I got a long snap-shot end on at the galloping
stag. It was an unsportsmanlike thing to do, but considering
the rivalry and other temptations I fired, and hit the beast
in the haunch. It was late in the day, and the wounded
animal escaped.
Nine days later I spied the 'big stag' again. He was nearly
in the middle of a herd of about twenty, mostly hinds, on the
look-out. They were on a large open moss at the bottom of a
corrie, whence they could see a moving object on every side
of them. A stalk where they were was out of the question. I
made up my mind to wait and watch.
Now comes the moral of my story. For hours I watched that
stag. Though three hundred yards or so away from me, I could
through my glass see almost the expression of his face. Not
once did he rise or attempt to feed, but lay restlessly
beating his head upon the ground for hour after hour. I knew
well enough what that meant. I could not hear his groans.
His plaints could not reach my ears, but they reached my
heart. The refrain varied little: 'How long shall I cry and
Thou wilt not hear?' - that was the monotonous burden of the
moans, though sometimes I fancied it changed to: 'Lord how
long shall the wicked, how long shall the wicked triumph?'
The evening came, and then, as is their habit, the deer began
to feed up wind. The wounded stag seemed loth to stir. By
degrees the last watchful hind fed quietly out of sight.
With throbbing pulse and with the instincts of a fox - or
prehistoric man, 'tis all the same - I crawled and dragged
myself through the peat bog and the pools of water. But
nearer than two hundred yards it was impossible to get; even
to raise my head or find a tussock whereon to rest the rifle
would have started any deer but this one. From the hollow I
was in, the most I could see of him was the outline of his
back and his head and neck. I put up the 200 yards sight and
killed him.
A vivid description of the body is not desirable. It was
almost fleshless, wasted away, except his wounded haunch.
That was nearly twice its normal size; about one half of it
was maggots. The stench drove us all away. This I had done,
and I had done it for my pleasure!
After that year I went no more to Scotland. I blame no one
for his pursuit of sport. But I submit that he must follow
it, if at all, with Reason's eyes shut. Happily, your true
sportsman does not violate his conscience.
