A perfect and most graphic Highland picture.
To the naturalist, the most puzzling of all questions is to define accurately the limits between instinct and reason, as the terms are commonly understood. We have long ago given up the attempt in absolute despair. Take, for example, the case of the rooks. They can distinguish Sunday from the rest of the week as accurately as any precentor, and are perfectly aware that, on that day, no gun will be levelled at them. You may make demonstrations with a stick if you please, but the rooks will not fly away. They merely retort with a caw of utter scorn. But on Monday morning the Lord of Rookwood is a changed being. He will not on any account let you within a hundred yards of him; and so excessively acute is he, that you would almost swear he scents the powder in your pocket. So is it with the roes. When wandering unarmed through a Highland wood, you are almost certain to fall in with several of these beautiful creatures, who regard you almost without alarm, and glide slowly into the shaw. They know quite well that you are not there with any murderous design, and they neither fear nor avoid you. Not so if you carry a gun. In that case, you may look long enough about you before you will descry the white spot, which is the distinguishing mark of the roe-deer. They whom you seek are lying close in the brackens, perhaps but a very few yards from you, but they will not stir till you are gone.
Beating for roe is stupid work. We do not see the fun of standing for half the day in a pass waiting for a chance shot, with no other regalement for the ear than the hoarse braying of the beaters, and their everlasting shouts of “Shoo!” A much better method is that of stirring the roe with a foxhound, when he glides from thicket to thicket, in advance of his pursuer, whose clear note indicates his approach, and gives you sufficient warning. But enough on this head.
We have already, in former articles, while reviewing the works of Mr St John and the Stuarts, had occasion to enter pretty fully into the subject of deer-stalking. Therefore we shall not again go over that ground, although tempted to do so by Mr Colquhoun’s admirable chapter devoted to that noble sport, in which he lays down, with great perspicuity, all the rules which ought to be observed by the stalker. To such of our readers as aspire to have their exploits chronicled in the columns of the Inverness Courier, (the best sporting register in Scotland,) we recommend Mr Colquhoun’s book, advising them to study it well before they venture forth into the mountains. It is true that no theory can supply the lack of practice; still, deer-stalking is eminently an art; and there are distinct rules for following it, which must not be disregarded. Mr Colquhoun is more concise than any former writer, and we prefer him, as a guide, to Mr Scrope.
There is a very curious chapter devoted to the chase of the wild goat, which may now be considered among the feræ naturæ of Scotland. They exist in some of the islands of Loch Lomond, and, if we mistake not, on the hills of Ross-shire, near Loch Luichart. Some years ago, there were several wild goats on the tremendous precipices at the entrance of the Bay of Cromarty; but they were assailed in their fastnesses both from sea and land, and, for aught we know, may have been exterminated. We beg, however, to caution our English friends against firing at every goat they may chance to fall in with in their rambles among the hills. In many parts of the Highlands goats are kept as stock—indeed, it is probable that the kind now considered as wild were originally stragglers from some flock. In the course of two or three generations they have lost all trace of a domestic character, and can neither be claimed nor reclaimed. But it is not safe for sportsmen to exercise their judgment upon this point, without distinct local information, lest, perchance, they should happen to smite down an appropriated Billy in his pride. We have known some awkward mistakes occurring with regard to geese, who had somewhat imprudently exhibited themselves on the bosom of a mountain tarn.
We cannot read the chapter entitled “Crap-na-Gower,” containing an account of an exterminating warfare against the goats on one of the Loch Lomond islands, without wishing that they had been allowed to remain, at whatever injury to the trees. Mr Colquhoun, who always writes as a humane gentleman ought to do, virtually admits that he does not plume himself on the share which he took in that crusade; and there is something very melancholy in the picture which he draws of the death-scene of the last Billy. We can fully understand the feeling which prompts men of an exceedingly tender and sensitive disposition to abstain from field sports altogether. The idea of giving pain to any living creature is to them intolerable; and we believe there are few sportsmen who have not in their own minds experienced occasional misgivings. Abhorring, as we do, all manner of cruelty, it does seem at first sight strange and unnatural, that a person feeling thus, should seek amusement or recreation in depriving living creatures of their existence. But we altogether deny that there is any ferocity in the chase. We are led to it by a natural instinct, powerful in the savage, but which civilisation has no power to obliterate; and that instinct was doubtless given to us, as were the brute creation to man, for wise and useful purposes. Those who argue that there is inhumanity in field sports, seldom reflect on their own inconsistency. Either they must maintain—which none of them do—that wild animals should be allowed to multiply indefinitely, in which case foxes, foumarts, and stoats, would share in the general amnesty, not to mention such an increase in the number of hares as would annihilate agriculture; or they must, as some of them certainly do, assert their right to cut off a branch of creation from the earth. The argument for field sports lies midway between unrestricted multiplicity and total extermination. Now, surely it is better that a grouse should have its lease of life and enjoyment, and afterwards be swiftly shot down for the use of man, than that there should be no grouse at all. Your modern advocate for total clearance is, in fact, as gross a barbarian as the brute who deliberately sets his foot upon a nest of eggs, for the avowed purpose of preventing so much development of animal existence. He is, in heart at least, a chick-murderer. He opposes himself to the economy of creation; and would, on his own responsibility, make a new arrangement of the zoology of the globe, on principles entirely his own.
