amount of foresight into the alignment; as by taking a large foresight
at one time and a small one at another, one is apt to get confused,
especially when other matters have to be considered at the same time.
But it must also be remembered that the different degrees of the
light's intensity have a marked effect upon the appearance of the
foresight, and must be allowed for. If the light is very dull, the
foresight will not be very distinctly seen; and, unconsciously, more of
it will be brought up. This has the effect of bringing up the muzzle
end of the rifle, and of giving the bullet a higher trajectory, thus
causing the shot to strike high. But, on the other hand, if the light
is bright the foresight is easily seen, and less of it is unconsciously
taken up, so causing the shot to drop. These differences in the
appearance of the foresight are corrected by raising the backsight in a
bright light, and lowering it when dull.
Mirage and refraction are very troublesome matters to deal with, for
the bull's eye appears to be where in reality it is not. And it is
almost impossible to ascertain the allowances which should be made for
this source of error without the advantage of a trial shot.
The condition of the atmosphere as to temperature and humidity has much
to do with the fouling inside the rifle. In hot, dry weather it is apt
to get hard and dry. After a few shots have been fired, it cakes and
fills up the grooving of the rifle. Consequently the amount of the spin
of the bullet is affected, often causing the shots to drop, and
spoiling all chance of accurate shooting. This can be avoided by
blowing down the rifle after each shot, when the moisture of the breath
will greatly improve the condition of the encrusted barrel. Many rifle
shots have indiarubber tubes for this purpose, and blow down the barrel
through them from the breech end. Some competitors even take more
trouble; for, after each shot, they shut the breech, and get up from
their position in order to blow down from the muzzle end. This method
involves more exertion, but it is evident that any moisture blown down
with one end stopped, and thus permitted to accumulate, must of
necessity be more effective in cleansing the barrel.
In warm, damp weather, the fouling becomes moist and greasy, letting
the bullet slip through easily. These differences in elevation caused
through fouling can also be allowed for by altering the elevation on
the rifle between the shots.
An ingenious little instrument called the Vernier is used for measuring
the elevation, When it is considered, that, at 600 yards distance from
the targets, the difference of 1/150th of an inch on the backsight will
be equal to half a foot on the target, it will evidently be of the
greatest importance to be able to adjust the sights accordingly. For
this purpose Verniers are made so delicate as to move the backsight
through such a small space as the 1/150th of an inch at a time. By this
means of adjustment, should a shot strike straight above the bull's
eye, you have only to notice the exact amount of the error in inches,
and then the elevation can be lowered 1/150th of an inch, or a "degree"
as it is called for every six inches the shot is above the mark;
provided always that the other conditions are the same as before.
Theoretically, wind is far more easy to deal with than elevation; for,
if the wind blows across the targets from the left, it would naturally
drive the bullet to the right. Therefore, by aiming in the direction
the wind is blowing from, proper allowance can be made. The difficulty
lies in the practical part, _i.e._, of judging exactly how far the
bullet will be driven from its true course. Practice is the only
possible teacher in this matter; and it is wonderful to see how some
experienced shots will estimate the strength of the wind, acting only
on their own judgment, and succeed in hitting the bull's eye at first
shot, and especially when we learn that at 600 yards as much as fifteen
feet of windage is sometimes required. But at times there seems to be a
certain amount of chance attached to the "finding of the bull's eye." I
have heard of a competitor who had fired several shots and could not
find the bull's eye. He was firing in a competition called "Cartons,"
in which the most central hit takes the highest prize. After several
unsuccessful shots, he wished to alter some part of his rifle and for
this purpose turned it upside down. In doing so he accidently pulled
the trigger. This turned out to be a singular instance of good luck,
for the shot not only was fired without harming anyone, but actually
hit the very centre of the target! This undesigned shot proved to be
the best Carton of the meeting, bringing the competitor a prize of
several pounds. I have often heard it said on the range that "there is
no luck in shooting except bad luck;" and it certainly is very
disappointing to lose several points in a competition before you
succeed in finding the bull's eye; but it is still more disappointing,
when, having found it, the wind keeps changing its force or direction,
and so increasing your perplexity. The only consolation in this
disagreeable experience is, that a great deal more is learnt from one
bad score under these circumstances, than from many good ones made with
a steady wind.
