“To my mind one of the fastest things I have ever witnessed is the last effort of a peregrine in chase of a wild duck when, fast as is the accelerated speed of a mallard, it seems almost to be standing still in the air when the peregrine stoops over it.”
Any one who has seen this, as I am glad to say I have, will assuredly echo these words.
It is of course pure speculation whether, in the comparatively short flight of an eagle or falcon stooping in its final downward rush at its prey, its speed exceeds the maximum speed of the spine-tailed swift. Those, however, who have seen the last effort of the eagle or falcon in a flight of that unique kind will never believe, without scientific demonstration to the contrary, that any other bird in the British Isles can fly faster.
Donald
V
A GOOD DAY IN THE FOREST OF
COIGNAFEARN
Towards the end of a September several years ago I was so fortunate as to be invited to stalk at Coignafearn, which has always been famous for the size and weight of its deer. On reaching the lodge on a Saturday night, I heard that the head stalker had met with an accident, fortunately not a bad one, but possibly serious enough to prevent his going out with me on the following Monday. He had been out in the forest the day before I arrived, and on going up to a stag to bleed him, the stag had given a sudden unexpected plunge, which had caused the stalker to inflict on himself a nasty wound in his right leg with his knife, which was open in his hand; another instance that no one, not even the oldest and most experienced of stalkers, can be too careful on these occasions. On Monday morning he was much better but not fit to go with me. The season was well advanced, and my host was very anxious to kill the usual number of stags as soon as possible. It was therefore arranged that I should act as my own stalker, and take with me a watcher named Maclennan. I had also two gillies with me and a couple of ponies, and my host told me that he would be only too glad, if I could manage it, if I would kill as many stags as could be brought in. Maclennan had never acted as stalker, but as there is nothing I like better than to do the stalking myself, I was very pleased with this arrangement, for Maclennan knew the ground thoroughly, and I felt sure that his assistance would be invaluable; indeed, without him I could of course have done practically nothing, as the ground was strange to me. We were in the forest and spying by 10 A.M., and very soon we saw a good stag with some hinds. The stalk was unsuccessful, but it was not long before we spied another good stag, and without much difficulty I managed to get into a good position within about 150 yards, and shot him through the heart. He proved to be a good eight-pointer, and weighed 15 stone clean. Shortly after this we spied a large herd of deer which were very restless, continually on the move. There were several good stags in the herd, and these were roaring and fighting and driving the hinds about. Two of them in particular, which looked like the heaviest, engaged in a battle which lasted for some time; but gradually one of them showed signs of being worsted and, watching his opportunity, suddenly turned tail and bolted. It is rarely that battles of this kind end fatally—only once have I met an eye-witness of such an occurrence. The battle was between a switch and a ten-pointer. The combatants were fighting on the side of a hill and were very evenly matched. My informant, the stalker at Attadale, said that after some time the switch, taking advantage of being on slightly higher ground, charged his adversary and, getting past his guard, pierced his side with his antlers. The ten-pointer immediately fell to the ground dead. The stalker ran up and found that the dead stag had been pierced through the heart by his conqueror.