"The main object we had in view was not yet accomplished. With the
exception of our flock of turkeys, none of the pets we had tamed could
contribute to our support. We wished to capture some of the deer
species, and for this purpose we had thought of various expedients. We
had seen the fawns once or twice following their mothers; but we had
failed in coming up with them, although we had made several hunting
excursions for that purpose. At length, however, instead of a fawn, we
very unexpectedly captured a couple of old bucks, of the red-deer
species. The circumstances of this capture were somewhat singular; and
I shall detail them minutely as they occurred.
"We had gone out one day, Harry and myself, in search of the deer, and
in hopes that we might be able to start, run down a fawn with the dogs,
and take it alive. For this we had muzzled both, so that they should
not tear the fawn when they came up with it--as I had often seen
greyhounds muzzled at home for the same purpose. We went up the valley,
where we should be most likely to fall in with the objects of our
search; but not knowing how soon a deer might start out of the bushes,
we walked along very silently and slowly, watching the woods before us,
and listening to every sound. At length we arrived near the edge of a
small opening, as we could tell by the clear breaks through the
branches. It was in these glades or openings that we usually fell in
with the deer; and we advanced with increased caution, each of us
holding a dog in the leash which we had made for them. All at once a
singular noise reached our ears, evidently coming from the glade. It
sounded as if several large animals were stamping furiously over the
firm turf; but in the midst of this there was a constant cracking of
some hard substances, as if half-a-dozen men were playing with eagerness
at the game of single-stick. Every now and then we could hear a strange
sound, short and fierce, like the snorting of a horse. Of course, Harry
and I stopped in our tracks the moment we first heard these singular
noises. Our dogs cocked their ears, and wanted to spring forward; but
we held them both tightly on their strings, while we listened. For the
life of us, neither I nor my companion could guess what was going on in
the glade.
"`What can it be, papa?' said Harry.
"`I haven't the slightest idea,' replied I.
"`It must be animals,' said he, `and a good many of them, too, to make
so much stamping. Papa, is not that the snort of a deer? I think I
have heard deer make just such a noise.'
"`Maybe it is. Perhaps it may be elk; but what can cause such a
commotion among them, I wonder?'
"`What think you,' suggested Harry, `if they are fighting with some
animal--a panther, or perhaps a bear?'
"`If so,' said I, `our best plan would be to get back the road we came,
and that as speedily as possible. But I do not think it is that. They
would not stand to fight such creatures. Both elk and deer trust to
their heels rather than horns to escape from bears and panthers. No, it
is not that; but let us creep forward, and see what it is, anyhow. Hold
fast to your dog. Come!'
"We crouched forward with the utmost caution, taking care not to tread
upon the dry leaves and dead branches that lay across our track. We saw
before us a thicket of pawpaws; and we made towards this--knowing that
the broad green leaves of these bushes would screen us. We were soon
among them; and a few paces farther through the thicket brought us in
full view of the glade. There we saw what had caused all the strange
noises, and which still continued as loud as ever.
"In the middle of the glade there were six red-deer. They were all
bucks, as we could easily tell from their great branching antlers. They
were engaged in fierce and terrible conflict--sometimes two and two, and
sometimes three or four of them, clumped together in a sort of general
_melee_. Then they would separate again; and going some distance apart,
would wheel suddenly about, and rush at each other with furious snorts--
first striking forward with their forefeet held close together, and then
goring one another with their sharp horns, until we could see the skin
torn open, and the hair flying from them in tufts. Their eyes were
flashing like fire, and their whole actions betokened that the animals
were filled with rage and fury.
"I saw at once what all this meant. It was now the rutting season; and
these chivalrous bucks were engaged in desperate combat about some fair
doe, as is their yearly habit.
"They were too distant for either Harry's rifle or mine; and thinking
they might fight themselves a little nearer, we determined to remain
where we were, and watch. The combat continued to rage furiously.
Sometimes a pair of them came together with such violence that both went
rolling over to the earth; but in a moment they would up, and at it
again, as fiercely as ever.
