My First Stag.
By a rush-girt glade in the heart of the pinales, or pine-region, stands the lonely shooting-lodge of La Marismilla. The sombre forests which surround it are a chief stronghold of the Spanish red deer, which find shelter in the abundant underwood and rich pasturage in the grassy dells. The wild pig prefers the more isolated thickets which lie towards the outskirts of the forest.
The system generally adopted for shooting the forest-deer is "driving." The sylvan geography of these great areas of pines, devoid to a stranger of landmark, point, or path, is intimately known to the foresters, who mentally map out the whole into sections for the purpose of the batida, or drive. The exact boundaries of each section vary, of course, from day to day in accordance with the wind; for the red deer is gifted with a fine sense of smell, and instantly detects the human presence when "betwixt the wind and his nobility." Perhaps the readiest means of conveying an idea of this sport of forest-driving will be to relate the vicissitudes that befell the writer before succeeding in bagging his first stag.
My first puesto, or post, was in the face of a sand-ridge clad with tall pines, and there were, I think, three guns on my right, four on the left. All these, even my nearest neighbours (200 yards away), were of course invisible amidst the broken ground and masses of brushwood which intervened; and their positions were only approximately indicated by sundry long lines traced in the sandy soil by the gun-stock of the old forester, Juan Espinal, before leaving me at my post. These lines served to indicate both the positions of the adjoining guns, and also the limits within which a shot might not be fired. It is obviously a paramount necessity in this class of shooting never to shoot forward—i.e., into the beat; the game must be allowed to pass right through and well clear of the line before a shot can be thought of: a circumstance which adds vastly to the difficulty of placing one's bullets on the right spot.
The first thing when one is left alone in the solitude of the forest is to survey carefully one's field of action, to consider all possible contingencies, and prepare accordingly; the most essential point being so to place oneself as to see without being seen.[75] My first impression, in this case, was one of wonder as to where I could possibly place a bullet at all. My post, as already mentioned, was in the face of a ridge, or rather in a hillock forming part of the ridge, and having a deep pass on either hand. Thus the receding ground sloped away so as to disappear from sight just at the entrances of the passes, forty or fifty yards away. In short, the possible lines of fire intersected the probable course of the deer, if any came, at exactly the point at which I should lose sight of them altogether. It was unsafe to move my position backwards, and in front I could find no convenient cover; so returning to my allotted post, I bethought myself to record my fears, and plot out the situation in my pocket-book. Then I settled down in the small redoubt of cut bushes I had put together, and waited. The solitude of the forest was delicious, and the silence only broken by the gentle fluttering of some small birds in the pines overhead. Continually there fell upon and around me small objects from above—it was a party of hawfinches pelting me with scales of pine-cones, broken off in their search for seeds. These and the crossbills are shy and wild, and, except on such occasions when unaware of one's presence, seldom allow of approach. For half an hour I watched their active movements, the tree-creepers and fire-crests, and the antics of a small animal, I think a genet, that was performing fantastic feats on a sunny knoll in front: meanwhile the distant shouts of the beaters were becoming more distinct, and at last I thought I could recognize the excited cry of Ya va! ya va!—there he goes! The genet vanished down a burrow, the birds ceased to pelt me, and a few moments later, to my excited eyes, the whole green expanse of juniper and heath-scrub before me appeared alive with great tawny beasts, all bounding forward directly towards my position. As the deer approached the hillocks I observed that a specially fine stag, with two smaller ones and some hinds, would pass on my right, while three more stags were making for the pass on the left. I concentrated all attention on the first, which slowly trotted past my front within thirty yards; but, as I had foreseen, had already more than half disappeared ere he reached the firing point and my bullet sped towards him; then, turning sharp round, I sent the second barrel at the last of the other three stags, just bounding from sight into the deep pass on the left. The results were of course invisible; both were snap-shots, but I thought I had laid on true, and was musing on the possibilities, more than half inclined to be ecstatic at having, or believing I had, really "pulled off" a clean right and left in my first interview with the Spanish red deer, when a rustling in the brushwood in front disturbed these happy cogitations, and another stag with three hinds appeared. They came forward quite slowly, evidently suspicious of danger ahead, and stopping at intervals to look back towards the noisy beaters. They rose my hillock at a foot's pace, the stag leading—an eight-pointer—and at last stood actually within five yards. There was, in fact, nothing between us but the single pine and the slight breastwork of bushes I had built up as a screen. The stag stood for some seconds gazing backwards over his shoulder; then, as he turned to advance, he caught sight of me crouching beneath the junipers, almost under his nose—and the bound he took at that instant was a sight to remember. Away they dashed, all four, straight along the line of guns; but, turning outwards, shortly after leaving my sight, the stag fell to the rifle of my next neighbour.
Then the beaters came up, and eagerly we went off to examine the result of my two shots. Alas! no ingentia corpora lay there, and on following their tracks for some distance, it was quite clear that both stags had escaped scatheless. The only relief to deep disappointment was that little memorandum I had made beforehand, foretelling the catastrophe, which was indeed more attributable to an ill-judged position than to any want of care.
Then, shortly afterwards, when I did manage to place my bullet in a fine stag of fourteen points, a wide and splendid head, the coveted trophy was again lost to me by the rules of sport, owing to the fact that another leaden messenger had preceded mine. This stag passed through the line far to my right, receiving a shot in the stomach as he passed, the effect being to turn him to me, and he passed at full speed not thirty yards behind. A ball through the heart rolled him over; but the first wound, in his left side, was unquestionably fatal. After this, for a long time, no luck fell to my share; only hinds broke near my puestos, and, though they were most interesting objects, with their timorous graceful movements, their great supple ears inflected hither and thither, and large affectionate eyes, which gave me infinite pleasure to watch, yet they were not available quarry, and passed on unmolested. One hind, which passed within ten yards, was followed (January 8th) by a tiny fawn. Occasionally a stag came forward, cautiously feeling his way, step by step, to make sure of avoiding danger ahead; but these always managed to detect something in time, and broke back, or passed through at some other point. One of these stood for some seconds almost within touch, only a thick bush between us, and others had all but reached the fatal line ere they changed their course.
One chance, however, I certainly lost by my own fault. A buzzard came sailing along the pine-tops towards me; I was posted on a small plateau crowning an isolated hillock, and overlooking a sea of dark green pines. Promiscuous shooting is, of course, debarred; but the batida was nearly finished; I had seen the beaters cross a ridge within a quarter-mile, and determined to have the hawk. Just as the buzzard approached a fair range, I observed that a good stag had ascended my hillock, and for some twenty yards ran in full view. Then he dropped down from sight just before it was possible for me to exchange guns. A downright bungle! I would fain have hidden my disgrace in silence, but it is a distressing feature of sport on this tell-tale sandy soil, that it is impossible to conceal or to mitigate one's "chambonadas"—call them misfortunes. Nothing moves but leaves behind it an indelible mark, and no mark ever escapes the keen eyes of the forest-guards. "Look here!" exclaims Anillo, "here has passed a good stag—aqui ha pasado un buen venado!" "why did not his worship fire?" Why indeed!