All my remarks have referred to target-shooting only, in those cases
where competitors are not hurried, but can take their own time to paint
their sights and adjust them with "machines," carefully marking the
allowance for windage on their sights, so that they may aim at the
bull's eye every time, and have no more to think of but holding the
rifle steady. I use all these helps myself, finding them a great
advantage; and I believe that studying all these minute but necessary
particulars is a good training for those who may have to use their
rifles for more serious purposes than competing for prizes at rifle
meetings. For, although in practical shooting they will be obliged to
use the rifle just as it is served out, they will prove themselves to
be experienced shots, and know how to handle their weapons with that
skill which is always the result of careful training and practice.
WINIFRED LOUIS LEALE.
DEER-STALKING AND DEER-DRIVING.
BY DIANE CHASSERESSE.
Deer-stalking is like marriage, it should not be "enterprised nor taken
in hand unadvisedly or lightly," nor should it be undertaken by those
who are weak and delicate, for it entails many hardships and much
exposure to wet and cold.
Imagine the state of a thorough-bred racehorse, if it were kept
standing for hours in a snowstorm, with no clothing on, directly after
it had run a race. Yet, a like sudden change from violent exercise
taken in great heat, to hours of immovability in the most bitter cold,
is of constant occurrence when stalking deer in the late autumn, in the
Highlands of Scotland. For instance, the stalker may have to toil with
wearied feet up a steep hill, under the burning rays of an October sun,
when, suddenly and unexpectedly, some deer will come in sight, hurrying
over the ridge in front of him to seek for shelter from an impending
storm. Retreat is impossible, there is no time even to choose a
hiding-place; the stalker must throw himself face downwards, most
likely in the middle of a bog, and remain there without moving hand or
foot as long as the storm lasts and the deer remain in sight. In the
meantime the sun has vanished, and the day has changed from broiling
heat to piercing cold; and, while the wind gets up and the hail beats
pitilessly on his prostrate form, the stalker must be ready, with
numbed and aching finger to pull the trigger of his rifle, the moment
the darkness has lifted sufficiently, for him to make out which are the
largest and most shootable deer.
It will be seen from this that deer-stalking is not all pleasurable
excitement, and that those who go after deer must be prepared to endure
a certain amount of physical discomfort. Pipes cannot be smoked, nor
can whisky be imbibed within sight and within shot of deer; neither can
sandwiches be munched, nor may you even take a drink at a burn. The
soul of the sportsman must soar above hunger and thirst--such luxuries
as two o'clock lunch and five o'clock tea are not for him--even the
simple use of a pocket-handkerchief is denied him under certain
circumstances.
The paraphernalia needed by the stalker is very limited in extent. It
consists of a rifle, a dozen cartridges, a telescope, and a long knife.
Stout, easy-fitting nailed boots are _de rigueur_ for walking; also
thick stockings--not necessarily rough or irritating to the skin--and
neutral-coloured clothes, light in weight. Nothing else is essential. I
have given elsewhere a detailed description of the dress I myself found
most suitable for the hills, so I will only repeat here that it should
be of either drab or grey cloth--water-proof, but not air-proof--with a
dash of pink, green, or orange in it according to the prevailing colour
of the ground over which you have to stalk. A long grey macintosh of
the best quality can be carried in the forester's pocket and put on
during heavy storms. This should have a separate hood, which may be
used either to sit on, or as a protection to the head and neck from
rain and wind.
The fewer people the stalker has to accompany him the more likely he is
to get sport. One man to carry the rifle, or stalk for him, is
sufficient. It is quite unnecessary to have a second forester with
dogs, as they only disturb the deer and are seldom required.
