Stories of some shoots

Chapter I. The Chief Tempts Me

THE way it began was thus : The three of us were talking comfortably one evening over our cigars, only mine was a pipe, when the question of duck-shooting arose.

Now I am duck daffy. That is to say, I would go almost any distance to get a crack at some good, high-flying ducks. I have gone some considerable number of miles, such as across the Continent, to try the quack-quack birds. Puget Sound, and the California Coast, Gulf of Mexico, Chesapeake Bay and a goodly number of points betwixt and between have echoed to the "come-and-get-it" voice of my shotgun, and resounded to the thwack of a hard-struck duck hitting the water on his way from the clouds — sometimes. There were other times when the duck went on to the place it had started for before I shot. J3ut anyway I succeed in getting a sufficient number of them when I am where they are to make the game interesting.

The subject of ducks arose, I say, and the Chief, a Scotchman born, though a "bloomin' cosmopolite," said to me : "What you want to do, old man, is to come to Scotland and shoot ducks with me. I'll give you five hundred shots in a day at good, swift, high-flying mallards, coming to you over a forest and from a hill. Come next year, why don't you? (this was in the fall of 1910) and I will guarantee you a chance to kill your share of a thousand ducks-"

Naturally, I sat up at the invitation. "Why," I gasped, "there is no place in Scotland where you can find ducks in such quantities as that ! What the deuce do you mean ? Of course, it's good of you to ask me to shoot with you, but when you talk about ducks in such numbers as that, you must be dreaming."

10 CHAPTER I.

"Not at all," laughed the Chief, his eyes twinkling compassionately upon me. "I expected to get a rise out of you on that, so I'm not surprised. You just come over, my boy, and I will deliver the goods."

The Colonel, who had been an interested but silent member of the party, spoke up at this point, as if he felt some of the incredulity which was still in my mind and was desirous, as he always is, of making easy the way to good sport for those who love it: "No, Jim, the Chief is not stringing you. He'll do what he says. He raises 'em by hand, and they're counted before as well as after shooting."

"What ! Tame ducks !" I gasped. "Not on your life," responded the Scotchman. "If you can find any ducks in other places that take any more killing than mine, I shall be glad to hear of them, that's all. They are wild mallards and they will dodge shot as frequently as do their thick-feathered brethren the world over. You just come over next year and I'll show you."

"Well, Chief," I answered him, "I'm going to try to take you up on that offer. An experience of the kind you suggest would round out my duck shooting career in grand style. It would make anything I've ever done before this look like a penny ante poker game alongside, of Wall Street's best efforts.

"I gather, of course, that these ducks will be your own property and that by shooting any number of them we shan't be depriving other sportsmen of an opportunity for their own good times. Wherever I have shot I have always lived up to the bag limit and I never have killed over fifty ducks in a day, though if I had hit all I have shot at I would have killed a few more than that on some occasions, I'll acknowledge. When I come to think of it I believe I have business in the British Isles next year, and the longer I consider the case the more convinced I become that that business is of such an imperative character that I shall be compelled to go abroad about — about — what time did you say the ducks would be ripe?"

"Well, from the middle to the latter part of October. But if you are coming you ought to get there earlier so you could have some deer stalking, and take a try at the grouse, black-cock, pheasants and partridges."

"You are raising the limit, old fellow," I said. "I would not give a hang to shoot a deer. I haven't shot one for a long time, though I

THE CHIEF TEMPTS ME. 11

used to be rather gone on it. I haven't pointed a rifle at a deer since I lost my right hand ten years ago and I wouldn't walk across the street to kill a deer. But the birds — and especially those ducks — call to me. I surely will come if I can possibly arrange it. You let me know what the proper time will be and if it lies within the power of one James, plain American, to sail the blue seas, and land on Britain's shores to bust the ducks, I'll be there.

"By the way, what guns ought I to bring?"

"On that score, of course," returned my impending host, "you will have to suit yourself, but I should say as long as you have to shoot with one hand, you ought to bring two automatic shotguns. You will find three or four hundred shots a day from a twelve-gauge with a good heavy load a little trying, I imagine, if you fire them from a double gun. I'll look out for ammunition and furnish a loader for you and all that. All you need to bring is two automatic shotguns, your shooting clothes, and, of course, whatever rifle you prefer to use on the deer."

This was the beginning of it. The talk occurred in the winter of 1910 at my house in Washington, where the Colonel and the Chief were spending an evening with me.