Some days passed and I began to fear the campaign might close without a change in my luck. Nor were these deep forests particularly interesting ornithologically: at first sight they appeared rather devoid of bird-life—that is in winter: we have often ridden for hours without seeing more than a few ravens or a kite. Among the thick bushy tops of the stone-pines were the hawfinches and crossbills, with a few other species, but these were remarkably shy and difficult of approach. On afternoons when our "drives" were finished before dark, I took the opportunity of trying to obtain some of the forest-haunting birds; but in this a singular difficulty occurred. In Andalucia the sun gives us an hour or two more of his company than on a winter's day at home. All day long he shines in a blue and cloudless sky; but when he sets, it is night. Hardly has his rim sunk behind the distant pines than it is dark, and the nocturnal concert of frogs and owls has commenced; a clear, strangely deceptive darkness, for on the ground one cannot see to shoot a rabbit or a low-flying woodcock, yet overhead it is still light, and day is prolonged for half an hour more. The sunset effects on the western skies are gorgeous displays of rich colour, and even in the east there is a rosy reflection which rapidly fades away.
But there is none of that pleasant half-light we enjoy in our northern clime. The transition from day to night is startlingly sudden, twilight lasting only a few minutes. The feathered race is well aware of this and prepare for the event by going to roost a full half-hour before sundown. One of the first signs of approaching night is the flight of the ravens. Perhaps one has not realized the fact that the day is far spent, and is reminded of it by their dark files slowly crossing the heavens towards their roosting-places while it is yet broad daylight. The same habit is observable with the smaller birds. All day long they have been abundant enough; but during the last half-hour of daylight not one is to be seen, and when their retreat is eventually found they are buried, some in the pine-tops, others in thickets of myrtle or lentiscus-scrub—fast asleep in daylight. Hence these half-hours at dusk produced but little. One evening, while wandering among the pines, a buzzard dipped down from a lower branch and silently sped away till a shot in the wing brought him down. This bird proved to be one of the remarkably handsome pale varieties of Buteo vulgaris, the whole plumage of a warm cream-colour, slightly mottled and splashed above with dark brown; irides dark and claws white. My brothers (H. and A.) obtained buzzards in somewhat similar plumage in Germany (adults, shot at the nest) in the spring of 1878, but I have not otherwise met with the variety in Spain, the Spanish type being generally dark. Waiting on the line of the raven's flight, I dropped a pair of these birds: and shortly afterwards observed two very large tawny-coloured eagles flap heavily into a pine, but failed to approach within shot, or anything like it.
SPANISH GUNS.
SPANISH GUNS.
To return to our deer, and the delightful days spent among the pinales, revelling in the lovely winter weather. Luck at length returned: after a long day, during which several stags and one pig had been bagged, we reached a small mancha known as "El Rincon del Cerro Trigo." This was a small beat, and the last of the day; nor was it expected to be productive, as our beaters on a former drive must have skirted the outer edge of the Rincon. My position was on the brink of a steep sand-slope, perhaps fifty feet in height, its summit level with the tops of the pines in the mancha below. Outside there stretched away open barrens, some small corrales alone serving to break the monotony of utter desolation. Hardly expecting a shot, I was sitting idly under cover of a bushy pine-top which protruded, half-dead, from the verge of the steep descent, when a hind mounted the slope and broke close at hand. This aroused me, and a few seconds later she was followed by two stags—eight-pointers—slowly crossing out over the open, a lovely shot. They were only fifty yards off; but, owing to the irregular outline of the mancha, my position was somewhat embayed, and it was necessary to give the stags extra law to clear that part of our line which bent backwards. I watched them traverse nearly fifty yards ere a shot was permissible, and by that time they were partly hidden from view among some slight hummocks. Any dead cistus or remnant of a sand-submerged pine collects around it that shifting substance, and half-hidden amidst these my stags were trotting forward when I gave them my double salute. Both went on, but on emerging from the hummocks, the larger beast was clearly hard-hit, though they continued cantering down the sloping ground, and two more bullets at long range only raised little puffs from the ground beyond. I knew I was sure of this stag; and a few minutes later a finer beast emerged, the ivory tips of his antlers shining white in the evening sunlight. Him, I resolved, I must have, and never was gun laid on with more intense desire. The distance would be some eighty to one hundred yards, and the stag treated the advent of two bullets with what looked very like indifference, galloping off at top speed, despite a third salute from the express ambushed on my right. I watched him away to the edge of a small corral half a mile off, and in which the two first stags had sought a retreat. But it was all over with him—poor beast, his course was run, and his tracks plainly told the tale to those who could read—though I must admit I was not one of them. The rastro of the first stag showed big blood-clouts almost from the shot, and he was easily secured close by where he had disappeared from view. The second was far less distinct; indeed, no sign of a "hit" was discerned till just before reaching the distant corral. Here the faint trace, tiny drops of blood, all enveloped in sand, quite indiscernible to my eye, were instantly detected by the guardas. The dogs were laid on, and within a few minutes we heard the crash which told of the stag at bay. The final scene was just completed when I reached the spot—on foot, for in the rough scramble through forest and broken ground I had managed to get thrown, gun and all, and preferred to finish the pursuit on my legs. The first ball had passed through the ribs, rather far back; the second ("express") had entered his stern. The first stag was also shot through the "lisk"—not brilliant performances, perhaps! but I had got my two stags, the first carrying nine points, the second a shapely wild head of eleven: and, since those days, we have now and then succeeded in placing the rifle-ball in more orthodox positions.[76] Quite the finest hart of this campaign fell on the same beat—a superb head of fifteen points, having extremely broad and massive horns, though of no special size of body. Total bag for the day: eight stags (two royals) and two wild pig.
THE ELEVEN-POINTER.
THE ELEVEN-POINTER.
A FIFTEEN-POINTER.
A FIFTEEN-POINTER.
As a sequel to the above, it may be interesting to annex the following diploma of the "Royal and distinguished Order of Mae Corra," conferred upon the writer shortly after the events narrated. Our readers may translate it or leave it at their own risk.
Por cuanto Don A—— B—— C——, vecino de Inglaterra ha hecho digno del distintivo que usan los cazadores de la Real y Distinguida Orden de la Mae Corra, matando por primera vez un venado de nueve puntas en la Mancha de Cerro del Trigo Coto de Dª Ana partido de la Marismilla termino de Almonte el 12 de Enero, 1878.
Yo D. Carlos Fernandez Brescaglia, Decano de los cazadores de esta ciudad suficientemente autorizado expido el presente Diploma para que el referido Don A—— B—— C—— pueda usar libremente el mencionado distintivo que debe ser en un todo conforme al modelo adjunto.
