LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK
 
 x 
 
 u 
 
 ID 
 2C 
 
 H
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 SPORTING AND OTHER SKETCHES OF 
 BOHEMIA AND TYROL 
 
 By 
 
 RANDOLPH LL. HODGSON 
 
 *& 
 
 AUTHOR OF "WANDERINGS IN UNKNOWN AUSTRIA 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BY HER SERENE HIGHNESS 
 
 PRINCESS MARY OF THURN AND TAXIS 
 
 AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 WESTMINSTER 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO 
 
 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS 
 1898
 
 BUTLER TANNER, 
 
 THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS, 
 
 FROME, AND LONDON.
 
 TO 
 
 MY FRIEND 
 PRINCE ALEXANDER 
 
 OF 
 
 THURN AND TAXIS 
 
 THE BEST SPORTSMAN 
 
 I KNOW
 
 Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. BOHEMIA AND ITS PEOPLE 3 
 
 II. MY FIRST STAG 19 
 
 III. ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA . . . .41 
 
 IV. A DAY'S ROEBUCK DRIVING . . . . . 71 
 V. ON THE PLAINS 85 
 
 VI. BLACKCOCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA .... 97 
 
 VII. AN AUTUMN PICTURE 107 
 
 VIII. THE PHANTOM ROEBUCK OF THE DISMAL POOL . 121 
 
 IX. SOME SHOOTING STATISTICS 135 
 
 X. To THE MOUNTAINS 147 
 
 XL MY FIRST CHAMOIS 167 
 
 XII. ON THE EDGE OF THE SNOW 185 
 
 XIII. BAD LUCK 203 
 
 XIV. THE VALLEY OF ETERNAL SLEEP . . . .213 
 XV. TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 221 
 
 XVI. INNSBRUCK 241 
 
 vii
 
 List of Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " A circlet of mountains " To face 4 
 
 A Bohemian Castle ,, 10 
 
 Wriggling Along ,, 25 
 
 "I had a broadside shot" ,, 29 
 
 "There he stands!" ,, 30 
 
 A Young Buck ,, 47 
 
 "Peruque" Horns 48 
 
 "Another doe and her two fawns with her" . . . ,, 55 
 
 Home ! ,, 59 
 
 "To reach that branch above his head" .... ,, 60 
 
 An Abnormal Roebuck's Head ...... ,, 64 
 
 A Shot from a Hackstand , . . ... . . ,, 67 
 
 "In the sombre wood" ,, 75 
 
 "A doe, and in her winter coat" . . . . . ,, in 
 
 A Buck ,, 112 
 
 Twilight ,, 117 
 
 Schloss L ,, 122 
 
 The Dismal Pool 129 
 
 A Roe-doe ,, 150 
 
 Anton Hochleitner ,, 154 
 
 The Three Keepers ,, 161 
 
 The Zillergrund ,, 169 
 
 Wechselberger ,, 170 
 
 " A brownish-blackish animal with a white face " . ,, 174 
 " I rest my elbows on my knees, so as to secure a perfectly 
 
 steady shot" ,, 178 
 
 Our Hut, with the Rach-Kaar in the distance . . . ,, 187 
 
 "End on, and turned away" ,, 192 
 
 "Steep downhill work" ,, 196 
 
 "The Valley of Eternal Sleep" 214 
 
 A Zillerthaler Girl ,, 222 
 
 Old Jorgei .......... ,, 234 
 
 "Hemmed in by majestic mountains" .... ,, 243 
 
 Maria Theresienstrasse the Principal Street in Innsbruck . ,, 244 
 
 Innsbruck the Hofkirche ,, 249 
 
 Arthur of England ,, 250 
 
 viii
 
 I 
 
 BOHEMIA AND ITS PEOPLE
 
 Bohemia and its People 
 
 ". . . imagine me, 
 Gentle spectators, that I now may be, 
 In fair Bohemia." 
 
 Shakespeare, " The Winters Tale." 
 
 
 THERE is no country that has been so much 
 maligned and misunderstood as Bohemia. 
 The historic Frenchman, who fancied that 
 all gipsies were Bohemians, has much to answer for. 
 The word " Bohemian " has become a slang expres- 
 sion, and gained a sense that it will probably never 
 lose ; and all because of that little mistake of the 
 fifteenth century. 
 
