 100 yards and fired. The
stag disappeared. Maclennan thought I had hit him, but I was very
uncertain, and think I must have shot over him. A long and careful
search on the ground, which was very broken, showed nothing. There
was no sign of the stag, nor were there any marks of blood to be
seen, and I felt satisfied that I must have missed him, though
Maclennan and the gillie had thought otherwise.
We again started to work our way back, and had not gone very far
before Maclennan suddenly stopped and brought his glass to bear
on the face of a hill about half a mile away. He then said there
was a stag with a fine wide head lying down, and that we ought to
be able to get close to him without difficulty, as the ground was
very broken. I proceeded to stalk this stag, and got without great
difficulty within about 180 yards of him, when I saw that he was
up and looking very suspicious, and that I should have to take my
shot as soon as I could. We quickly got the rifle out of the cover,
and crawled to another hillock about 100 yards from where the stag
was. Arrived there, I pushed the barrels of my rifle over the top
of the hillock and slowly raised my head. The stag was standing
nearly broadside on, looking straight at me. I fired. There was
a thud as the bullet struck him, and he turned and galloped off,
disappearing round a corner of the hill. I felt confident that
the bullet had gone home; and we found the stag, who had been, as
I thought, shot through the heart, lying dead about sixty yards
from the place where he had been standing when I fired at him. He
was a ten-pointer, and had a fine wide head with a good horn, and
when we got him home we found, curiously enough, that his weight
was exactly the same as that of the first stag that I had shot--15
stone clean.
Leaving the gillie to gralloch the stag, Maclennan and I now
proceeded homewards, keeping a sharp look-out, and presently we saw
a considerable number of stags, which were moving across the valley
from one hill to another. We saw that if they were not disturbed
they would probably cross a little hill not far from us, at a point
from which we could, if we moved quickly, get to within shooting
distance. So, running and walking quickly, we reached a spot about
140 to 150 yards from the point at which we expected the stags to
pass, and arrived just in time. The stags were moving slowly almost
broadside to us in single file, and were passing over a little
knoll, at which point I had a fine chance of a shot.
“Take the second one, sir,” said Maclennan, who had his glass on
them. I was just about to fire when he said: “No, not that one, but
the third; he’s better.” Again I was on the point of shooting when
Maclennan said: “Wait, sir, wait; take the fifth, he’s the best.”
Directly the stag topped the knoll I fired, and he ran a few yards
and fell down. On coming up to him I found it necessary to give
him another bullet through the neck. We found that this stag was
by far the best we had seen that day. He was a royal, in splendid
condition, and weighed 17 stone 6 lb. clean. He had a magnificent
head, with very thick black horns, and long points with white tips.
After gralloching him, and tying a handkerchief to his horns to
scare the eagles and foxes, we made our way back to the lodge. I
had several good days in the forest subsequently, with one or other
of the regular stalkers, but none more enjoyable than this one, in
which, without the assistance of a regular stalker, I had the good
fortune to kill four stags averaging over 16 stone clean, without
heart or liver.
[Illustration: “TAKE THE FIFTH, HE’S THE BEST.”
By V. R. BALFOUR-BROWNE.]
[Illustration: ON THE TOPS]
VI
A STALKER’S PERIL
The accident to the head stalker which I mentioned in the preceding
article shows that stalking, like almost every other sport, has its
dangers, and every one acquainted with the pursuit of deer knows
the necessity of exercising great care in approaching them after
they have been shot.
A serious accident is, however, very rare, but sometimes even the
most experienced stalkers, as in the instance referred to above,
incur risks which they ought not to take.