"Our attention was particularly directed to two of the combatants, that
were larger and older than any of the others--as we could tell from the
greater number of points upon their antlers. None of the others seemed
a match for either of these two, who had at length singled each other
out as worthy antagonists, and fought separately. After goring and
stamping a while, they parted--as if by mutual consent--and walked
backward until they had got at least twenty yards from each other. Then
setting their necks, and putting all their energy into the rush, they
dashed forward, and met head to head, like a couple of rams. There was
a terrible crashing among their antlers; and Harry and I looked to see
whether a pair of them had not been knocked off in the concussion; but
it appeared not. After this, the two struggled for a while, and then
suddenly paused--still head to head--as though by a tacit agreement, in
order to take breath. For some moments they stood quietly in this
attitude, and then once more commenced struggling. After a while they
stopped again, still keeping their heads together, so that their red
expanded nostrils steamed into each other. We thought that they fought
quite differently from all the rest; but our eyes were now drawn to the
others, who were getting nearer us; and we prepared our rifles to
receive them. At length several came within range; and, each of us
choosing one, we fired almost simultaneously. At the double crack one
of the bucks fell; and the other three, on perceiving the common enemy,
immediately desisted from their mutual warfare, and bounded off like
lightning. Harry and I rushed forward, as we had fired; and thinking
that the deer which we had missed--it was Harry's miss that time--might
be wounded, we unmuzzled the dogs, and let them after. Of course, we
had stooped down to perform this operation. What was our surprise, on
looking up again, to see the two old bucks still in the glade, and
fighting, head to head, as briskly as ever!
"Our first thought was to reload our pieces, but the dogs had been let
loose; and these, instead of pursuing the other deer, dashed forward at
the bucks, and the next moment sprang upon their flanks. Harry and I
rushed after, and you may guess that our surprise was still further
increased when we saw the bucks, instead of separating, still struggle
head to head--as if their desperate hostility for each other had
rendered them reckless of every other danger! When we got forward to
the spot, the mastiffs had brought both of them to their knees; and now
for the first time we perceived the true cause why they had continued
their singular combat--because they could not help themselves--their
_antlers were locked in each other_! Yes,--held as firmly as if they
had been lashed together by thongs cut out of their own hides. Indeed,
far more firmly, for after we had beaten off the dogs, and secured the
animals from the chance of escaping, we found their horns so
interlocked--one pair within the other--that we could not separate them
with all our efforts. We had sadly wronged the poor old bucks, in
believing them so desperately pugnacious. Their hostile feelings for
each other had long since ceased--no doubt the moment they found
themselves in such a terrible fix--and they now stood, nose to nose,
quite frightened-like, and `down in the mouth,' as if vexed at the mess
they had got themselves into by their bad behaviour.
"Harry and I, after much pulling and hammering, found it quite
impossible to make two of them. The antlers, which, as you know, are
elastic, had bent with the terrible concussion we had witnessed; and it
was far beyond our strength to bend them back again. In fact, nothing
but a machine of horsepower could have accomplished that. I sent my
companion, therefore, after Cudjo and his handsaw--at the same time
directing him to bring the horse and cart, for the carcass of the buck
we had shot, as well as some ropes for our captives. While he was gone,
I employed my time in skinning the dead animal, leaving his live
companions to themselves: I had no fear of their being able to escape.
Cowed and sullen as both of them looked, it was well for them--since we
did not mean to butcher them--that we had arrived upon the ground as we
did. Otherwise their fate was a settled one. The wolves, or some other
of their numerous enemies, would have treated them worse than we
intended to do; or even had they not been discovered by these, their
doom was sealed all the same. They might have twisted and wriggled
about for a few days longer, to die of thirst and hunger, still looked
in that hostile embrace. Such is the fate of many of these animals.
"Cudjo soon arrived with the necessary implements; and, after hobbling
both the bucks, we sawed one of the branches from their antlers, and set
them asunder. We then put all three into the cart, and returned
triumphant to the house."