 A certain writer, named William Shakespeare, 
 did not mend matters at least, as far as the geo- 
 graphical position of the country was concerned. 
 " A desert country near the sea" thus he describes 
 it. And, again, he makes Antigonus ask, 
 
 "... our ship hath touch'd upon 
 The deserts of Bohemia?" 
 
 To which " a mariner" replies, 
 
 "Ay, my lord; and fear we have landed in ill time." 
 
 3
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 It is curious what a vague idea the average 
 Briton possesses of geography, even to-day. I met 
 an old college friend a few weeks ago, whom I had 
 not seen since we were at Cambridge together. 
 After we had exchanged greetings, and expressed 
 surprise at coming across one another quite unex- 
 pectedly, we began to inquire into one another's 
 well-being. 
 
 "And what have you been doing with yourself? " 
 was his first question. 
 
 " I have been in Bohemia for the last six months," 
 I said. 
 
 " Bohemia ! Where's that ? " he asked. 
 
 "In Central Europe ; it forms part of the Aus- 
 trian Empire," I replied, for I always like to give 
 information when I can. 
 
 " Does it?" he said ; " I always thought Bohemia 
 was a suburb of London." 
 
 A vast plain, surrounded by a circlet of moun- 
 tains, Bohemia resembles a gigantic soup-plate in 
 its conformation. A melancholy land, and a melan- 
 choly people. And yet, whether one sees it in the 
 summer months, basking in the rays of a glaring 
 sun, with the broad expanse of level ground tinged 
 with the gold of the ripening corn ; or in the depths 
 of winter, when the spotless snow-field, glittering 
 beneath a steel-blue sky, stretches away and away 
 to the horizon, the country well deserves Shake- 
 
 4
 
 BOHEMIA AND ITS PEOPLE 
 
 speare's epithet of "fair." And summer and winter 
 alike, with a charm in their very monotony, standing 
 out, like a royal mantle of velvety green on the 
 bosom of the land, are the silent pine forests. 
 
 Two thousand years ago Bohemia formed the 
 centre of the Hyrcania Sylva that great forest 
 which extended from the Rhine to Poland, and of 
 which Julius Caesar wrote in the sixth book of his 
 De Bella Gallico. From his description of the 
 animals that haunted its depths, it seems as if the 
 reindeer, the elk, and the aurochs were then to be 
 found there. His account of the elk is particularly 
 quaint : " they have legs without joints and liga- 
 tures," he says ; " neither do they lie down in quiet 
 for this cause, and if they should fall to the ground, 
 having been accidentally thrown down, they cannot 
 lift themselves or rise. Trees are their beds ; 
 against these they lean, and so, reclining only a 
 little, take their rest." 
 
 But all these animals have long ago been driven 
 northwards by the advance of civilization. 
 
 Walk through a Bohemian forest to-day, and 
 nothing more formidable than a red deer or roebuck 
 will cross your path. The wild boar is becoming 
 scarce, except in preserved ground, and the lynx 
 has almost died out. 
 
 The most striking feature of the pine-woods is 
 their intense stillness. No small birds fill the air 
 
 7
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 with song. Occasionally, one may hear the whistle 
 of the golden oriole, the harsh scream of the jay, or 
 the cry of the woodpecker ; but, for the most part, 
 the gentle whispering of the fir-needles is the only 
 sound that breaks the solemn silence. It is as if 
 one wandered through an enchanted forest, where 
 all things slept. 
 
 Bohemian history is a sealed book as far as most 
 Englishmen are concerned. The Czech agitation 
 of a few years back, and the Omladina trials that 
 followed it, brought the Bohemians and their aspi- 
 rations to the notice of newspaper readers for but 
 a short time. 
 
 And yet between the history of the two countries 
 Great Britain and Bohemia there exist many 
 links of sympathy and similarity. It was in Bohe- 
 mia and Moravia that the Reformation first took 
 firm root under the guiding hand of John Huss and 
 Jerome of Prague, the disciples of our first great 
 reformer, John Wycliffe. Oliver Cromwell found 
 his counterpart in the person of the national leader, 
 George of Podiebrad. Again, the problem that 
 faces Austrian politicians to-day is the question of 
 Home Rule not for Ireland, but for Bohemia. 
 
 Since the time when mere tradition gives place 
 to history the Bohemians have been continuously 
 struggling and fighting for three great ends their 
 religion, their language, and nationality. The reli- 
 
 8
 
 BOHEMIA AND ITS PEOPLE 
 
 gious contest has run its course, and Protestants 
 and Romanists have found that they can exist 
 happily side by side ; but the two latter are still the 
 questions of the hour. 
 
