Wild Scottish Bisons—Fight with a Bull—Cold and Fatigue.
Sir Patrick Hepborne and the page, followed by Mortimer Sang and the
rest of the party, rode slowly on after their savage guides, along
sideling paths worn in the steep acclivities of the mountains, by the
deer, wild bisons, and other animals then abounding in the wilderness
of Scotland. The fir forests appeared endless; the trees were of the
most gigantic stature, and might have been of an age coeval with that
second creation that sprang up over the surface of the renovated and
newly-fructified earth, after the subsiding waters had left their
fertilising mud behind them. Long hairy moss hung streaming from their
lateral branches, which, dried by the lack of air and moisture,
occasioned by the increasing growth of the shade above, had died from
the very vigour of the plant they were attached to. As Hepborne beheld
the two mountaineers striding before them in their rough attire,
winding among those enormous scaly trunks, or standing on some rocky
point above, leaning against one of them, to wait for the slow ascent
of himself and party, he could not help comparing them with those
vegetable giants, and indulging his fancy in the whimsical notion that
they were as two of them, animated and endowed with the powers of
locomotion. The ground they travelled was infinitely rough and varied
in surface, hills and hollows, knolls, gullies, rivers, and lakes; but
all was forest, never-ending forest. Sometimes, indeed, they crossed
large tracks of ground, where, to open a space for pasture, or to
banish the wolves, or to admit a more extended view around for purposes
of hunting, or perhaps by some accidental fire, the forest had been
burnt. There the huge trunks of the trees, charred black by the flames,
and standing deprived of everything but a few of their larger limbs,
added to the savage scenery around.
Before entering one of these wastes, in a little plain lying in the
bottom of a valley, where the devastation had been arrested in its
progress by some cause before it had been carried to any great extent,
their guides descried a herd of the wild bisons, which were natives of
Scotland for ages after the period we are now speaking of. The animals
were feeding at no very great distance, and the mountaineers were
instantly all eagerness to get at them. Pointing them out to Hepborne,
they made signs that he and his party should halt. He complied with
their wishes; and they immediately secured their dogs to the trees, to
prevent the risk of giving any premature alarm, and, setting off with
inconceivable speed through the skirting wood that grew on the side of
the mountain, were soon lost to view. Hepborne kept his eye on the
herd. They were of a pure milk-white hue, and, as the sun was reflected
from their glossy hides, they appeared still more brilliant, from
contrast with the blackened ruins of the burnt pines among which they
were pasturing. At their head was a noble bull with a magnificent mane.
As Hepborne and the page were admiring the beauty and symmetry of this
leader of the herd, noting the immense strength indicated by the
thickness and depth of his chest with the lightness and sprightliness
of his head, and his upright and spreading horns, of a white rivalling
that of ivory in lustre, and tipt with points of jet black, they
observed a fat cow near to him suddenly fall to the ground, by an arrow
from the covert of the trees, while another having been lodged in his
flank at the same moment, he started aside, and bounded off in a wide
circuit with great swiftness, and the whole herd, being alarmed, darted
after him. Out rushed the mountaineers from their concealment, and,
making for the wounded cow, soon despatched her with their spears.
They then attempted to creep nearer to the herd, and even succeeded in
lodging more than one arrow in the bull; but as none of them took
effect in a vital part, they only served to madden the animal. He
turned, and, ere they wist, charged them with a fury and speed that
left them hardly time to make their escape. They ran towards the place
where Hepborne and his party were concealed, and, just as the knight
moved forward into the open ground, they succeeded in getting up into
trees. Sir Patrick’s manœuvre had the desired effect in checking the
attack of the bisons, for they stopped short in the middle of their
career, gazed at the party, and then, led by the bull at their head,
again galloped off in a wide circle, sweeping round a second time
towards the knight, and coming to a sudden stand beyond bow-shot. After
remaining at rest for some minutes, with their heads all turned towards
the party, the bull began pawing the ground and bellowing aloud, after
which he charged forward the half of the distance, and then halted.
Hepborne, seeing him thus detached from his followers, put his lance in
the rest, and was preparing to attack him; but just as he was rising in
his stirrup, and was about to give his horse the spur, the page, with a
countenance pale as death, and a hand trembling with apprehension,
seized his bridle-rein, and looking anxiously in his face—
“Do not peril thy life, Sir Knight,” said he—“do not, I beseech thee,
peril thy life against a vulgar beast, where thou canst gain no honour;
do not, for the sake of the blessed Virgin—do not essay so dangerous
and unprofitable an adventure.”
“Pshaw,” said Hepborne, vexed with the notion that the boy was
betraying pusillanimity; “is that the face, are those the looks, and is
that the pallid hue of fear thou dost mean to put on as the proofs of
thy fitness for deeds of manhood and warlike encounter?”
