I am in favour of Mr. BRYCE's Access to Mountains Bill, and of
Crofters who may be ambitious to cultivate the fertile slopes of all
the Bens in Scotland. In fact, I am in favour of anything that will,
or may, interfere with the tedious toil of Deer-stalking. Mr. BRYCE's
Bill, I am afraid, will do no good. People want Access to Mountains
when they cannot get it; when once they can, they will stay where the
beer is, and not go padding the wet and weary hoof through peat-hogs,
over rocks, and along stupid and fatiguing acclivities, rugged with
heather. Oh, preserve me from Deer-stalking; it is a sport of which I
cherish only the most sombre memories.
They may laugh, and say it was my own fault, all my misfortune on
the stalk, but a feeling reader will admit that I have merely been
unlucky. My first adventure, or misadventure if you like, was at
Cauldkail Castle, Lord GABERLUNZIE's place, which had been rented by
a man who made a fortune in patent corkscrews. The house was pretty
nearly empty, as everyone had gone south for the Leger, so it fell to
my lot to go out under the orders of the head stalker. He was a man
of six foot three, he walked like that giant of iron, TALUS his name
was, I think, who used to perambulate the shores of Crete, an early
mythical coast-guard. HUGH's step on the mountain was like that of the
red deer, and he had an eye like the eagle's of his native wastes.
[Illustration: "I had been bitten by an Adder."]
It was not pleasant, marching beside HUGH, and I was often anxious
to sit down and admire the scenery, if he would have let me. I
had no rifle of my own, but one was lent me, with all the latest
improvements, confound them! Well, we staggered through marshes, under
a blinding sun, and clambered up cliffs, and sneaked in the beds of
burns, and crawled through bogs on our stomachs. My only intervals
of repose were when HUGH lay down on his back, and explored the
surrounding regions with his field-glass. Even then I was not allowed
to smoke, and while I was baked to a blister with the sun, I was wet
through with black peat water. Never a deer could we see, or could
HUGH see, rather, for I am short-sighted, and cannot tell a stag from
a bracken bush.
At last HUGH, who was crawling some yards ahead, in an uninteresting
plain, broken by a few low round hillocks, beckoned to me to come on.
I writhed up to him, where he lay on the side of one of those mounds,
when he put the rifle in my hand, whispering "Shoot!"
"Shoot what?" said I, for my head was not yet above the crest of the
hillock. He only made a gesture, and getting my eye-glass above the
level, I saw quite a lot of deer, stags, and hinds, within fifty yards
of us. They were interested, apparently, in a party of shepherds,
walking on a road which crossed the moor at a distance, and had no
thoughts to spare for us. "Which am I to shoot?" I whispered.
"The big one, him between the two hinds to the left." I took deadly
aim, my heart beating audibly, like a rusty pump in a dry season.
My hands were shaking like aspen leaves, but I got the sight on him,
under his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, I pulled
the trigger of the second barrel. Nothing occurred. "Ye have the
safety-bolts in," whispered HUGH, and he accommodated that portion of
the machinery, which I do not understand. Was all this calculated to
set a man at his ease? I took aim afresh, pulled the trigger again.
Nothing! "Ye're on half-cock," whispered HUGH, adding some remark in
Gaelic, which, of course, I did not understand. Was it my fault? It
was not my own rifle, I repeat, and the hammers, at half-cock, looked
as high as those of my gun, full-cocked.
All this conversation had aroused the attention of the deer. Off they
scuttled at full speed, and I sent a couple of bullets vaguely after
them, in the direction of a small forest of horns which went tossing
down a glade. I don't think I hit anything, and HUGH, without making
any remark, took the rifle and strode off in a new direction. I was
nearly dead with fatigue, I was wishing Mr. BRYCE and the British
Tourist my share of Access to Mountains, when we reached the crown of
a bank above a burn, which commanded a view of an opposite slope. HUGH
wriggled up till his eyes were on a level with the crest, and got his
long glass out. After some interval of time, he wakened me, to say
that if I snored like that, I would not get a shot. Then he showed
me, or tried to show me, through the glass, a stag and three hinds,
far off to our right. I did not see them, I very seldom see anything
that people point out to me, but I thought it wise to humour him, and
professed my satisfaction. Was I to shoot at them? No, they were about
half a mile off, but, if I waited, they would feed up to us, so we
waited, HUGH nudging me at intervals to keep me awake. Meanwhile I was
practising aiming at a distant rock, about the place where I expected
to get my shot, as HUGH instructed me. I thought the wretched
rifle was at half-cock, and I aimed away, very conscientiously, for
practice. Presently the rifle went off with a bang, and I saw the
dust fly on the stone I had been practising at. It had not been
at half-cock, after all; warned by my earlier misfortunes, HUGH
had handed the rifle to me cocked. The stag and the hinds were in
wild retreat at a considerable distance. I had some difficulty in
explaining to HUGH, how this accident had occurred, nor did he seem
to share my satisfaction in having hit the stone, at all events.
We began a difficult march homewards, we were about thirteen miles
now from Cauldkail Castle. HUGH still, from habit, would sit down and
take a view through that glass of his. At last he shut it up, like
WELLINGTON at Waterloo, and said, "Maybe ye'll be having a chance yet,
Sir." He then began crawling up a slope of heather, I following, like
the Prophet's donkey. He reached the top, whence he signalled that
there was a shot, and passed the rifle to me, cocked this time. I took
it, put my hand down in the heather--felt something cold and slimy,
then something astonishingly sharp and painful, and jumped to my feet
with a yell! I had been bitten by an adder, that was all! Now, was
_that_ my fault? HUGH picked up the rifle, bowled over the stag, and
then, with some consideration, applied ammonia to my finger, and made
me swallow all the whiskey we had.
It was a long business, and Dr. MACTAVISH, who was brought from a
hamlet about thirty miles away, nearly gave me up. My arm was about
three feet in circumference, and I was very ill indeed. I have not
tried Deer-stalking again; and, as I said, I wish the British Tourist
joy of his Access to Mountains.
* * * * *