 The Bohemians possess all the Slav attributes of 
 melancholy and fatalism to their fullest extent. If 
 a schoolboy has failed to pass an examination, he, as 
 likely as not, goes to the nearest pond and drowns 
 himself! In one small village there have been 
 three suicides of this kind in the last year. To 
 these characteristics add an intense love of music, 
 and an inability to distinguish between " mine " and 
 " thine," and you have a Bohemian. There is a 
 saying to the effect that, when a baby is born, a 
 violin is placed on one side of the cradle, and a silver 
 spoon on the other. If the child reaches for the 
 violin, he will be a musician ; if he takes the spoon, 
 he will be a thief. One of the two he must be ; 
 often he is both ! 
 
 Nothing could be more incorrect than the popular 
 idea of a Bohemian that notion of a happy-go- 
 lucky, careless, good-natured, merry individual, who 
 takes things as they come, and is, at least, not 
 discontented with them. 
 
 There are but three classes in Bohemia, and, 
 indeed, in Austria. Firstly, the great aristocracy ; 
 secondly, the bourgeoisie, comprising the lawyers, 
 doctors, merchants, and all the multitudinous offi- 
 
 9
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 cials and clerks that are so abundant on the Conti- 
 nent ; and, lastly, the peasants. With the great gulf 
 that there is fixed between each of the thre'e, it is 
 not surprising that class prejudice should be one of 
 the strongest features of Austrian social life. 
 
 But far stronger than any class prejudice, there 
 exists in Bohemia the most intense racial hatred. 
 Whilst the inhabitants of the south and central 
 portions of the country are mostly Slavs, those of 
 the north and the Saxon and Bavarian frontiers are 
 German. The Slav hates the German, and the 
 German reciprocates the feeling with interest. The 
 Slav will speak nothing but Bohemian, even if he 
 knows German ; the German longs to see the 
 Bohemian language forced out of existence by Act 
 of Parliament. It is the old struggle of centuries 
 the struggle of language and nationality still 
 going on. 
 
 This racial hatred is the greatest danger to the 
 Austrian Empire. An Austrian does not say, " I 
 am an Austrian," but, " I am a Bohemian," or, " I 
 am a Viennese," or, "I am a Moravian." It is not 
 the glorification of the whole Empire that he looks 
 for, but that of the portion of it to which he himself 
 belongs. Austria's peril lies in the fact that she 
 consists of a conglomeration of particles, each one 
 of which wishes to be independent of the others. 
 
 Up to the revolution of 1848 the Bohemian 
 
 IP

 
 BOHEMIA AND ITS PEOPLE 
 
 peasant was nothing but a serf a slave. Now he 
 has got his freedom, and he is not quite sure what 
 to do with it. Traces of the old regime still linger. 
 The peasant still kisses the hand of the local lord 
 of the soil, and cringes before his superiors as they 
 pass. In private, however, he drinks in the prin- 
 ciples of socialism and anarchy, which that curse of 
 the present day, the paid agitator, is only too ready 
 to pour into his ears. 
 
 But, at the bottom, the peasant is not a bad fellow. 
 He is quite uneducated, and miserably poor. If he 
 is an agricultural labourer, his wages amount to the 
 magnificent sum of one shilling a day. Probably his 
 wife also works in the fields, and earns thereby six- 
 pence per diem. But he cannot count even on 
 these poor wages all the year round. There is the 
 long hard winter to be got through, when work is 
 not to be had. At this time he runs into debt with 
 the Jew shopkeeper one of which is to be found in 
 every village, however tiny and then part of his 
 wages of the next summer have to go in attempting 
 to free himself from the web that the Israelite spider 
 is, slowly but surely, spinning round him. Little 
 wonder that the daily fare of the Bohemian peasant 
 consists of dry black bread. 
 
 His cottage is nothing more than a hovel, and 
 household and personal cleanliness are things un- 
 known. If he should be somewhat better off, and 
 
 13
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 the happy possessor of a cow or pig, it is an absolute 
 certainty that he will arrange his estate so that the 
 house door opens directly on to the manure heap ! 
 