The page dropped his head, ashamed and hurt by his master’s chiding;
but still he did not let go the rein—
“Nay, Sir Knight,” said he calmly, “I did but argue that thy prowess,
shown upon a vile brute, were but lost. Rather let me attempt to attack
yonder salvage; he better befits mine unpractised arm than thine
honoured lance, which hath overthrown puissant knights.”
“Tush, boy,” said Sir Patrick, somewhat better pleased to see the
spirit that lurked in the youth, “thou art much too young, and thine
arm is as yet too feeble to fit thee for encounter with yonder huge
mass of thews and muscles. Stand by, my dear boy, and let me pass.”
He gave the palfrey the spur, and sprang forward against the bull. The
page couched his slender lance, to which a pennon was attached, and
bravely followed the knight in the charge, as fast as his palfrey could
gallop. The bull, seeing Hepborne coming on him, bellowed aloud, and,
putting down his nose to the ground, he shut his eyes, and darted
forward against his assailant. Hepborne wheeled his horse suddenly out
of his way, and, with great adroitness, ran his lance through him as he
passed him. But his manœuvre, though manifesting excellent judgment,
and admirable skill and horsemanship, had nearly proved fatal to the
page, whose palfrey, coming up in a straight line behind that of the
knight, and seeing the bull coming directly upon him, sprang to the
side, and by that means unhorsing the boy, left him lying on the
ground, in the very path of the infuriated beast. In agony from his
wound, the creature immediately proceeded to attack the youth with his
horns. But the page having kept hold of his spear, with great presence
of mind, ran its point, with the flapping pennon attached to it, right
into the animal’s eyes. The creature instantly retreated a few steps,
and before he could renew his attack he was overpowered by the knight
and his party, who immediately surrounded him, and was killed by at
least a dozen spear-thrusts at once. A general charge was now made
against the rest that still stood at a distance, crowded together in a
knot; when the whole of them, wheeling suddenly round, galloped off
with the utmost swiftness, and were lost in the depths of the forest.
Hepborne leaped from his horse and ran anxiously to assist Maurice de
Grey, who still lay on the ground, apparently faint from the fall he
had had, and perhaps, too, partly from the alarm he had been in. He
raised him up, upon which the boy burst into tears.
“Art thou hurt, Maurice?” demanded Hepborne, with alarm.
“Nay,” said the boy, “I am not hurt.”
“Fye on thee, then,” said Hepborne; “let not tears sully the glory thou
has but now earned by thy manly attempt in so boldly riding to my
rescue. Verily thou wilt be a brave lad anon. Be assured, my beloved
boy,” continued he, as he warmly embraced him, “I feel as grateful for
thine affectionate exertions in my behalf as if I now owed my life to
them. But dry up thy tears, and let them not henceforth well out so
frequently, lest thy manhood and courage may be questioned.”
“Nay, Sir Knight,” said the boy, “these are not the tears of cowardice;
they are the tears of gratitude to heaven for thy safety; and methinks
they are less dishonourable to me,” continued he, with an arch smile of
satisfaction, “since I see that thine own manly cheek is somewhat
moistened.”
Hepborne said no more, but turned away hastily, for he felt that what
the boy said was true. He had experienced very great alarm for
Maurice’s life, and the relief he received by seeing him in safety,
operating in conjunction with the thought that the danger the page had
thrown himself into had been occasioned by a mistaken zeal to defend
him from the bull, grappled his generous heart, and filled his eyes
with a moisture he could not restrain.
The two mountaineers proceeded to skin the animals, a work which they
performed with great expertness; then cutting off the finer parts of
the flesh, and carefully extracting the tallow, they rolled them up in
the hides; and each lifting one of them on his brawny shoulders,
proceeded on their journey, after allowing their hungry dogs to gorge
themselves on the remainder.
The knight and his party were now led up some of those wild glens which
bring down tributary streams to the river Dee, and they gradually began
to climb the southern side of that lofty range of mountains separating
its valley from that of the Spey. They soon rose above the region of
forest, and continued to ascend by zigzag paths, where the horses found
a difficult and precarious footing, and where the riders were often
compelled to dismount. The fatigue to both men and animals was so
great, that some of the latter frequently slipped down, and were with
great labour recovered from the hazard they were thrown into. At
length, after unremitting and toilsome exertions, they found themselves
on the very ridge of the mountain group, from which they enjoyed a view
backwards over many leagues of the wild but romantic country they had
travelled through during the previous day.
They now crossed an extensive plain, the greatest part of which was
covered with a hardened glacier, while two high tops reared themselves,
one on either side, covered with glazed snow, that reflected the
sunbeams with dazzling brightness. The passage across this stretch of
table-land was difficult, the horses frequently slipping and often
falling, till, at length, they came suddenly on the edge of a
precipice, whence they looked down into one of the most sublime scenes
that nature can well present.