You might have expected me to forget the conversation with its attendant invitation almost immediately — if you are crazy — otherwise you may be quite sure that sleeping or waking the thought of that suggested expedition was never quite out of my mind.

I planned and I hoped and I worked for it as a boy struggles to save his first money to get Fourth-of-July fireworks. I almost came to the point of feeling sure I would die before the time came around, much as I used to feel when I was a little shaver and counted the long months between me and Christmas. But nothing happened except good things. My business went along well, two or three new clients with reasonable retainers in their hands appeared as it were out of a clear sky, and by midsummer of 1911 dalliance with the ducks began to loom large in the fall foreground.

The Colonel and I used to talk it over together. He is one of the most sympathetic men I have ever known. He wanted to go, too, but it was impossible, so he took out his wishing in helping me get ready.

12 CHAPTER I.

Letters came along from the Chief, judiciously dropped in every month or so, reminding me of the promise to come, remarking upon the word he had received from his head keeper of the health and prosperity of the birds and beasts. I finally settled upon September nine as the earliest date I could leave, and I decided to honor the new great liner, Olympic, with my presence for the voyage over.

Up to the very second the big ship was nursed out of her dock and headed down New York Bay to the Narrows by the fussy little tugs swarming around her like flies around a gray-hound, I was afraid that something would happen to make the trip impossible. But my luck held, and with a serene conscience and high hopes I headed for those ducks.

Most of you have sailed the blue seas over. An ocean voyage is no novelty to you, though very few as yet have had a chance to sail on such a ship as the Olympic. As long as a big city block, almost 900 feet, 45,000 tons or over, ten or eleven decks or so, with electric elevators, a swimming pool, and all of those luxurious appointments which the modern sea-traveler seems to require to make him forget that he is not ashore, the Olympic has. She is more like a great floating city hotel than a boat. I confess to liking the small ones better. You are nearer Old Ocean then and do not have to reconstruct your ideas to feel that you are afloat. This presupposes naturally that winds and waves do not disturb your internal economy to misery and revolt.

However, I have never been sea-sick — that is a straight statement and not a stock phrase— so that may account for my desire to be a little more at one with the water than is possible on a colossal ship like the Olympic. She is certainly a beauty, if you go in for big boats, and the voyage over, mostly spent on deck with the subterfuge of a deck chair and a book as a cloak for dreams of the days to come, made the time from New York to Plymouth slip along until almost before I knew it I was preparing to set foot on Albion's shore.

Sweet, soft, September days at sea; what can excel them? And then if you are fortunate enough to have in between, as I did, a good stormy day and night of driving winds and whipping spray and tumbling waves, you have just the background for serener enjoyment of the glorious sun, the smiling seas, the tingling, salt-tinged ozone, and the swift surge of old blood made new.

THE CHIEF TEMPTS ME. 13

As I leaned over the rail high above the bobbing tender which was to take me ashore at Plymouth, a steward calling my name proved to be the bearer of a letter from the Highlands. In it the Chief said: "Waste no time. Come on as fast as steam will carry you to the deer forest of Benmore where I await you, and where the stags want shooting beyond all expression. You ought to need no telling, though you may, that Scotch deer forests are the best in the world and Benmore is not the worst of these. Hurry, hurry, hurry. The deer are plentiful, the grouse and the pheasants and the partridges are in abundance, and the ducks, though not so good as I could wish, will still, I believe, give you all the sport you can wish for. But of all things do not linger, because the season is now on, and each day of delay is a day wasted."

There were other things in the letter; what trains to take, where to have my traps sent and a crowning word which said : "Come quickly on ; keen for the killing."

England's green fields and close-cropped hedges never seemed more fair to me, though the natives said the unparalleled dry season had taken something from that indescribable freshness of color inseparably associated in one's mind with the thought of the land of our British cousins.

London's roar was tuned to a more hearty welcome than ever, and though I have always loved the big city by the Thames, one could scarcely say I halted there. I merely hesitated on my way to Scotland, to greet my family and to make a few necessary purchases before I took the night express for Inverness.

In the small, though comfortable and quite cosy Scotch sleeping carriage I awoke early, and from my window caught my first welcome glimpse of the Scotch hills; the Highlands at last.

Scotland was a new land to me, or it should have been, but new it never seemed. I awoke and gazed forth, not a stranger in a strange land, but as one among familiar and longed for and well loved surroundings.