Dado en San Lucar de Barrameda el 17 de Enero de 1878.
El Decano,
(Signed) Carlos Fernandez Brescaglia.
El Secretario,
(Signed) Domingo L. de Villegas.
The insignia referred to represent a couple of stags' antlers, locked in mortal combat, with the legend:—
"Ab istis ventis liberet te Deus si maritus es."
"DROPPED IN HIS TRACKS."
"DROPPED IN HIS TRACKS."
The Peninsula has always been famous for its snipe-shooting, but the sport differs in some ways from that practised on British marsh or moor. The snipe in Spain does not, as a rule, frequent rushes or other covert. The Spanish marshes in winter afford scant covert of any kind; hence the snipe is proportionately wilder. Rarely does the long-bill spring at close range: the bulk of the bag must be cut down at such distances that a snipe-shooter at home would very probably decline the offer—without thanks. But there are exceptions to this. In certain localities, particularly in Portugal, we have enjoyed excellent snipe-shooting on wide-spread expanses of rushy marsh and under home conditions. The rice-stubbles also, in districts where rice is grown, afford perhaps the finest snipe-shooting, often with abundant covert.
Many of the best snipe-grounds, however, may be described as inundated pastures. Here the summer-scorched herbage barely hides the naked earth—or rather fine mud, more slippery than ice. The ground here, however, is firm; the deep-mud bogs are quite another, but equally favourite resort. Before one's view there stretches away what appears to be a verdant meadow, dead level, and clad in rich green grass. Walk out on it, and you find it is bog, soft as pulp—millions of flat-topped, quivering tussocks, each separated by narrow intervals of squashy slime, knee-deep if you are lucky; the tussocks afford no foothold, the slime no stability—you cannot stand still, yet hardly dare advance. Before you, behind you, to the right and left, rise snipe in scores—in clouds: the air resounds with petulant, tantalizing cries. But you cannot steady yourself for an instant to shoot: to halt on hummock or balance on mire is equally impossible—not that it matters much, for hardly a snipe has sprung within fifty yards; the majority at over one hundred. At length one rises close at hand—a jack, probably—and in a supreme effort to avenge outraged dignity by his death, equilibrium is hopelessly lost, and the snipe-shooter slowly sinks to a sitting posture amidst mire and mud that reaches to his waistcoat-pockets.
So extremely flat and naked are these marshes that not a snipe, one would imagine, could manage to hide thereon. Yet even with a powerful field-glass not a single snipe can be detected where hundreds are squatting. Their power of concealment is marvellous, and is recognized in the Spanish name, "agachar" meaning to hide, or "lie low."
Where the flight of the birds is known, or where two or three well-frequented marshes lie adjacent, excellent sport may be had by lying in wait at one bog whilst the others are being shot over. This is a matter of local knowledge. A driven snipe, or string of snipes, high overhead, or a jack pitching in to alight, like a butterfly in a breeze, offer shots as varied and difficult as even our modern masters of legerdemain in the arts of gunnery can well desire.
Broadly speaking, all the best snipe-grounds in accessible districts—aye, and some fairly inaccessible ones too—may be said to be preserved. There may, probably do, exist unknown and unpreserved spots which would abundantly reward the explorer; but, in a general way, the casual sportsman on the unpreserved wilds of Spain or Portugal should not reckon on more than ten, twelve, or perhaps fifteen brace of snipe per day. On preserved grounds, the following figures, selected at random from records of over twenty years, will best show the sport that may be had with snipe in Southern Spain:—
Nov. 20, 1873.—Catalana (3 guns), 166 snipe, 1 pigeon, 10 quail, 1 landrail = 178 head.
Nov. 30, 1873.—Catalana (2 guns), 115 snipe, 2 woodcock, 3 rails, 1 waterhen, 1 bittern = 122 head.
Dec. 21, 1873.—El Torno (3 guns), 108 snipe, 17 woodcock, 3 rabbits, 8 golden plover, 2 pigeons, 1 badger = 139 head.
Dec. 20, 1874.—Retuerta (4 guns), 160 snipe, 36 duck and teal, a marsh-harrier, and 8 sundries = 205 head.
Nov. 18, 1877.—Retuerta (3 guns, half day), 103 snipe, 4 quail, 2 partridge, 6 ducks, 1 goose, 2 rails, 1 eagle = 119 head.
Nov. 19, 1882.—(3 guns), 155 snipe, 28 sundries.
Dec. 1886.—(1 gun), 96 snipe: 20 couple shot passing over one spot, from one marsh to another.
Dec. 4, 1889.—Rocina (6 guns), 232 snipe, besides partridge, quail, duck, &c.
Dec. 12, 1889.—Retuerta (2 guns, W. E. Brymer and W. J. B.), 60 snipe, 58 ducks, 11 geese = 129 head.
Woodcock.
Spanish, Chocha—(Andalucia) Gallineta.
Arrives in November, but never in any quantities—ten or twelve couple in a day is an unusual bag, and we have none worth recording.
The latest woodcocks shot in Andalucia are about the middle of March.
Quails.
Spanish, Codorniz.
Though not strictly marsh-birds, yet quails at times abound among the moist rushy prairies, both of Spain and Portugal, and hardly a hillock of drier ground or microscopic patch of maize-stubble but will yield a brace or two.
The largest bag we can find recorded in our game-books is 52 brace in a day; but believe this has been, and certainly easily might be, largely exceeded. At certain passage-periods the Andalucian vegas simply swarm with this dashing little game-bird, and at such times, with dogs well entered to quail, very large bags might be secured by any one specially following them.
One afternoon, when returning from snipe-shooting, we fell in with an entrada of quail, in a belt of dry rush and sedges, and had bagged 27½ couples in much less than an hour, when daylight and cartridges ran short.
Andalucian Quail.—Unlike its larger relative, this small quail is not migratory; a few are found at all seasons, especially on the dry palmetto-plains, where at dusk its curious "roaring" note, from which is derived its Spanish name torillo = little bull, is often audible.
Our friend, Mr. W. R. Teage, meets with a few of this small bush-quail nearly every year when shooting near Ovar, in Portugal—generally in September.
He who eats the flesh of crane, runs a Spanish proverb, lives a hundred years[77]—and beyond all question the stately Grulla is one of the wariest and most difficult birds to circumvent.
Cranes are common enough throughout all the open vegas and corn-growing plains of Andalucia from early autumn till spring: few days but one sees them either passing high overhead in loudly-gaggling skeins, or feeding in troops on the newly-sown beans or wheat. In the latter case, cranes are not infrequently mistaken for bustard, but rarely permit the cordon of mounted men to be drawn around their position; for, though rarely sought after, the crane is imbued with even wilder spirit than the much-prized bustard. For many years, the few Grullas we succeeded in killing were merely chance-shots at bands passing over, when we had happened to be concealed by tall sedges or bulrush; and even these only by virtue of mould-shot at very great heights.