 It is among the middle classes that socialism and 
 all its kindred branches have taken the deepest root ; 
 and, strangely enough, the societies of this ilk all 
 originate in the universities. "Is it not curious," 
 the Duke of Wellington once said, "that all the 
 mischief in Germany seems to have its rise in the 
 universities, while in this country we look to the 
 universities, and to the state of feeling there, as one 
 of our main sources of security ? " Exactly the same 
 thing holds good in Bohemia at the present time. 
 
 The Slavs, as a race, are not handsome. A head 
 too large for the stunted body, high cheek-bones, a 
 dark muddy complexion, and coarse features, do not 
 tend to good looks either in the masculine or femi- 
 nine gender. A visitor to Prague will be struck, 
 not so much by the massive grandeur of its build- 
 ings, the old-world quaintness of its gloomy narrow 
 streets, the beauty of the old bridge, with its many 
 statues, that spans the turbid waters of the Mulda, 
 as by the extreme plainness of its inhabitants. 
 
 The German- Bohemians of the north and west 
 are a totally different race. More thrifty than the 
 Slavs, they are therefore in better circumstances. 
 They are, as a whole, deeply attached to the 
 Emperor in person, and devoted to the maintenance 
 
 4
 
 BOHEMIA AND ITS PEOPLE 
 
 of the Empire. But they lack the unanimity of 
 feeling and the powers of combination of the Slavs, 
 and so, as a political party, are gradually losing 
 ground. 
 
 The Czechs have, on the other hand, made great 
 strides during the last few years. The use of the 
 language has received the official sanction of the 
 Government, and more than one Austrian Premier 
 has found it necessary to yield to the wishes of the 
 Bohemians in various particulars. 
 
 What will be the future of Bohemia ? Who can 
 say ? The Slav peasant casts his eyes over the 
 great plains that stretch away and away to the 
 north-east, and thinks that there under that great 
 Empire of the north under the rule of the Tsar 
 lie happiness and content. In his dream he builds 
 up a vision of all the Slav countries of Europe 
 bound together in a mighty union an all-powerful 
 Empire of the East. 
 
 Is it a dream ?
 
 II 
 
 MY FIRST STAG
 
 II 
 My First Stag 
 
 I WAS staying with Prince at a castle (or 
 " Schloss," as they call it there) in Bohemia, 
 not a hundred miles from Prague. 
 It was autumn. The time when the oak trees 
 put on their red and yellow livery, and the stems 
 of the birches gleam white through the golden 
 showers of leaves that come rustling down, and 
 only the sombre pines stand dark and unchange- 
 able amid the changing foliage. 
 
 The time when the dew lies thick on the grass, 
 and the mist rises dense and damp, and the even- 
 ing air feels chilly, and the stars grow clearer and 
 brighter, and one knows that summer is dead and 
 that winter is coming. But it is a glorious season 
 to the sportsman ; for with the first frost that 
 whitens the ground and nips and scatters the fading 
 leaves comes the rutting-time of the stags, when the 
 silent woods re-echo with the hoarse roar of each 
 gallant champion as he sends forth his challenge to 
 his rivals. 
 
 Behold then a party of two, consisting of the 
 
 19
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 Prince and myself, noiselessly threading the dark 
 woods at five o'clock on an October morning. The 
 moon is still shining brightly, and only a faint 
 glimmer in the east betokens the approaching dawn. 
 The forest lies around us, sombre and still ; and not 
 a sound is to be heard but the faint murmur of the 
 breeze among the leaves and an occasional dismal 
 hoot from a distant owl. 
 
 It is one particular stag that we are in search of 
 an old acquaintance of mine that had baffled my 
 efforts day after day, and never given me more than 
 a fleeting glimpse of himself in the far distance, 
 sufficiently near, however, to show what a fine beast 
 he was, and to make me more covetous than ever 
 of his wide-spreading antlers. He had an objec- 
 tionable habit, too, of practising for the battles of 
 the " Brunft " (as the Austrians call the rutting- 
 time) on the plantations of young trees, and de- 
 stroying dozens of promising firs in a single night, 
 a fact that made us doubly anxious to secure him. 
 
 But what are those grey spectres that are moving 
 in the open glade below us ? Red deer, certainly. 
 Of the two nearest to us one is larger than the 
 other, and we make out that they are a hind and 
 calf; but there are more beyond. They are feed- 
 ing away to the right, and we cannot make our 
 approach with the wind as it is, so there is nothing 
 for it but to go round. 
 