At Inverness I had breathing time and a breakfast hour before the branch train which was to take me farther into the hills could quite make up its mind to start. In the station hotel oat-meal "parritch," with real cream, bacon and eggs — real bacon — you know

14 CHAPTER I.

the kind they have over there, marmalade, hot scones, and almost coffee, gave a foundation for the pipe which drew well and kept burning with an incense sweeter than ever was offered to the most glorious gods.

The British system of handling baggage without checks required me to look for my trunk, a large steamer trunk, it was, and though I had subsidized a porter to care for it, I made myself known to the station-master, a man of import here. Without doubt, to be station-master at Inverness is a dignified duty. Mackey, in high hat and frock coat, to whom my friend had written letters asking him to look out for me, was the station-master. He went gladly to supervise my preparations for departure. At the luggage van for a moment the trunk seemed to be lacking, but in response to Mackey's query the guard on the luggage van said, with that thick though pleasing Scotch burr which was soon to become so familiar to me: "Wull ye be meanin' the big Yankee box?" to which I answered: "Yes, a big Yankee box."

"Aye; uts here, all richt, safe an' soond an' labeled for Larrig." Lairg being the station at which I was to descend.

And here I pause overwhelmed by the impossibility of reproducing by any means within my power that Scotch dialect which is like to no other tongue in the world, and yet withal so fascinating in its quaintness.

Mackey saw me into the rear glass-bound compartment of a first-class car, bade me a good journey and good hunting and was away upon more important employment, and the little train was soon also away on its slow journey to the further Highlands.

Its way lay along Moray Firth, then by Cromarty Firth; by loch and over burn, winding and twisting and turning to follow the ebb of the sea until our sturdy little locomotive took the bit in its teeth, as might a shaggy Scotch pony, and made straight for the hills.

There is such a thing as Scotch mist. It may be you have heard of it. It might be called rain by some, but not by those who have known the Oregon mist or the soft, but "dry" rain of Puget Sound. 'Twixt gray and graceful showers the sun winked out smiling to think it had power enough to interpose a glimmer upon a day evidently intended by the All-Wise to be a misty one.

THB CHIEF TEMPTS MB. 15

Upon the platforms of the frequent little stations the natives flocked in their Inverness capes or sturdy Scotch tweeds, with thick stockings of wool and low shoes, disdaining umbrellas and regardless of the rain, with here and there women of their kind under hoods and shawls and long hanging capes, and an occasional unmistakable Englishman, though these last for the most part were clad much as the Scotch.

It gave the proper human atmosphere to the places. It was all like coming to a well-remembered land, after a long absence, and yet there was in it the spice of the new ; the possibilities of the unexpected lurked everywhere.

The train was a very slow one, but though I was in a hurry to arrive I did not seem to care for that, I was so much engrossed in all I saw, so keenly alive.

I saw parties of sportsmen, guns under arms, dogs at heel, in the turnip patches, and I wondered what they sought. Later I knew they were walking up partridges. I did it myself upon occasion, as I shall shortly say. I saw hills, rock-ribbed, bare, that frowned down upon the right of way as do our own mountains in the Rockies or Cascades.

I saw moss-grown, ivy-swathed, squat, low cottages, with thatches carefully bound ; I saw conical ricks of oat straw, each capped with an individual thatch, carefully guyed down by ropes spread as are those which hold a circus tent. I saw sheep, and cattle and horses; more sheep than all. I saw little brown ponies between the shafts of twowheeled carts. I saw farm carts, with a big brown single horse drawing them, a sturdy man and woman to the right and left walking by the animal's head.

I saw tow-headed children gazing with familiar interest at the going train. On, and over all, where the waters of the Firth lapped close to the ends of the sleepers, I saw a flock of ducks rise and circle and fly away.

I saw battleships and cruisers and torpedo boats of the British Navy, gray and sullen and threatening, lying at anchor in Cromarty Firth, which I had thought too small for any such warcraft, but it was large beyond their use.

Climbing, still climbing, we came a little after noon to Lairg, and I stepped down upon the graveled platform and went forward to see

16 ' CHAPTER I.

my trunk, now for so long as I should stay abroad, a "box." That big, Yankee box, slipped gently from the van, and then the train steamed on into the mist and left me standing not far from one other passenger, and a lone porter. The other man was an Englishman more used to the ways of the country and besides in more haste than I, so he collared the porter first, while I waited.