During a recent winter, however, we discovered a means of shooting these wary fowl. It is the habit of a crane to assemble at some remote marsh for the purpose of roosting. By day, it should be specially remarked, the crane is not a marsh-haunting bird, but is only seen on dry ground, feeding entirely on grain, acorns, and the like; but invariably retiring to the marshes, or wettest spot on the prairie, to roost. Towards the sequestered swamp selected for their dormidero, during the last hour of daylight, files of cranes may be seen winging their stately course. As darkness gathers round, the assembling host presents an animated scene, while the music of their magnificent trumpet-note resounds for miles around.
Such a spectacle we witnessed one March evening when on a bustard-shooting expedition; and returning a week later, had, at length, the wary cranes at our mercy. Ensconced in "blinds" of rudely-woven carices near the centre of a dreary swamp, we soon had these majestic birds filing close overhead, or flapping past at pistol-range. Not less than 500 cranes must have appeared, "flighting" from every point of the compass, and the sight, with the sound of their clarion-notes, formed, for half an hour, as impressive a spectacle of bird-life as we have witnessed.
There is intense gratification in out-generalling any animal that has long defied one's efforts; but it is rather a sense of supremacy than mere slaughter that is sought. After shooting seven specimens of the "flighting" Grullas, we were content, and have never since molested them. This marsh, which, being "ten miles from anywhere," is an awkward place for evening flight-shooting, continued to be their nightly resort till well on into April, after which date the crane disappears from Southern Spain; though (as elsewhere recorded) a small and decreasing colony continues to breed in the neighbourhood of the Lagunas de Janda.
We have seen several examples of this beautiful species shot in the marismas and corn-plains of Andalucia during the spring-months. It is just possible that a few pairs may still breed somewhere in that wide region, though no ornithologist has yet succeeded in establishing the fact.
STORK'S NEST—THE BANDERAS, SEVILLE.
STORK'S NEST—THE BANDERAS, SEVILLE.
Though not a sporting bird in any sense, and in some respects almost sacred, the stork attracts the sportsman's attention by its size, boldly-marked plumage, and majestic appearance on the wing. Nesting chiefly in the towns, on churches and other buildings, as well as on the peasants' cots and on trees in the country, storks are dispersed in hundreds during winter over the marshy plains, though many also migrate to Africa at that season. Their food consists of frogs, as well as lizards and various small reptiles and insects; in May we have watched them snapping up locusts by dozens.
The only birds of this species we have killed are a pair, shot right and left, near Jerez, in March, many years ago. We have reason to believe that the black stork breeds on the Upper Guadiana, and in Castile have observed it in May.
On May 16th, 1891, we watched a pair which evidently had a nest in the crags overhanging the Rio Alberche, New Castile, but had not time to discover its exact position. Manuel de la Torre states that it breeds yearly in the Montes de Toledo.
Twenty winters ago, in the marshes below Ovar, in Portugal, my dog Nilo came to a "point" near a clump of thick sedges. Two yards before his nose I espied a strange apparition—a mere point erect amidst the rank herbage, hardly thicker than and much resembling a sere and yellow flag: there was no visible semblance of head or form—only a sharp beak, and an eye which seemed to be a part thereof; the whole slim object pointing vertically heavenward. Next moment the insignificant point developed into a huge brown bird—more and more expanses of brown feathers emerged from the sedge till a pair of heavy green hanging legs wound up the procession. When both barrels were emptied, I had time to perceive that a bittern was slowly flapping away.
Those were bitter moments: but since then we have killed many a bittern while snipe-shooting, and could have killed many more had there been any object; for they lie very close, and offer a mark like a haystack.
According to the Spanish peasants, the flesh of the bittern is health-giving (muy saludable): and the same worthies also state that the strange boom is produced with the beak half-immersed in water.
The landrail, reversing its home habits, is only found in Spain in autumn and winter, its well-known spring-note being never heard in this southern land. The common water-rail, the spotted crake and Baillon's crake are all three abundant in winter in the marshes—more so than in spring: and we have also shot the small (unspotted) crake—on one occasion, one of these intensely-skulking birds was induced to take wing by a dead snipe falling right on to his strangely compressed little body.
Water-hens are as common as at home; and at rare intervals the great purple water-hen is sprung by the spaniels from some sedgy morass. This fine bird, like the crakes, is very difficult to flush; but on occasion, when burning the cane-brakes to drive out deer, wild cats, &c., we have seen two or three in a day.
Coots (two species) in certain localities afford fine sport, by "driving" with a number of boats: we have bagged thus over 100 in a day, besides other wildfowl; and grebes, also of two species, besides the little dabchick, are also abundant.
It is unnecessary to add more than a mere list of the various Anatidæ to be met with in winter in Southern Spain.
Grey geese arrive in thousands in November to remain till February. Our best bags (flight-shooting) are: in one day, 81; in four days, 247. This was in November, 1889. The great majority of these are greylags, the remainder being of the "bean" description. We have shot no other species, though others occur. The Spanish name for all geese is anseres or gansos.
Mallard (pato real).—Common at all seasons.
Pintail (rabudo).—Abundant in wet winters; in dry seasons they pass on into Africa.
Shoveler (paleton).—Abundant every winter.
Gadwall (friso, or silbon real).—Rather scarce in winter; a few breed in Andalucia.
Wigeon (silbon).—In millions, October till March.
Garganey (capitanes, or caretones).—Irregular; some years many are shot in November, and again in March.
Teal (zarceta).—Come in clouds in October.
Marbled Duck (pardilla, or ruhilla).—A summer duck, rarely seen after the end of November. Returns in March, and breeds in hundreds.
Pochard (cabezon).—Only locally common, in winter.
Tufted Duck.—Have shot these occasionally on the rivers in winter, and up to April.
White-eyed Pochard (negrete).—Chiefly a summer duck, but common in November and early December, and again in February.
White-faced Duck (porron).—Another summer duck, not seen in mid-winter.
Scoter (pato negro).—In big flights on the coast in winter: shot a drake on Guadalquivir, April 8th.
Merganser.—Once or twice shot in winter—the only member of the merginæ we have met with.
Sheld-duck (pato-tarro, or ansareta).—Several shot in winter in marisma. Some remain to breed.
Ruddy Sheld-duck (labanco, pato canelo).—A few shot in winter and early spring: breeds in barrancos or low cliffs in the Isla Menor, &c.
Note.—The ducks of the Spanish marismas are extremely irregular as to the species which appear: these varying with the seasons and state of the water. Thus, one winter, pintails will swarm; another, gadwalls and garganeys are conspicuous; the next, at corresponding seasons, one or the other will, perhaps, be almost entirely absent.
These are rare and exceptional stragglers to Southern Spain. In February, 1891 (a severe winter further north), we found four wild swans—two fully adult, one of them a very large bird—frequenting the Lucios de la Madre, in the marismas of Guadalquivir. They were very wild, and even when alone and separate from other fowl, refused to allow the approach of our gunning-punt. Eventually we fired at them at long range (No. 1 shot), but, though one was badly struck, we failed to secure it: have little doubt, from their note and appearance, they were hoopers.
