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.”
[Illustration: DEATH OF THE MALLARD.
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.”
[Illustration: (Rage)]
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.
[Illustration: (Flying Ducks)]
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.
It was a fairly quiet though misty day when we set out, but there
were clouds gathering in the east, and it looked as if there would
be a storm before long. In due course I was landed on the little
island, which was quite small and consisted of low-lying rocks. I
said to my old fisherman, who with another man was rowing the boat,
“Are you sure that these rocks are never covered by the sea?” and
he replied, “Ach, no, it is arl richt.”
Away went the boat, and in it besides the two men rowing were an
old friend of mine, who was a cautious Scot, and two ladies.
[Illustration: AMONG THE WESTERN ISLANDS.
From a Photograph by Miss DIANA DARLING.]
Not long after it was out of sight the wind rose and rain began
to fall. After a time some duck passed out of shot, then a single
bird which I killed, then after another interval a big lot well
out of shot, and then at intervals two single birds, one of which
I brought down. The spaniel had enough to do to retrieve the birds
with the strong tide and high wind. Just after this a storm of wind
and rain swept down the loch, and the sea became very wild. I was
still thinking about the duck, but felt no anxiety after what the
old fisherman had said. After a time, however, I began to feel
some apprehension, as the tide was rising very rapidly and there
was only a comparatively small part of the island uncovered. I
thought I had better make up my mind as to which was the highest
point on the island, and particularly where I should have the best
chance of retaining my footing if the sea rose much higher. I
selected what seemed to be the best place for this purpose, with
some short rocks in front of me, and took up my stand peering into
the mist from time to time for a sight of the boat and hoping every
moment to see it. There was now so small a part of the island
uncovered that I was getting very wet from the waves, which were
breaking with some force, and my dog was very excited, barking and
whining and making a great fuss.
Things were becoming very serious, and I could see that unless the
tide turned within a few minutes the rocks would be covered. The
water rose so high and so rapidly that I was now standing in water
and the ducks I had shot were washed away. Still no sign of the
boat, and the tide still rising.
The waves by this time were breaking over the rocks, and for a
few moments I was thoroughly alarmed, as I realised that if the
tide rose a little higher I should probably be washed off, and
though I could swim I had no reasonable hope of being able in
that sea to swim the considerable distance which separated me
from the mainland. However, the feeling of fear was very short,
and was followed by a grim determination to hold on for all I was
worth, and, strange as it seemed to me afterwards, a pleasurable
excitement in what I realised was going to be a desperate effort
to keep my footing. There were very few points of the rock left
uncovered now, and the tide was still rising, when suddenly out of
the mist I saw the boat coming, rising and falling in the angry sea.
To cut a long story short, it was a most dangerous and difficult
job to take me off the rocks without upsetting the boat, but it
was managed all right by the two men, the older of whom was a very
experienced seaman. In less than three minutes after they got me
off, the point of rock that I had been on was covered and there was
nothing of the island to be seen.
My friend, to whom I shall be ever grateful, declares that he saved
my life, and this I think was the fact, for when the wind got up
he insisted on the men going back to the island at once, feeling
very nervous on my account, and they had a tremendous pull to get
back in time as the sea was very rough and the tide was running
strongly against them.
[Illustration: WHERE STROME CASTLE LOOKS OVER THE SEA TO SKYE.
By FINLAY MACKINNON.]
The cause of the rocks being covered by the sea--a very rare
occurrence--was an unusually high spring tide coupled with a
strong gale from the opposite direction, which made the waves much
higher than they would otherwise have been in a loch which has the
reputation of being one of the most dangerous lochs on the west
coast for squalls.
[Illustration: OCTOBER]
XIV
THE LAST STALK OF THE SEASON