With the luggage of the other man the porter crossed the track to the station building. I expected him to return, but he did not, so I went over and engaged the station-master in conversation. My instructions had been that a conveyance would await me at Lairg to take me to Benmore, said to be twenty odd miles up in the hills.

From the railway official, who was courtesy itself, I gained news of the motor, which stood humming outside the door. Luckily it was one with narrow and deep afterbody, a type which I was often to see in Scotland. One seat in front, and two facing inward for the full length of the afterbody, say five feet long, in the rear. Here my trunk and bag went and at a nod we were off.

Two miles by a winding road brought us to a white, immaculately white, inn which nestled like a snow-colored bird upon the shore of the blue and winding loch, curving between two high brown and green hills. Here I descended and having the "box" brought into a convenient room in the inn, swiftly changed into heavy shooting clothes. Twenty-eight miles even by motor through the mist and over the Highlands would be no joke for a man in light city clothes.

Finished changing, I found my way to the little low-ceiled dining room, where before a wide, small-paned window looking out upon the Loch I lunched, taking care to stow away, of the simple but good food offered, enough to carry me through my ride.

Then, with raincoat over all, dear old shooting cap pulled low over spectacled eyes, which would fog — but what was the difference — I climbed to my seat beside the driver, took one last look at the Sutherland Arms, white inn, nestling there, another at my "box" and bag, tarpaulin covered in the back of the car, touched a match to a fresh pipe, and we were off.

Chapter II. Ben More Lodge

IT was up and down hill, mostly up, and the driver apologized for the bad roads. To me they seemed passably good, but then I am accustomed to American roads. There was not an inch of this way which was not made ground, broken stone, pounded hard and firm. There were little inequalities, of course, that could not be avoided, but on the whole, the entire road was one which in America would be called good. Alongside the way as we went, were road makers — who might have stepped bodily out of "A Window in Thrums" for my delectation— breaking the flints with hammers. Slow-moving, "deeleeberate," making every move count, and being mighty careful not to count too fast. These all seemed men past middle age.

As we went our way upward the country became rougher, more and more often a stone outcrop, and less and less frequent the trees. We came out at last upon rather high land which showed many a stone outcrop, was treeless, in places grass covered, in others grass and heathergrown, while peat hags glared.

Do you know what a peat hag is? I did not until I went to Scotland, but now I do. You know peat, of course; it is coal in its first stages ; black, the product of hundreds, perhaps thousands of years of slow growth. Soft in places to the point of mushiness, it wears away by the action of the water and holes are gouged out of what looks like the solid ground — holes from a pin size to the diameter and depth of a biggish house, the walls of the cavity black.

And water — never except upon the ocean have I seen so much water. Burns roaring and tumbling and murmuring and trickling down the hills everywhere. Never out of the sound of a stream, and lochs of all sizes, forms and descriptions.

By a heather hill a covey of grouse are treading nervously on their toes drawing courage to stand fast within twenty yards as we roar

18 CHAPTER II.

by. Over yonder three black cock, magnificent fellows, rear their heads and give a preliminary look before they whirl away. There, a hare, mate to the jack-rabbit at home, departing in leisurely fashion to some new spot; and in green banks, here and there, rabbits, hundreds of rabbits, popping in and out of burrows, like figures in a highly animated pantomime.

The old motor churned noisily and sturdily on, surely eating up the miles with a healthy hunger. I talked very little with the man who drove me. My eyes and my thoughts kept me busy. He spoke not at all, unless I addressed him, and seemed oblivious of my presence. But when I strove to light a pipe against the difficulties of the wind of our passage, he stopped without a word and took a match box from his own pocket to proffer me the lighted brand, which sufficed.

It was thus I had my first glimpse of that fine courtesy and gentle consideration for one's comfort which never thereafter was far from me while I was in Scotland.

The distance measure within told me we had come more than twenty-five miles, when, swinging a hill shoulder, I saw to the right a longish loch. Beyond it were mountains rising sharply; between its end and us two bridges crossing separate streams, the one a large flow of water which came from the foot of the loch, the other a small one which was quite near. As we drove upon the larger bridge I saw near where the loch stream had its source the figures of men, and as we approached one of these passed the rod he held to another and drew near. It was the Chief, a welcoming light in his eyes and a glad smile of greeting on his lips. The last time we had met had been at Quebec, in far Canada, and now we clasped hands again at the lower end of L,och Ailish at the foot of the Mount Benmore.