Since writing the above, we have enjoyed a new experience—a duck-shooting campaign in August. During two days, some 250 ducks were bagged, of which half were mallards (the drakes already distinguishable on wing), and of the rest the greater proportion were marbled ducks, the following species being also included:—gadwall, garganey, ferruginous and white-faced ducks, ruddy sheld-duck, three or four teal, and two pintails.
The latter were probably wounded birds lingering since the preceding winter; which may also, perhaps, explain the presence of three greylag geese which were seen but not secured. Several common snipe were also shot—these facts afford "food for reflection!"
During the shooting, the air was alive with birds; besides ducks, there were herons of all sorts—old and young—egrets, white spoonbills, night-herons—many young ones, brown and speckled like bitterns—together with crested and eared grebes, dabchicks, terns, coots and pratincoles in thousands; while above all, sailed files of glossy ibis with curious barking croaks, several cormorants, and a string of cranes.
Among miscellaneous birds shot were most of the above, with little bitterns, various rails and one purple waterhen, little gulls, whimbrels (?) and bar-tailed godwit.
It is worth adding that a dead bird, left floating, was completely devoured in less than five minutes by water-beetles (Dyticus), which hollowed out the body and left nothing, but empty skin and feathers! One felt that, had one the bad luck to get bogged, these creatures were capable of making away with a man well under half an hour.
On the Southern Plains.
Though left to the last, the system of "rastreando," as it is called in Spanish—stalking or "still-hunting," as we have rendered it in English (though neither expression is perhaps a precise equivalent), affords some of the prettiest sport to be obtained with the rifle in the Peninsula. As an example of this sport, we have taken our latest and not least successful deer-stalking expedition, which took place in March, 1892—exactly twenty years after the campaign recorded in the first chapter (p. 23) of our book.
There only remained a few days before the season for deer-shooting would close. For more than a week we had been ready awaiting a change in the weather; but heavy rains day by day delayed a start. Never had there been known so wet a winter. From the Giralda tower at Seville, the whole country appeared a sea, and the great river, in the early days of March, was causing serious anxieties to the Sevillanos, having reached a higher level than local records had hitherto known. Already its angry waters dashed in foam over the key-stones of Triana bridge; the transpontine suburb was submerged to the second floors; from its flat roofs starving men and women cried for bread as boats passed by, navigating, Venetian-fashion, the flooded streets. The city itself was an island—only preserved from inundation by incessant labour at the embankments, over whose topmost stones the menacing waves already lapped, when a lull in the storm saved Seville. A breach in that embankment or a further rise, and the stately and historic city had been swept away—as Consuegra and many a small town or village was swept away in Southern Spain daring the terrible floods of 'ninety-two.
Such climatic conditions would not be wholly unfavourable for deer-stalking—reducing the area over which the game is scattered—provided there should now be some cessation of the down-pour. A lull had at length occurred, and the writer set out from Seville to spend the few remaining days of the season in a remote region of those brush-clad prairies which cover so vast an area in Southern Spain. My only companions were two Spanish cazadores, brothers, men of keen eye and of tried skill in woodcraft. The object was to endeavour by rastreando, or still-hunting, to secure a few of the old and wary stags which roamed over these barren down-lands; but which were far too cunning to lose their lives in the customary Spanish batidas, or drives. Was it possible, single-handed, and on such comparatively open ground, to out-manœuvre these old forest-monarchs, which, on a former visit, we had seen make good their escape from six or eight rifles? This question we decided to solve, and to devote the remaining days to "still-hunting," abandoning every other form of attack.
The rains had left much of these rolling downs too wet for shelter, many of the thickets and patches of "scroggy" wood being breast-deep in water. The picaros tunantes, i.e., cunning old rogues, as Manuel termed our friends the big stags, were therefore reduced for dry-lying to the higher ridges and plateaux of the plains; and these, it chanced, lay at the greatest distance—a long two-days' ride.
The sun was low ere our horses' hoofs resounded on dry land, instead of the constant splash, splosh through flooded hollows or standing pools of rain-water. Here, too, the swelling prairie afforded rather more covert. We had now reached favourable ground, and from each rising point we examined the surrounding country with minute scrutiny, scanning each nook and corner with the binoculars. After a while we made out the head of a stag, apparently feeding beyond a belt of abolágas and jungle-grass. A direct stalk—which otherwise seemed fairly feasible—would, under existing conditions, have necessitated swimming a considerable part of the distance, and the lateness of the hour forbade our making a long detour, which also seemed to offer a chance of success. We therefore adopted a third course, and after quickly covering some two miles, mostly through prickly spear-grass or water, reached a ridge which my companion reckoned would command the course of the deer as he led forward. On peering through the bushes on the crest, the stag was nowhere to be seen—we had overshot the point, and he was now far to the right. Before us stretched a long tongue of marshy water, choked with grasses, and aquatic herbage floating on its surface. With a sardonic grin, M. assured me that that grass would prove the death of our stag. "He will feed along that pool," he whispered, "nibbling the water-plants and sprouting grass; but first the daylight must decline." Ten minutes later, the antlers showed, stealing from some distant covert; then the beast stepped into the open, advancing towards the water. But suspicion torments him—between each petulant snatch at the herbage, he stops and listens, raises his antlered head to gaze back towards the point whence we had first viewed him: he little thinks the enemy he fears behind is now close in his front. Presently suspicion seems allayed: he advances with stealthy strides along the grassy edge, and already approaches the limits of very long range. The express was ready cocked when the stag recommenced sniffing and gazing, now he turns and walks away: the wind is shifty, and to get it full in his nostrils he bears from us. Clearly he will not now pass our point near enough for a shot, so back to lower ground we "slither," and run forward at best speed to cut him out at another point. Still he is out of shot—800 yards off—and another race to the front is necessary, a lung-trying spin of a quarter-mile. Now, we must perforce rest, panting, for a few moments, ere we again crawl up the ascent and "speer" over the ridge. The stag is nowhere to be seen—yes, there he is! he has both heard and seen us now, and is bounding at top-speed over our very ridge, not seventy yards in advance. Ere the rifle can be levelled and a ball dispatched, the stag has dipped the crest: but the second barrel, after a flying run to the ridge, affords more deliberate aim at about 120 yards. "He has it," quietly remarks my companion, and as the galloping stag displays his extended flank, the blood-patch on his side is clearly marked, but too far back. Poor beast! though fatally struck, there is no chance to recover him to-night, for already the sun dips behind the distant pinales—it is too late to think of following him, and sadly we return to our horses. Ten miles to ride, and the evening spent discussing "muckle harts" and their haunts on the neighbouring wilds.