The long and narrow trough of the glen, bounded on both sides by
tremendously precipitous rocks, rising from a depth that made the head
giddy to overlook it, stretched from under them in nearly a straight
line, for perhaps six or seven miles, being cooped in between the two
highest points of the Grampians. The bottom of the nearer and more
savage part of this singular hollow among the mountains was so
completely filled with the waters of the wild Loch Avon, as to leave
but little shore on either side, and that little was in most places
inclined in a steep slope, and covered with mountainous fragments, that
had fallen during a succession of ages from the overhanging cliffs. A
detachment of pines, from the lower forests, came straggling up the
more distant part of the glen, and some of them had even established
themselves here and there in scattered groups, and uncouthly-shaped
single trees, along the sides of the lake, or among the rocks arising
from it. The long sheet of water lay unruffled amidst the uninterrupted
quiet that prevailed, and, receiving no other image than that of the
sky above, assumed a tinge of the deepest and darkest hue. The glacier
they stood on, and which hung over the brow of the cliff, gave rise to
two very considerable streams, which threw themselves roaring over the
rocks, dashing and breaking into an infinite variety of forms, and
shooting headlong into the lake below.
The sun was now sinking rapidly in the west, and night was fast
approaching. The great elevation they had gained, and the solitary
wilderness of alpine country that surrounded them, almost excluded the
possibility of any human habitation being within their reach. Hepborne
became anxiously solicitous for the page Maurice de Grey, who had for a
considerable time been manifesting excessive fatigue. Their dumb guides
seemed to stand as if uncertain how to proceed, and Hepborne’s anxiety
increased. He endeavoured to question them by signs, as to where they
intended the party to halt for the night. With some difficulty he
succeeded in making them understand him, and they then pointed out a
piece of green ground, looped in by a sweep of the river, that escaped
from the farther end of the lake. The spot seemed to be sheltered by
surrounding pine trees, and wore in every respect a most inviting
aspect. But if they had been endowed with wings and could have taken
the flight of eagles from the region of the clouds where they then
were, the distance must have been five or six miles. Taking into
calculation, therefore, the immense circuit they must make with the
horses in order to gain the bottom of the glen beyond the lake, which
must necessarily quadruple the direct distance, together with the
toilsome nature of the way, Sir Patrick saw that Maurice de Grey must
sink under the pressure of fatigue before one-twentieth part of it
could be performed. He was therefore thrown into a state of the utmost
perplexity, for the cold was so great where they then were, that it was
absolutely impossible they could remain there during the night, without
the risk of being frozen to death.
One of the guides, observing Hepborne’s uneasiness and doubt,
approached him, and pointed almost perpendicularly downwards to a place
near the upper end of the lake, where the masses of rock lay thickest
and hugest. The knight could not comprehend him at first, but the man,
taking up two or three rough angular stones, placed them on the ground
close to each other in the form of an irregular circle, everywhere
entire except in one point, where the space of about the width of one
of them was left vacant; and then, lifting up a stone of a cubical
shape, and of much greater size, he placed the flat base of it on the
top of the others, so as entirely to cover them and the little area
they enclosed. Having made Hepborne observe that he could thrust his
hand in at the point where the circle had been left incomplete, and
that he could move it in the cavity under the flat base of the stone,
he again pointed downwards to the same spot he had indicated near the
upper end of the lake, and at last succeeded in calling Hepborne’s
attention to one of the fallen crags, much larger than the rest, but
which, from the immensity of the height they were above it, looked
liked a mere handful. The guide no sooner saw that the knight’s eye had
distinguished the object he wished him to notice, than he turned and
pointed to the mimic erection he had formed on the ground, and at
length made him comprehend that the fallen crag below was similarly
poised, and afforded a like cavernous shelter beneath it. At the same
time he indicated a zigzag path that led precipitously down the cliffs,
like a stair among the rocks, between the two foaming cataracts. This
was altogether impracticable for the horses, it is true, but it was
sufficiently feasible, though hazardous enough, for active pedestrians.
The guide separated Hepborne and Maurice de Grey from the rest of the
party, and then, pointing to the men and horses, swept his extended
finger round from them to the distant green spot beyond the end of the
lake; and this he did in such a manner as to make the knight at once
understand he meant to propose that the party should proceed thither by
a circuitous route, under the guidance of his companion, whilst he
should himself conduct Hepborne and his already over-fatigued page
directly down to the Sheltering Stone below, where they might have
comfortable lodging for the night. He further signified to Hepborne
that the horses might be brought for a considerable way up the lake to
meet him in the morning.