Stags are likewise met with on the moors that border on Cornwall and Devonshire, and Ireland, on the mountains of Kerry, where they add greatly to the magnificence of the romantic scenery of the lakes of Killarney.
Stags are mostly kept in parks, with fallow deer. Dr. Johnson describes them as not exceeding the common deer in size, and that their flesh is of equal flavour. From a stag that had been committing depredations on the farmers’ corn during a whole summer, and which was accidentally hunted and killed, after a long run, a haunch weighing forty-six pounds, was allowed by very competent judges to be the highest flavoured and fattest venison they had ever tasted. The stag’s age is partly known by the horns, which he begins to shed about the end of February, and the new horns are complete and polished in July or August: at six years, the antlers amount to six or seven on each side; their number is uncertain, nor can the years be precisely ascertained beyond that period, as the new horns come like those last shed. The eye of the stag is peculiarly beautiful, soft, and sparkling, and is, for these attributes, frequently alluded to in Eastern poetry; he hears quickly, and his sense of smelling is highly perfect; his powers of leaping are often astonishingly exerted during the chase, and in the New Forest is a celebrated spot called the Deer Leap, where a stag was once shot, and in the agony of death, collecting his strength, gave a bound which so surprised those that saw it, that it is commemorated by two posts, fixed at the extremity of the leap: the space between them is something more than eighteen yards. The stag’s rutting season is in August, and continues about three weeks, when he becomes a dangerous animal: he then frequents rivers or pools of water, to cool his ardour; he swims with great power and facility, and to this element he always retreats, when hard pressed by the hounds. The hind, at the expiration of eight months and a few days, produces seldom more than one young, which she resolutely protects from every enemy, and carefully conceals from the stag, one of the worst. During the whole summer the fawn never quits the dam; and in winter the stags and hinds of all ages keep together in herds, which are more or less numerous, according to the mildness or rigour of the season. They separate in the spring; the hinds retire to bring forth, while none but the young ones remain together. Stags are gregarious, delight to graze in company, and are separated but by danger or necessity.
While traversing a low range of moors, an incident occurred which, at this season, was unaccountable. A red-and-white setter pointed at the top of a little glen. The heathy banks on both sides of a mountain rivulet undulated gently from the stream, and caused a dipping of the surface; the ground seemed a favourable haunt for grouse, and our dogs were beating it with care. Observing the setter drop, his companions backed, and remained steady, when suddenly Hero rose from his couchant attitude, and next moment a wild deer of enormous size and splendid beauty crossed before the dog and sprang the birds he had been pointing. The apparition of the animal, so little expected, and so singularly and closely introduced to our view, occasioned a sensation I had never hitherto experienced. I rushed up the bank; unembarrassed by our presence, the noble deer swept past us in a light and graceful canter, at the short distance of some seventy or eighty yards. I might have fired at and annoyed him—but on a creature so powerful small shot could have produced little effect, and none but a cockney, under such circumstances, would waste a charge. To teaze without a chance of bringing down the gallant beast, would have been a species of useless mischief, meriting a full month upon the tread-mill. I gazed after him as he gradually increased his distance; his antlers were expanded as fully as my arms would extend; his height was magnificent, and compared with fallow-deer he seemed a giant to a dwarf. The sun beamed upon his deep bay side, as he continued describing a circular course over the flat surface of the moor, till reaching a rocky opening leading to the upper hills, he plunged into the ravine, and we lost sight of him.
What could have driven the red deer so low upon the heath was marvellous. Excepting when disturbed by a solitary hunter, or a herdsman in pursuit of errant cattle, or driven from the summit of the hills by snow and storm, those deer are rarely seen below the Alpine heights they inhabit. But the leisure pace of the beautiful animal we saw to-day, proved that he had not been alarmed in his lair, and led one almost to fancy, that in freakish mood, he had abandoned his mountain home to take a passing glance at men and things beneath him.
I will not pretend to describe the anxious, nay agonising hour that I passed in this highland ambuscade. The deep stillness of the waste was not broken even by the twittering of a bird. From the place where I lay concealed, I commanded a view of the defile for the distance of some eighty yards, and my eye turned to the path by which I expected the deer to approach, until to gaze longer pained me. My ear was equally engaged; the smallest noise was instantly detected, and the ticking of my watch appeared sharper and louder than usual. As time wore on my nervousness increased. Suddenly a few pebbles fell—my heart beat faster—but it was a false alarm. Again, I heard a faint sound, as if a light foot pressed upon loose shingle—it was repeated—by Saint Hubert, it is the deer! they have entered the gorge of the pass, and approach the rock that covers me, in a gentle canter!
To sink upon one knee and cock both barrels was a moment’s work. Reckless of danger, the noble animals, in single file, galloped down the narrow pathway. The hart led the way, followed by the doe, and the old stag brought up the rear. As they passed me at the short distance of twenty paces, I fired at the leader, and, as I thought, with deadly aim; but the ball passed over his back, and splintered the rock beyond him. The report rang over the waste, and the deer’s surprise was evinced by the tremendous rush they made to clear the defile before them. I selected the stag for my second essay; eye and finger kept excellent time, as I imagined—I drew the trigger—a miss by every thing unfortunate! The bullet merely struck a tyne from his antler, and, excepting this trifling graze, he went off at a thundering pace, uninjured.