All night wind and rain: at daybreak the clouds indicated better things, but after a few fitful gleams of sunlight, the deluge set in once more. This and the next day were very bad:—wasted. It was only possible to pass the time shooting a few rabbits for the use of the rancho—the partridges were all paired long ago; but a lucky shot at a nervous band of sand-grouse secured four, and in some rush-clad backwaters we picked up a few snipe and two or three couples of wild-duck.
Next morning, at dawn, we set out to look for deer, the pannier-ponies following at a distance, with instructions never to come up unless shots had been fired. Facing the gale, we struck out across far-extending heaths, where the scrub, as a rule, is of convenient height for shooting over, but where, in the hollows or dells, are found deep thickets, or manchas. These jungle-patches cover from one or two up to thirty acres in extent: here the growth of thorny shrub and pampas-grass is much higher, thicker, and more densely entwined, affording secure "lying" for deer and other animals.
No rain had fallen since the early hours of the morning: hence the light, sodden soil exhibited the traces of every beast which had traversed it to perfection. It was some time before we found tracks large enough to betoken one of our friends, the tunantes. The brothers had followed two or three rastros for short distances, but were not satisfied with their importance. Small stags, hinds, lynx, fox and boar had wandered hither and thither, and were now doubtless sleeping away the hours of daylight in some of the neighbouring thickets. Hours passed, but no rastro gordo (heavy track) was discovered, though every sign and impress on the light sandy soil was read as a book by the brothers, who quartered the ground to right and left like a brace of first-rate setters. M. was the first to find: suddenly he stopped and beckoned:—yes, those prints are undoubtedly of far larger hoofs than any we have yet seen: nor are they the spoor of one tunante, but of two. Here, says M., look where the two big beasts have stopped together to nibble the shoots of this escobon (genista)—there they have stripped a romero (rosemary) of its mauve-coloured blossoms—and here, along this hollow, they have taken their way at daybreak, direct towards some thicket-sanctuary. Now, we will not leave them, adds the wild man, till you have had a carambola á boca de jarro! "a right-and-left at half-range." For three or four miles, we follow the line, the men hardly deigning to look on the ground, but making, as by instinct, for points at which we invariably picked up the trail. At first it was all plain sailing; but presently we came to places where to our eyes no trace of spoor existed—to swamps where the uninitiated would detect no sign in bruised water-flower or bent sedge-shoot; we passed beneath pine-coppices where the thick-lying needles told him no tale of nimble feet that had pressed them hours before. At such spots a check occasionally occurred, when the brothers, muttering maledictions on old stags in general, and still more scandalous reflections on the maternal ancestry of these two in particular, opened out till one or the other caught the thread. The discovery was signalled by holding up a hand, and on we file, all three pressing quickly forward along the fatal trail. A pretty sight to watch these men cast like sleuth-hounds, when the trace was apparently lost—though lost it never was.
Now, after four miles or more, the trail gave certain indications that were interpreted to mean a desire on the part of the deer to seek shelter for the day—not a change in their course but its import was calculated by the hunters. As the spoor approached each small jungle, the writer went forward in advance, leaving the men to follow the rastro. Several thickets had been tried in this way, but each time the beasts had passed through and gone on. Now there stretched away before us a long narrow belt of covert, and approaching this the indications of the spoor showed that the two deer, as the men put it, van de recojida, i.e., had entered the jungle wearily, and would now be couched within it. The covert was too long to risk putting the gun at the end, as the game might break on either side; so we decided to walk through it in line. Unluckily the growth was dense and high—in most places we could not see two yards in front, a tantalizing situation when one knew that each step might now bring one to the promised right-and-left! We had barely progressed 200 yards when the startled deer arose.[78] I heard the rush and the crash of the undergrowth, but could see nothing; my ear told me they had gone to the right, and pushing through the jungle in that direction, a slight clearing in the long grass showed a glimpse of the two heads appearing now and again above the scrub as the deer bounded away. I fired both barrels of the express, directing one at each animal. After the shots nothing could be seen; but one hart was down, a beast of twelve points. The other barrel appeared to have been a miss—the larger tunante of the two had escaped, Caramba! Not for long did such doubts torment us, for, on cutting off the spoor outside the covert, the tell-tale blood was seen on the cistus-twigs and on the sandy soil. We followed the wounded beast for four hours through possible and even impossible places. His pace never slackened—he seemed to be bound for Portugal. I suggested slipping a couple of dogs; but the idea was overruled. "The tunante is struck in the haunch," said they, "and before dogs, would run for hours: he would reach the big pinales, six leagues away. Our chance consists in his keeping the more open ground and smaller thickets. Before sundown we will overtake him; but then, you must put your bullet in a better place." These bloodhounds never doubted—on we went, patiently following the now easier trail, and before sundown we did overtake him. Then, as he rushed from a clump of big bulrushes in a shallow lagoon, where the fevered beast had lain down in the water, the express bullet lodged in el mismissimo corazon=in his very heart: and the panniers were balanced with two of the heaviest old stags that ever roamed on Andalucian plain.
The next day, a downpour of rain just at the critical moment—when game and other wild beasts are returning to their lairs—obliterated every rastro, and a fresh stratagem had to be employed. This was to find and rouse the stag, and then to follow the trail—necessarily a longer and more delicate operation than that last described, since the suspicions of the animal are thoroughly aroused; he is alarmed, and traverses great distances ere again he goes to cover. He is, moreover, apt to go away very wild on the second approach. The half-inundated condition of the country, however, was in our favour; and late in the afternoon, having traced a stag for many weary leagues, I had the satisfaction of pulling down a beast of "royal" rank by a very long shot.
The next day—and the last of the season—might have been one of those contributory to the Noachian deluge. Again, despite wind and weather, a venado of eleven points rewarded our efforts. This stag gave us much trouble: put up early in the morning, it was night ere he was secured. My first shot, a long one, struck him heavily, but he ran for hours before the dogs. We took to our horses in pursuit, but thrice he foiled us—both scent and spoor being obliterated by the rain. Twice, by wide "casts" of a mile or more in circuit, we recovered the lost thread, but the third time not a trace could we discover, and had almost given him up for lost, when he jumped up, a long way ahead, before the dogs. At top-speed we ran him to the deep waters of Martinazo, and when at last we overhauled him, he was making his last gallant fight with the two hounds, which held him at bay, breast-deep, in the moonlight.
During the long homeward ride on the morrow, we came on the big round "pugs" of a lynx, and after following them a couple of miles to his lair, he, too—a big and handsome male—was added to the bag by a single shot from the express. By nightfall we again reached the outposts of civilization, well content with the results of the campaign—four good stags and a lynx—and the wind-up of the sporting season of 1891-92.
The large game, or caza mayor, of Spain comprises nine or ten animals, several of which have been dealt with specifically in separate chapters. We now describe more particularly those not mentioned elsewhere, and complete a general review of other Spanish mammalia by a few supplementary remarks.