 20
 
 MY FIRST STAG 
 
 The moonbeams grow fainter ; the east glows 
 with daffodil, primrose, and pink ; the light grows 
 stronger and clearer, and there is sufficient to shoot 
 by, when, with the morning breeze blowing fresh in 
 our faces, we approach the place where we expect to 
 find the deer. 
 
 We have heard no semblance of a roar, and do 
 not know if there is a stag with them, and, if there 
 is, whether it is our stag, or rather the stag we hope 
 to make ours, so it is an anxious moment. 
 
 Ah ! that settles it ! There is a faint moaning 
 sound, like the low of a consumptive cow there is 
 a stag ahead, and he is roaring too, but only very 
 feebly and lazily. 
 
 "We shall have to crawl," says the Prince. 
 
 " All right," I say. 
 
 So we crawl ! He first, to show me how to do 
 it ; and I behind, endeavouring to imitate him. 
 
 Crawling is but a wearisome mode of progression 
 at the best particularly with such a master of the 
 art as the Prince in front of one ! There was the 
 difficulty of keeping up with him at all in the first 
 place, intensified by having to carry a rifle there 
 was the avoidance of dead sticks and dried leaves, 
 and all the other multitudinous trifles that would 
 make a noise if one got reckless and attempted to 
 put in a spurt so as not to be left behind and then 
 there was my first stag ahead ! Would he run 
 
 25 c
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 away ? Would he be standing broadside on ? 
 Would he be far or near ? Is a stag a big object 
 to shoot at ? Horrible thought ! Should I miss 
 him ? 
 
 These and a thousand other doubts and anxieties 
 filled my mind, as I toiled gingerly along ; with the 
 Prince going gaily on ahead, like some wild animal 
 stealing on its prey ! 
 
 " I can see some of his ladies," whispers the 
 Prince, "and I believe the stag is in that hollow." 
 
 We are not crawling now we are wriggling 
 along like serpents. 
 
 My companion has stopped behind a tree, and is 
 gazing through the glasses. 
 
 " It is the stag," he says, "and he is lying down. 
 You can get a shot from here. It's a very difficult 
 one there's only a bit of him to be seen ; but you'll 
 have to risk it." 
 
 I wriggle up alongside, and look through the 
 glasses also. 
 
 Yes, there he is ! I can see one of his antlers, 
 and a little bit of his neck, between the trees ; and 
 there are three or four hinds all staring our way. 
 
 " I believe those hinds see us," says the Prince. 
 " You must shoot at once." 
 
 Reader, do you remember your first shot at a 
 stag? 
 
 I shall never forget my feelings at that moment ! 
 
 26
 
 MY FIRST STAG 
 
 I felt as if I were going to be hanged the scenes 
 of my life passed in review before me I wished I 
 had never seen a rifle never seen a stag and all 
 this time I was attempting to hold steady on that 
 infinitesimally small bit of brown that seemed to 
 dance between the trees ! 
 
 Crack ! The stag jumps up and gallops off, 
 accompanied by his harem. 
 
 "I'm afraid he's missed," says the Prince. 
 
 I will not take you through the agonies of the 
 remainder of that day, reader. How we found that 
 the bullet had just grazed one of those miserable 
 trees ! How we followed up the deer. How I had 
 a broadside shot at two hundred yards. How the 
 stag turned and faced me as I pulled the trigger ! 
 How the bullet sped forth only to find its billet in 
 some part of the beautiful nature that spread above 
 and around and beneath him ! 
 
 The Prince was very kind. He said it was bad 
 
 luck. Looking back now, I believe it was ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 The next morning sees us out again, and making 
 for the same ground that we had passed over the 
 previous day. A roaring stag generally haunts the 
 same locality even if disturbed he comes back. 
 And there is no doubt about his roaring this 
 morning. His hoarse challenge echoes and re- 
 echoes from the self-same hollow. 
 
 29
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 From the nearest village, three miles away, comes 
 the sound of a band of music, and at intervals the 
 firing of a small cannon. It is hardly light, but it 
 is a great Saint's Day, and the Bohemian peasant 
 begins his religious observances betimes. It is a 
 curious accompaniment to our stalk. 
 
 But Fortune smiles on us at last ! The stag is 
 there walking restlessly to and fro ploughing up 
 the ground with his horns and alone. 
 