Greetings over he told me the day had been so misty that he, no guests being present, had cut deer stalking for the time and come to try the salmon. He had killed two fine fish, and was not illpleased with his day. To his question of what I would like to do, the time being then about four o'clock in the afternoon, I said, of course, "Anything you like."

"Well," he inquired, "how would it suit you to take a little walk,

BBNMORB LODGE. 19

that will let you stretch your legs after the cars, and you may get some meat for the pot. The Lodge is about two miles up, and you can work in that general direction."

I acquiesced, and declining the gun which one of the keepers offered I had my box taken out and from it drew one of my own guns, which was soon assembled, and I was ready for my first try at the Scottish grouse. The Chief called "Sandy," a gray-haired and stooped gillie, to go with me.

The minute I stepped off the road I encountered one of those new sensations so soon to be multiplied during my Highland visit. What looked like firm grass land was real grass, with about two inches of moss at its roots, and then from two to six inches of water. Chug, chug, swish; not always over the shoe tops, but soon that and sometimes more. Of course, we were on the low ground, but I found even the tops of many grass-grown hills had this mushy, marshy formation not unlike the tundra one encounters in Alaska.

The first grouse I found got up rather wildly and I lost him, and another one or two. I was not in good form and I found the cartridges given me would not cause my automatic to function, because with the recoil ring on they did not develop enough power. And so splashing through an occasional burn, which meant nothing after my feet and legs were wet, occasionally getting a shot and picking up a few birds, the grouse being much like our own prairie chicken, only more swift in flight, I came to the top of a hill, and looked down upon the lights of Benmore Lodge, just kindled and twinkling welcome.

Here I found my host already returned from his fishing. The lodge, a long, low, comfortable building, made no pretensions to beauty, but it lacked nothing necessary to comfort. Good beds, good baths, spacious lounging room with an open peat fire, comfortable easy chairs in plenty and well trained servants to supply all one might require, were there.

Dinner was at eight. I expected good plain camp fare, but I found a well-appointed table, with spotless linen, good glass and china, where the two of us were served by a butler in livery in a style quite equal to that one could expect to encounter in town. Nor were the dishes offered any whit less appetizing than one would order with an unlimited purse and wholesale opportunities.

20 CHAPTER II.

From the table, with fragrant cigars glowing, the Chief and I made our way back to the rest room, where in long chairs before the fire the talk gradually veered around to deer stalking. I remember I offered this, when my host said I should stalk on the morrow: "Why, I told you in America that I had not shot a deer for a long time, that I really did not care to shoot one again. I'll be glad enough to go along with you and watch you shoot, but it doesn't seem worth while for me to try; besides, I think it would be rather a difficult matter for me to hit a deer anyway with one hand."

The Chief would scarcely hear me out. "You will go out tomorrow and stalk, young man. It is what you are here for. After you've tried it for two days if you find you don't like it I'll let you off. But mark you, I say, unless I am very much mistaken, deer stalking is going to appeal to you mightily."

Curious to me now is the retrospect, as I look back at the mental image I had of what deer stalking would be. I rather expected that I should be taken to some convenient runway and seated there while numerous beaters would drive the deer past me. I saw myself seated on a comfortable camp chair, smoking a cigar, singling out the likeliest stag in the herd and then — and here I was quite true to myself as I saw the situation — I saw myself firing with all the care of which I was capable, and with not too much concern observe the deer go on untouched. Later on, as my narrative of events will disclose, it became apparent that much which I contemplated was a mirage and that the country from which it sprung was far removed from the land of real Scotch deer stalking.

I recall that I said to my host on this first night : "Now, this is a new game to me. If I am to play it I want you to tell me how. Are there any rules?"

"Few rules," said the Chief, sententiously, "but golden rules: First of them; always walk three paces behind your stalker." (I had only a dim idea of what a stalker was, but I did not expose my ignorance by speaking). "Always," said he, I remember, "walk three paces behind your stalker. Suit your movements to his. If he stops, you stop; if he goes on, you go on; if he bends low, you bend low; if he gets down and crawls, you get down and crawl. Do just as he does unless he motions you or tells you to do something else. That is golden

BENMORB LODGE. 21

rule number one. Number two is, don't shoot anybody, not even yourself. And that's all."