Foresters, whether from an imperfect knowledge of English or from
"thinking the more," are usually a silent and uncommunicative race. The
sort of way an ignorant--or supposed to be ignorant--sportsman is
treated when sent out with an experienced stalker for the first time,
is much after this fashion.
The forester shoulders the rifle and goes up the side of a hill with
quick, elastic step, and you follow with aching muscles and panting
breath. At last there is a halt, and he takes out his glass and looks
carefully over the ground, first searching the places where deer are
usually to be discovered, then scanning the rest of the vast expanse of
hill and valley spread out before him. You, also, take out your glass
and strain your unaccustomed eye in looking for deer. After a time you
find some, and wonder if by chance they have escaped the keen eye of
the forester, for he has shut his telescope, and is silently descending
the hill again.
"Sandy!" you call out.
"Surr--mem?" correcting himself as he remembers your sex.
"Did you see those deer?"
"Hwhich deer was it?"
"There are some deer feeding on that green patch, didn't you see them?"
"Ou--ay."
"But wouldn't they do to go after?"
"They're no verra bug, but I'm thunkin' one of them micht do," and
Sandy moves on again.
"But, Sandy!"
"Surr--mem!"
"Why can't we go after the one that _might do_?"
"We'll require to go round a bittee and come doon on them."
To "go round a bittee" you find to your cost means to go right back to
the bottom of the hill whence you came, to tramp miles round the base
of the mountain, and finally to climb up over the top so as to come
down on the deer. On the way you come across some small staggies which
decline to move, being quite well aware that they are not worth
shooting. Fearing they will spoil all your sport by moving the other
deer, Sandy lies still and taps two stones together to frighten them a
little, but they still refuse to go away and only stare stupidly at
you.
"Ye'll jist wave yer hwhite mop," whispers Sandy.
You wonder what he means, as you do not generally carry _mops_ about
the hills. Then Sandy, seeing your bewilderment, makes a gesture with
his hands over his face in the most solemn manner, and you are reminded
of the children's game:--
"I wipe my face with a very good grace,
Without either laughing or smiling."
and produce your white pocket-handkerchief--which certainly, there is
no denying, _has_ been used as a mop pretty often on the way up--and
waving it at the deer, have the satisfaction of seeing them trot away
in a direction where they will do no harm.
After that Sandy says nothing more, but goes trudging on ahead till he
stops to take the rifle out of its case and load it. Then he begins to
crawl very slowly and cautiously, taking care not to scrape the
heather, or knock the stones, and you do exactly the same till you join
him behind a big boulder; when he puts the rifle in your hand, saying
in a whisper,--
"Noo then, ye'll tak yon beast that's feeding to the west."
And you look up excitedly, not knowing in the very least the
whereabouts of the deer; but while you are trying to make out which is
the "beast that is feeding to the west," a greater beast that is
feeding to the east, in the shape of a hind, has already made you out,
and the whole herd of deer have galloped away without giving you the
chance of a shot. You turn and look blankly at Sandy, and Sandy looks
disgustedly at you, and behind your back he exclaims, that you "jist
mak' him seeck."
Little of the science of deer-stalking can be learnt from following
blindly behind a silent forester; though no doubt a novice would get
more deer and disturb less ground by putting himself entirely into the
hands of a first-rate stalker than by attempting to go his own way, and
acquiring experience at the expense of repeated failure.
The two great difficulties with which the amateur has to contend are,
the wrong impression given by the appearance of ground when seen from a
distance, and the imperfect knowledge of the direction from which the
wind will blow when he gets within reach of deer. The other
difficulties, such as keeping out of sight of the deer he wishes to
shoot, and avoiding other deer or sheep, can be overcome, with
practice, by any intelligent person; but to know the direction in which
certain winds will blow in certain places, is a constant puzzle even to
the oldest and most experienced sportsman.
If a valley lies east and west, and the wind blows east or west, you
can generally count on being able to stalk _up_-wind. But should the
wind be _north_ in a valley lying east and west, it will constantly
blow _south_ on the southern side of a northern mountain, or it _might_
blow east or west. There is only one manner of ascertaining the
direction of a light and doubtful breeze, and that is by continually
plucking little bits of the fluff off your homespun coat, and allowing
them to float about in the air.