The beasts of chase in the Peninsula are the red, roe, and fallow deer; the Spanish ibex and chamois; wild boars, and bears of two varieties, the wolf and Spanish lynx.
Scattered locally throughout the Peninsula, the Spanish red deer present two distinct types, both differing from the Scotch animal in the absence of the neck-ruff, or mane. The forest-deer of the wooded plains, or cotos, carry small and rather narrow heads, measuring from 24 to 28 inches in length of horn, and some 18 to 24 in beam.
The mountain-deer, on the other hand, often exhibit a magnificent horn-development. We have seen heads from the Sierra Morena, and from the Montes de Toledo, whose massive antlers rival those of the wapiti, reaching 36 and even 40 inches and upwards in length, with a breadth of three feet.
The rutting season of the red deer commences in the Coto Doñana at the end of August (the last quarter of the August moon), and continues till the full moon in September. We have seen fawns following their mothers as early as January, but May is the month when they are usually dropped.
The antlers fall in April—few stags are seen with them in May. During the hornless period of spring and summer, the stags seek shelter in the densest thickets with damp lying: they also "lie out," like hares, in open country, and it is surprising how they conceal themselves—a big hart will lie completely hidden among rushes not two feet high. The flies at this season are a terrible torture to them, attacking the sprouting horns and tender surroundings.
Deer-shooting commences in November, and ends in February or early in March; and it is only necessary to add that all lands in which deer are found, both on mountain and plain, are preserved.
Measurement of Red Deer Heads.
Forest-Deer.
| Length. | Circumference. | Beam. | ||||
| No. | 1. | 8 points | (small) | 17¾ | 3½ | 16½ inches. |
| " | 2. | 11 " | " | 24¼ | 3¾ | 19½ " |
| " | 3. | 12 " | (royal) | 29 | 5¼ | 25 " |
| " | 4. | 13 " | " | 22¾ | 4-1/16 | 22½ " |
Mountain-Deer.
| {**} | Length. | Beam. | ||
| No. | 1. | 12 points | 34½ inches. | 32 inches. |
| " | 2. | 12 " | 36 " | 34 " |
| " | 3. | 15 " | 37½ " | 34½ " |
| " | 4. | 17 " | 40 " | 36½ " |
{**} No. 4. This magnificent beast, of which we annex two photos (see pp. 360 and 430), was shot near Marmolejos in the Sierra Morena.
These deer are not indigenous, but were introduced by the Romans, probably from Asia Minor; and are, as at home, more or less private property. At the same time they exist in a perfectly wild state, and quite unenclosed, at several places—especially in the neighbourhood of Madrid, where the Royal estates of Aranjuéz, Rio-frio, El Pardo, &c., have tended to disseminate a wild race outside their boundaries.
The Spanish fallow deer are of the spotted axis-like type.
Though plentiful in the wooded ravines of the sierras, where it frequents sapling-thickets in preference either to scrub or forest proper, yet the roe is seldom made a special object of pursuit. The few roebuck—in Spanish, corzo—that have fallen to our guns have been killed when in pursuit of pig or other game.
Yet to this deer we owe as narrow an escape as can be faced; while roe-shooting in the Sierra de la Jarda, and riding along a precipitous goat-track, a projecting crag barred the way: in rounding the obstruction, it was necessary that the horses should simultaneously make an upward step or two on a sort of rock-stair. During this awkward manœuvre, one jaca brought his flank sharply in collision with the crag, struggled for one desperate moment to recover equilibrium, and then plunged, broadside on, down the precipice. His rider, springing from the stirrups, clutched a retamo bush, and thus hung suspended "between the devil and the deep." Poor Bolero fell crashing through the ilexes that clung to the crag—we could hear the smashing of branch after branch as he broke his way downwards. We descended to recover the gun, saddle, and equipments from the killed horse; but, to our amazement, found him quietly grazing—the gun still in the slings, the bridle over his nose—hardly, beyond a cut or two, the worse for his adventure. The fall was over 100 feet, but the stout branches of ilex and chaparro, with a marvellous measure of luck, had saved his life.
Roebuck, in Spain, are mostly killed with large shot (slugs), not ball; and to those who are content with this game, nearly all the southern sierras would yield a measure of sport, combined with occasional chances at pig, and this often on unpreserved grounds.
Roe are confined to the mountains—never found on the plains.
Of the Cabra montés we have already treated (chapters xi. to xiii., pp. 128-172), and now add some notes which we contributed to the Badminton Library through our friend Mr. C. Phillipps-Wolley, the editor of the Big Game volumes.
FIVE-YEAR-OLD IBEX.
FIVE-YEAR-OLD IBEX.
The Spanish mountaineer does not much affect ibex-hunting, though there are in each mountain-village some who try to earn a few precarious dollars by it. The peasants who follow this pursuit in the alpine regions of Spain become fearless climbers: with their feet clad in alparagatas, or hemp-soled sandals, they traverse ridges and descend crags where nail-shod guide would falter. The first object is to get as high as possible. Then, crawling to the verge of some fearful abyss, the hunter commands the depths below, and, if he descry ibex, is enabled to approach without the warning of the wind. Should he see none, he imitates the shrill cry of the female, and not unfrequently a ram is thus betrayed by the whistle of love. The ibex-hunter must be provided with lungs of leather, a steady hand and eye, and untiring limbs.
The best time for ibex-shooting is during July and August, when camping-out on the higher regions is practicable and even enjoyable. The snow-storms and frozen state of the snow render the winter-and spring-shooting both dangerous and uncertain.
When ibex are known to be frequenting the lower valleys and chasms of the sierra, guns are concealed among the broken rocks in the higher regions commanding the ravines by which the montéses are accustomed to ascend. Then the beaters enter from below, shots and unearthly yells disturb the timid animals, and slowly they ascend the mountain-side, listening ever and anon as they look down from some shelving ledge or giddy point. So slowly, indeed, do they sometimes come that the hunter may contemplate them for minutes before he can despatch his bullet. At some vital spot it must take effect or the trophy is lost. Such is the vital resistance of the wild-goat that unless killed outright he will manage to gain some inaccessible precipice, and there on a hanging ledge give up his life.
The stronghold of the chamois—the Izard of the French hunters, Rebeco of Cantabria, and Sario in Arragon—is in the Pyrenees, and their western prolongation, the Cantabrian ranges of Santander, the Asturias, &c. They are specially abundant near the Picos de Europa. This animal is not found on any of the cordilleras of Central or Southern Spain. Mr. Packe's statement that he saw two on a misty morning in the Sierra Nevada probably arose from the similarity in size and form of the horns of the young or female ibex. Chamois inhabit only the loftiest, most wild and rocky mountain-summits, and are killed (usually with large shot) in big "batidas," or drives. How they manage to sustain life on these barren snow-clad heights in winter—since they never descend to the lower levels—passes understanding; but the case of the ibex is no less inexplicable.
Lord Lilford writes:—In my opinion the chamois of the Pyrenees is very distinct from the chamois of Central Europe and Turkey.
