One chance, however, I certainly lost by my own fault. A buzzard came sailing along the pine-tops towards me; I was posted on a small plateau crowning an isolated hillock, and overlooking a sea of dark green pines. Promiscuous shooting is, of course, debarred; but the batida was nearly finished; I had seen the beaters cross a ridge within a quarter-mile, and determined to have the hawk. Just as the buzzard approached a fair range, I observed that a good stag had ascended my hillock, and for some twenty yards ran in full view. Then he dropped down from sight just before it was possible for me to exchange guns. A downright bungle! I would fain have hidden my disgrace in silence, but it is a distressing feature of sport on this tell-tale sandy soil, that it is impossible to conceal or to mitigate one's "chambonadas"—call them misfortunes. Nothing moves but leaves behind it an indelible mark, and no mark ever escapes the keen eyes of the forest-guards. "Look here!" exclaims Anillo, "here has passed a good stag—aqui ha pasado un buen venado!" "why did not his worship fire?" Why indeed!
Some days passed and I began to fear the campaign might close without a change in my luck. Nor were these deep forests particularly interesting ornithologically: at first sight they appeared rather devoid of bird-life—that is in winter: we have often ridden for hours without seeing more than a few ravens or a kite. Among the thick bushy tops of the stone-pines were the hawfinches and crossbills, with a few other species, but these were remarkably shy and difficult of approach. On afternoons when our "drives" were finished before dark, I took the opportunity of trying to obtain some of the forest-haunting birds; but in this a singular difficulty occurred. In Andalucia the sun gives us an hour or two more of his company than on a winter's day at home. All day long he shines in a blue and cloudless sky; but when he sets, it is night. Hardly has his rim sunk behind the distant pines than it is dark, and the nocturnal concert of frogs and owls has commenced; a clear, strangely deceptive darkness, for on the ground one cannot see to shoot a rabbit or a low-flying woodcock, yet overhead it is still light, and day is prolonged for half an hour more. The sunset effects on the western skies are gorgeous displays of rich colour, and even in the east there is a rosy reflection which rapidly fades away.
But there is none of that pleasant half-light we enjoy in our northern clime. The transition from day to night is startlingly sudden, twilight lasting only a few minutes. The feathered race is well aware of this and prepare for the event by going to roost a full half-hour before sundown. One of the first signs of approaching night is the flight of the ravens. Perhaps one has not realized the fact that the day is far spent, and is reminded of it by their dark files slowly crossing the heavens towards their roosting-places while it is yet broad daylight. The same habit is observable with the smaller birds. All day long they have been abundant enough; but during the last half-hour of daylight not one is to be seen, and when their retreat is eventually found they are buried, some in the pine-tops, others in thickets of myrtle or lentiscus-scrub—fast asleep in daylight. Hence these half-hours at dusk produced but little. One evening, while wandering among the pines, a buzzard dipped down from a lower branch and silently sped away till a shot in the wing brought him down. This bird proved to be one of the remarkably handsome pale varieties of Buteo vulgaris, the whole plumage of a warm cream-colour, slightly mottled and splashed above with dark brown; irides dark and claws white. My brothers (H. and A.) obtained buzzards in somewhat similar plumage in Germany (adults, shot at the nest) in the spring of 1878, but I have not otherwise met with the variety in Spain, the Spanish type being generally dark. Waiting on the line of the raven's flight, I dropped a pair of these birds: and shortly afterwards observed two very large tawny-coloured eagles flap heavily into a pine, but failed to approach within shot, or anything like it.
To return to our deer, and the delightful days spent among the pinales, revelling in the lovely winter weather. Luck at length returned: after a long day, during which several stags and one pig had been bagged, we reached a small mancha known as "El Rincon del Cerro Trigo." This was a small beat, and the last of the day; nor was it expected to be productive, as our beaters on a former drive must have skirted the outer edge of the Rincon. My position was on the brink of a steep sand-slope, perhaps fifty feet in height, its summit level with the tops of the pines in the mancha below. Outside there stretched away open barrens, some small corrales alone serving to break the monotony of utter desolation. Hardly expecting a shot, I was sitting idly under cover of a bushy pine-top which protruded, half-dead, from the verge of the steep descent, when a hind mounted the slope and broke close at hand. This aroused me, and a few seconds later she was followed by two stags—eight-pointers—slowly crossing out over the open, a lovely shot. They were only fifty yards off; but, owing to the irregular outline of the mancha, my position was somewhat embayed, and it was necessary to give the stags extra law to clear that part of our line which bent backwards. I watched them traverse nearly fifty yards ere a shot was permissible, and by that time they were partly hidden from view among some slight hummocks. Any dead cistus or remnant of a sand-submerged pine collects around it that shifting substance, and half-hidden amidst these my stags were trotting forward when I gave them my double salute. Both went on, but on emerging from the hummocks, the larger beast was clearly hard-hit, though they continued cantering down the sloping ground, and two more bullets at long range only raised little puffs from the ground beyond. I knew I was sure of this stag; and a few minutes later a finer beast emerged, the ivory tips of his antlers shining white in the evening sunlight. Him, I resolved, I must have, and never was gun laid on with more intense desire. The distance would be some eighty to one hundred yards, and the stag treated the advent of two bullets with what looked very like indifference, galloping off at top speed, despite a third salute from the express ambushed on my right. I watched him away to the edge of a small corral half a mile off, and in which the two first stags had sought a retreat. But it was all over with him—poor beast, his course was run, and his tracks plainly told the tale to those who could read—though I must admit I was not one of them. The rastro of the first stag showed big blood-clouts almost from the shot, and he was easily secured close by where he had disappeared from view. The second was far less distinct; indeed, no sign of a "hit" was discerned till just before reaching the distant corral. Here the faint trace, tiny drops of blood, all enveloped in sand, quite indiscernible to my eye, were instantly detected by the guardas. The dogs were laid on, and within a few minutes we heard the crash which told of the stag at bay. The final scene was just completed when I reached the spot—on foot, for in the rough scramble through forest and broken ground I had managed to get thrown, gun and all, and preferred to finish the pursuit on my legs. The first ball had passed through the ribs, rather far back; the second ("express") had entered his stern. The first stag was also shot through the "lisk"—not brilliant performances, perhaps! but I had got my two stags, the first carrying nine points, the second a shapely wild head of eleven: and, since those days, we have now and then succeeded in placing the rifle-ball in more orthodox positions.[76] Quite the finest hart of this campaign fell on the same beat—a superb head of fifteen points, having extremely broad and massive horns, though of no special size of body. Total bag for the day: eight stags (two royals) and two wild pig.
As a sequel to the above, it may be interesting to annex the following diploma of the "Royal and distinguished Order of Mae Corra," conferred upon the writer shortly after the events narrated. Our readers may translate it or leave it at their own risk.
Por cuanto Don A—— B—— C——, vecino de Inglaterra ha hecho digno del distintivo que usan los cazadores de la Real y Distinguida Orden de la Mae Corra, matando por primera vez un venado de nueve puntas en la Mancha de Cerro del Trigo Coto de Dª Ana partido de la Marismilla termino de Almonte el 12 de Enero, 1878.
Yo D. Carlos Fernandez Brescaglia, Decano de los cazadores de esta ciudad suficientemente autorizado expido el presente Diploma para que el referido Don A—— B—— C—— pueda usar libremente el mencionado distintivo que debe ser en un todo conforme al modelo adjunto.