Deer are far more frightened at getting the wind of a human being than
they are at seeing him; consequently they will gallop away faster, and
run to a much greater distance after scenting a person than they will
after seeing him. They are also far more frightened at sight of a man
walking upright at a considerable distance, than at seeing one crouched
up and immovable quite near them--though in the latter case he may be
so close that his face, hands, and even the rifle are discernible.
When a seal is doubtful about anything floating on the water, it will
take a long circuit round, and keep out of shot until it has got to
windward of the suspicious object. Once to windward all doubt is at an
end, and, if the object should prove to be an enemy, the seal will
immediately disappear under water. But, fortunately for sportsman, deer
are not clever enough to adopt this plan, or we should find stalking
even more difficult than it is now. For if deer catch sight of a
suspicious-looking object, the hinds generally come a step or two
nearer to it, instead of going round to get the wind, and when they
have quite decided that it looks like something uncanny, they will go
off with a bark, occasionally stopping to look back. In the meantime
the stags will be preparing to rise, so you must be ready to seize your
chance of a broadside shot--for a stag lying with face towards you,
will generally, on rising, turn his body broadside before bolting away.
Should the deer, however, get a puff of your wind, it is of no use to
wait; you must either take a snap-shot at their retreating heels, or
refrain from firing at all, and trust to getting another stalk when
they have settled down again later in the day.
You can never, under any circumstances, take a liberty with the wind;
but, on wet and stormy days, it is extraordinary how you may crawl
about in full view of deer without frightening them, so long as they do
not happen to be looking at you while you are actually moving. To begin
with, the wet deadens any sound you may make in crawling; ferns do not
crackle, nor does the grass rustle, and, as there is no light and
shade, objects are less distinctly seen. But a sky line must always be
avoided when possible, or, if not, it should be crossed with the utmost
care by keeping flat and moving slowly; as deer are quick to note any
strange excrescence on the edge of a hill.
There are only two really important things to avoid when out stalking.
One is the unnecessary disturbance of deer by firing shots late at
night, or by careless stalking--both of which will send them off the
ground you are on, and over to that of your neighbour--and the other is
shooting at deer when the chances are more in favour of wounding them
than of killing them outright.
Sport is sometimes cruel--_though never so cruel as nature_, as any
observer can bear witness--but that is no reason why sportsmen should
be careless about giving unnecessary pain.
There are so many different sorts of rifles turned out by the various
gunmakers, that it would be difficult to say which kind is the best. I
have not had a large experience, but, having tried a single-barrelled
Henry--with which I regularly missed--a double-barrelled Lankaster, and
a Purdey, besides the various kinds of small rifles made by Rigby,
Adams, and Holland, I do not hesitate to say that the best shots I ever
made were at running deer with an old-fashioned _muzzle-loader_, with
solid conical bullets!
One of the great charms of deer-stalking, besides the delightful
feeling of being out all day long in the fresh air surrounded by the
most beautiful scenery, is, that there is so much variety in it, as no
two stalks are ever in the least alike. One might go season after
season over the same ground, but it would be impossible to shoot two
deer under precisely similar conditions.