Note.—Wild Sheep:—It is somewhat remarkable that the moufflon, which is found as near as Corsica and Sardinia, should be entirely unknown in the Spanish cordilleras.
There are in Spain two kinds of bear—it would, perhaps, be more correct to say two varieties—the large, dark-coloured beast, and the small brown bear, or Hormiguero = ant-eater. The latter, which is not uncommon in the Asturias, feeds on roots, ants'-nests, honey, and such-like humble fare; while the big black bear, distinguished as Carnicero, preys on goats, sheep, pigs, &c., and even pulls down horned cattle.
Bear-hunting is confined to the north—to the Pyrenees and the Cantabrian Highlands. A primitive method of pursuit survives in certain high-lying villages of the Asturias, where the mountaineers face Bruin, armed only with pike and knife. These men are associated in a sort of fraternal band, and the occupation passes from father to son. The osero, accompanied only by his dogs, seeks the bear amidst the recesses of the sierra, and engages him in single combat. His equipment consists of a broad-bladed hunting-knife and a double dagger, each of whose triangular blades fits into a central handle.
By less vigorous sportsmen, bear-hunting is carried on by calling into requisition a large number of men and dogs—usually with the assistance of the oseros, and by the more discreet use of fire-arms, vice cold steel.
The neighbourhood of Madrid was once described as "buen monte de puerco y oso" (good country for pig and bear), and the city itself as "la coronada villa del oso y madroño;" but bears no longer exist in either of the Castiles. The small Hormiguero is confined to the Asturias: the larger beast is also fairly common there, and not rare in Navarre, Arragon, and, possibly, Catalonia.
The wild boar has always abounded in Spain, and its chase ever held a chief place among Spanish sports—in olden times on horseback with pike and lance. During the middle ages the pursuit of falconry took such hold upon the national taste, that the pigs were almost forgotten, and towards the close of the fifteenth century they became a positive scourge, devastating the crops and invading the outlying portions even of great cities. With the Renaissance came the application of science to sporting weapons; and, with gunpowder substituted for cold steel, the boar had a bad time of it; he was shot down as he rushed from his thicket-lair, or assassinated as he took his nocturnal rambles.
In Estremadura the favourite chasse au sanglier is still with horse and hound. During the stillness of a moonlight night, when the acorns are falling from the oaks in the magnificent Estremenian woods, a party of horsemen assemble to await the boars, which at night descend from the mountains to feed. Then a trained hound, termed the maestro, which throws tongue only to pig, is slipped: should he succeed in bringing a tusker to bay, a dozen strong dogs, half-bred mastiffs, are despatched to his assistance. Off they rush like demons, to the challenge of the maestro, followed by the horsemen, and there ensues a break-neck ride and a struggle with a grizzly tusker in the half-light, which are sufficiently exciting to make this sport a favourite with the valientes of Estremadura.
It is possible that, on the southern plains, pig-sticking might be attempted. The country is, however, very rough, much intercepted with cane-brakes and dense jungles of matted brushwood and briar.
In the vast cane-brakes which fringe the Guadiana are found enormous boars, whose tusks, as they charge, resemble a white collar encircling the neck.
We have noticed the young following their mothers as early as January. The piglings are at first pretty little beasts, yellowish-brown, striped longitudinally with black bars. In May we have observed the old sows and young associated into herds of twenty or more.
These Ishmaelites of the animal-world, though common enough in all the wilder regions of Iberia, rarely present themselves as a mark for the rifle-ball. Many-fold more cunning than the fox, the wolf never—not for a single instant—forgets the risk of danger nor his human enemies. When aroused in a montería, or mountain-drive, wolves come slowly forward, feeling their way like field-marshals in an enemy's country, and on reaching some strong crag or thicket, lie down, awaiting the arrival of the beaters, who must pass on one side, when the stealthy brute slinks back on the other.
Wolves change their residence according to the season. In summer, when the peasants' goats and sheep are pastured on the hills, they inhabit the highest sierras; in winter, when the stock is removed to lower ground, there are the wolves also.
In all parts of Spain, it is customary for herdsmen to remain in constant attendance on their flocks by day and night, to protect them from the ravages of wolves and other "beasts of the field." In parts of Southern Estremadura and in the Sierra Nevada, it is sometimes necessary to keep fires burning at night, and shots are also fired at intervals, to secure the flocks from attack. When encamped, in the neighbourhood of Almadén, some years ago, we used to hear the packs of wolves keep up a concert of unearthly howls the livelong night.
Too cunning to fall either into trap or ambuscade, yet of late years the numbers of the Spanish wolf have been largely reduced by means of poison: they will, however, doubtless hold their own in Spain for centuries to come.
Like the bear, the wolf is also divisible into two distinct breeds, or races. There is the large grey wolf (the common kind), and the Lobo serrano, or mountain-wolf, which is smaller, darker, and more rufous in colour.
The following table shows the respective weights in English pounds (25 to the arroba), of the two types of wolf, both of which are found in all parts of Spain:—
| Males. | Females. | |
| Lobo grande | 125 to 150 | 100 to 112 lbs. |
| Lobo serrano | 75 " 90 | 60 " 75 " |
The gait of the wolf, when driven into the open, is a slow, slouching gallop; but he goes much faster than he appears to do. Well might the Lusitanian farmer tell Latouche, with an imitative gesture: "Corre, corre, corre; mas o diablo mesmo não o apanhava"—"Slowly he bounds, bounds along; but the devil himself could not overtake him!"
The Spanish foxes are all of the black-bellied species, or variety; but the majority lack the jet black underparts that distinguish Indian examples—being rather clouded, or marbled, than pure black. We have, however, shot one (in November) which was far more typically coloured—quite black below and on legs—than the average, which are generally greyer and more silvery than our British fox. A few show a white crescent on the breast. They run about 15 lbs. in weight, and 48 inches in length.
Foxes are not hunted in Spain except by the Calpe Hounds at Gibraltar.
This species is also peculiar to the Peninsula, and in the southern provinces may be called common, frequenting the wilder, scrub-covered wastes and wooded sierras, where it preys on hares, rabbits, and partridge. In the spring the large and powerful males are also destructive among the young red deer.
The spotted lynx is the only species found in Spain, its range extending (though in decreasing abundance) to the Asturian ranges, and even, we believe, to the Pyrenees, where we have failed to find any evidence of the existence of the northern form (Felis lynx).
The movements of lynx are most dignified, having rather the demeanour of the tiger than of the wild-cat: it advances with slow, stately stride and measured movements, standing at the full height of the long, powerful legs, and the head carried level with the back.
Though its approach, per se, is absolutely noiseless, yet on a still day it is just possible for an ear attuned to distinguish anything differing from the ordinary sounds of the wilds, to detect a slight crackling—a rustle, as the dry cistus-twigs re-unite after being divided by the passage of the lynx's body.