It would be a great relief to us if those Homeridæ, who have been screaming satirical panegyrics on Macwheedle beneath our window, for the last hour or two, would withdraw themselves and their minstrelsy. Such canorous vagabonds do a great deal of mischief. The satirified individual, who is, in reality, a very poor creature, suddenly finds himself swelled into importance, by being chaunted ironically in the streets; and is apt to imbibe the notion that he is, after all, a fit and proper person to be returned to Parliament. So far as we have been able to gather the meaning of the words, these effusions seem to be couched in the veriest doggrel; but, for all that, they are emanations from the popular mind, symptomatic of the coming result of the poll, and we so receive them. Against Macwheedle we are ready to lay any manner of odds, for no minstrel’s throat, as yet, has vibrated decidedly in his praise. We hope, however, that the shilling, which we willingly tender, may procure us immunity, for an hour or two, from this hideous irruption of song.
Hitherto we have adverted mainly, for the benefit of those who are untried in the ways of the Moor and the Loch, to the earlier sports of the season; because we are in favour of what Dandie Dinmont termed a “regular entering,” and have no idea of dispensing with principles at the commencement of the sportsman’s career. Old hands know perfectly well what is before them. Such a work as this, which we are reviewing, may possibly confirm some of their theories, or it may reveal to them the cause—especially in winter shooting—of some errors into which they may have inadvertently fallen from too slight notice of the habits and peculiar sensitiveness of their game. Mr Colquhoun’s observations on this point are peculiarly valuable; for, dwelling on the banks of one of the most beautiful of our Scottish lochs, he has had ample opportunity to study the movements of the aquatic birds which congregate there in the winter season. The reader must not expect to find such narratives of wholesale slaughter among ducks and widgeon as embellish the pages of Colonel Hawker. Punt-shooting is limited to the sea-shores and harbours; and we can readily conceive it to be an exciting occupation for those who are hardy enough to take the mud at midnight, regardless of the state of the thermometer. But duck-shooting, on a Highland loch, partakes more of the nature of stalking, and calls forth in an eminent degree the skill and resources of the hunter.
“Having now equipped our wildfowl shooter, we will again bring him to the shore. His first object should be to see his game without being seen himself, even if they are at too great a distance to show signs of alarm. To effect this he must creep cautiously forward to the first point that will command a view of the shore for some distance; then, taking out his glass, he must reconnoitre it by inches, noticing every tuft of grass or stone, to which wildfowl asleep often bear so close a resemblance, that, except to a very quick eye, assisted by a glass, the difference is not perceptible. If the loch be well-frequented, he will most likely first discover a flock of divers, but must not be in a hurry to pocket his glass, until he has thoroughly inspected the shore, in case some more desirable fowl may be feeding or asleep upon it. I will suppose that he sees some objects that may be wildfowl. Let him then immediately direct his glass to the very margin of the loch, to see if anything is moving there. Should he find it so, he may conclude that it is a flock of either duck, widgeon, or teal; those first perceived resting on the shore, and the others feeding at the water’s edge—of course not nearly so conspicuous. If there is no motion at the margin of the loch he must keep his glass fixed, and narrowly watch for some time, when, if what arrested his attention be wildfowl asleep, they will, in all probability, betray themselves by raising a head or flapping a wing.
“He must now take one or two large marks, that he will be sure to know again, as close to the birds as possible; and also another, about two or three hundred yards immediately above, further inland. Having done this, let him take a very wide circle and come round upon his inland mark. He must now walk as if treading upon glass; the least rustle of a bough, or crack of a piece of rotten wood under his feet, may spoil all, especially if the weather be calm. Having got to about one hundred yards from where he supposes the birds to be, he will tell his retriever to lie down; the dog, if well trained, will at once do so, and never move. His master will then crawl forward, until he gets the advantage of a bush or tuft of reeds, and then raise his head by inches to look through it for his other marks. Having seen them, he has got an idea where the birds are, and will, with the utmost caution, endeavour to catch sight of them. I will suppose him fortunate enough to do so, and that they are perfectly unconscious of his near approach. He must lower his head in the same cautious manner, and look for some refuge at a fair distance from the birds, through which he may fire the deadly sitting shot. After creeping serpent-like to this, he will again raise his head by hair-breadths, and, peeping through the bush or tuft, select the greatest number of birds in line; then drawing back a little, in order that his gun may be just clear of the bush for the second barrel, after having fired the first through it, will take sure aim at his selected victims. Should he unfortunately not find an opening to fire through, the only other alternative is by almost imperceptible degrees to raise his gun to the right of the bush, and close to it; but in doing this the birds are much more likely to see him, and take wing. Never fire over the bush, as you are almost certain to be perceived whenever you raise your head: more good shots are lost to an experienced hand by a rapid jerk, not keeping a sufficient watch for stragglers, and over-anxiety to fire, than in any other way. Having succeeded in getting the sitting shot, the fowl, especially if they have not seen from whence it comes, will rise perpendicularly in the air, and you are not unlikely to have a chance of knocking down a couple more with your second barrel; but if they rise wide, you must select the finest old mallard among them, or whatever suits your fancy. Directly upon hearing the report, your retriever will run to your assistance, and, having secured your cripples, you will reload, and, taking out your glass, reconnoitre again; for though ducks, widgeon, &c., should fly out upon the loch at the report of your gun, yet the diver tribe, if there are only one or two together, are perhaps more likely to be under water than above when you fire: but more of them by and by.