A beginner can scarcely understand the fascination which deer-stalking
exercises over a more practised sportsman. When a novice is taken out,
the stalker is naturally anxious to give him every chance, and, at the
same time, is not over-particular about the size of the deer--which may
possibly be missed; so he generally manages to bring him up to within
easy distance of a single stag, standing broadside. The novice knows
nothing of the intricacies of the stalk, or of the difficulties which
have been overcome. He has, perhaps, been taken up one deep burn, and
brought down another on the same hillside, possibly without having had
any climbing, crawling, or wading to do; after which he is told to look
between some tufts of heather over the edge of a bank, when he will see
the stag feeding just below. He then raises up the loaded rifle, and,
feeling rather as though he were going to shoot at a red cow, calmly
takes a deliberate aim, with his elbows resting on the bank, and hits
the beast right through the heart. The whole business has appeared so
easy that he cannot understand the excitement of the stalker over it;
and he feels rather ashamed than otherwise of the fuss that is made
about him on his return home. But, the next time he goes out, he may
have to shoot immediately after a stiff climb uphill; the deer is
further off than he thinks, and is very much the same colour as the
ground; he is out of breath, and more careless about his aim, and the
consequence is that he misses it clean, and fires the second barrel
with no better result. After this, the novice begins to see that it is
not altogether so tame and easy a business as it appeared at first;
and, when next he gets a chance at a stag, his heart will commence to
beat, he will feel nervous about his aim, his knees will tremble and
his hand shake, and he will at last feel that there is some excitement
about deer-stalking after all.
Deer-driving is by no means such good sport as deer-stalking. When deer
are driven, if they go the way that is intended--which depends chiefly
on the weather and not at all on the skill of the sportsmen--all that
is necessary to obtain a large number of stags is to keep a cool head,
and to take a steady aim. But these qualifications are usually just
those which are conspicuous by their absence at the generality of deer
drives; consequently, the number of shots that are fired at deer--all
within easy distance--in proportion to the number of deer slain or
wounded, is quite remarkable.
I have often wondered how soldiers behave on a field of battle, where
there is danger to life and limb, added to the noise, smoke, bustle and
excitement. _Do they ever hit a man at all except by accident?_ And is
it likely that the time, ammunition and money annually wasted on firing
at a mark will teach men not to lose their heads on a field of battle,
with the enemy advancing towards them, when they cannot even keep cool
at a deer drive, where there is absolute silence and stillness, and the
deer are often too frightened and bewildered to do more than stand
still to be shot at!
It would be very interesting to keep a record of the number of drives
which come off properly, compared with those which are failures; and of
the number of shots fired at each drive, in proportion to every deer
killed. I also fancy it would improve the sport in a forest far more if
a record were kept of all the misses which were made out stalking, than
if a high average of weights were insisted on, as this can only be
accomplished by sparing the old deer, which, being past their prime and
deteriorating every season, should certainly be killed at the expense
of the average.
Deer-driving, more than any other kind of sport, depends on weather.
When out stalking one generally succeeds in getting more deer on a
stormy than on a fine day, but with driving it is just the reverse. The
day cannot be too fine, as the mist and rain, which so constantly
accumulate about high mountains, are the chief reasons why drives are
such frequent failures.
The way a drive is arranged is as follows. Every available stalker,
forester and gillie is sent out before daylight to make an immense
circle round the corries and mountains from which the deer are to be
driven. Unfortunately the mist usually comes low down in the night, and
the men cannot possibly tell, when they make their early start, whether
it will lift or not.
Deer have certain passes which they use when going from one corrie to
another, and, if they are disturbed, they make for one of these passes
_up_-wind. But when everything has been settled, the guns are placed in
a pass which is _down_-wind to the deer, and out of sight of the
corrie, into which they are being collected by the beaters.
It is a very difficult matter to force deer to go down-wind, as it is
against all their instincts to do so, and, if they have had much
experience, they will be perfectly aware that men with rifles are
awaiting them on the ridge, and, instead of going forward over the
pass, they will break back at the last minute and rush through the
beaters--who can only pelt them with sticks and stones--rather than
face the known danger of the guns in front of them.
In a deer drive it is necessary for the day to be clear, in order that
the beaters may see each other as well as the deer. It is equally
important that the deer should see the beaters, as these latter are
placed as stops to prevent them going to the passes up-wind where there
are no guns. If the deer are quite determined not to go down-wind over
a pass, nothing that the beaters can do to force them will make any
difference, and the drive is consequently spoilt. If the wind changes,
or does not blow fair, the guns know at once that their chance of sport
is over, for deer would rather face an army which they can see, than a
puff of wind from an unknown foe.