 More crawling and wriggling, and we reach a 
 great fir tree within a hundred yards of our game, 
 and I prepare for the shot. 
 
 And now the stag turns. Nearer and nearer he 
 comes. Is he going to walk right up to us ? 
 
 No ! he stops at about sixty yards facing us. 
 
 There he stands a grand object, with his shaggy 
 neck, his head up, his nose thrust forward, the hot 
 breath issuing from his nostrils like steam and 
 stares at the tree that shelters my trembling self! 
 
 But I am not idle all this time I am covering 
 that broad chest, and am gently, gently pressing the 
 trigger. 
 
 A report a cloud of smoke and the stag has 
 wheeled round and is galloping away, seemingly 
 none the worse. But what is this ? A hundred 
 yards or so, and he pulls up, walks slowly on, and 
 then stands, his proud head hanging down. 
 
 " He's hit !" exclaims the Prince. 
 
 30
 
 " THERE HE STANDS ! "
 
 MY FIRST STAG 
 
 There is something pitiable in the appearance 
 of every wounded animal doubly so, when that 
 animal is a deer, with its great pathetic human- 
 looking eyes but I am afraid my feelings were 
 more of exultation than of pity at that moment. 
 
 The poor beast moves slowly on, continually 
 stopping every few yards, until he passes out of 
 sight among the trees ; and after some minutes we 
 follow. 
 
 There is no doubt about his being hit his path 
 is marked by drops of blood, and, from the way in 
 which it has spurted out, the bullet has evidently 
 passed through his lungs. 
 
 He is lying down when we come up to him, 
 motionless, with one antler resting on the ground, 
 and to all appearance dead ; but the next moment 
 he is up, and has galloped off, before I can cock and 
 raise the rifle. 
 
 The Prince and I both remark that we are 
 "blowed"; and then we sit down and hold a 
 council of war. 
 
 The stag, though wounded, has evidently plenty 
 of "go" left in him, so, if we go after him at once, 
 we may follow at his tail all day, and lose him 
 altogether. We therefore decide to stay where we 
 are for half an hour, and give him a chance to lie 
 down, and grow stiff. 
 
 It is broad daylight now, and the sun is high in 
 
 33
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 the heavens, and the squirrels are busy getting their 
 breakfasts. Look at that little chap on the next 
 tree, with his tail cocked over his back, and his 
 bright eyes sparkling as he nibbles away at an 
 acorn ! And there is a black one all jet black, 
 except his little white chest ! The woods here 
 swarm with squirrels, but the black ones are very 
 uncommon. 
 
 It is difficult to trace the stag when we set off 
 again, for the bleeding has stopped ; and at last we 
 lose the track altogether. However, we mark the 
 place where we found the last hoof-print, and then 
 keep what we imagine to be the right direction. 
 Fortunately the ground is covered with scattered 
 trees, and we can see a long way ahead, so there is 
 no danger of "jumping" him suddenly. 
 
 At length we spot him, lying down again, but 
 looking provokingly wide awake. He is on a little 
 hill, and it is impossible to get near him, so there is 
 nothing for it but a long shot. 
 
 I fire, and he acknowledges the bullet by jumping 
 up, and, once more galloping off, leaps over a wire 
 fence, Jive feet high, that surrounds a plantation, and 
 disappears among the trees ! 
 
 Poor old chap! It is his last effort. 
 
 He seems very sick and sorry when we find him 
 again standing with his nose nearly touching the 
 ground. 
 
 34
 
 MY FIRST STAG 
 
 One more shot ; and, without a struggle, he falls 
 dead! 
 
 My first bullet had hit him low down in the 
 chest ; and the second had gone through his 
 shoulder, though too high to do much damage. 
 Still it was an extraordinary example of the vitality 
 of wild animals that, with those two wounds, he 
 should not only keep on his legs so long, but 
 actually clear a five-foot fence ! 
 
 He was an odd twelve-pointer I tried in vain 
 (alas !) to persuade a hunting horn to hang on the 
 apology for a sixth point that adorned his right 
 antler and he weighed 22 st. clean. His right and 
 left antlers measured respectively 35 in. and 34!- in., 
 with a spread of 26f in. 
 
 Thus we triumphed ! 
 
 But as I looked at my prize lying lifeless among 
 the pine trees, with the soft eyes fast glazing, and 
 the limbs, that had once borne him so swiftly, stiff 
 and stark was there not beneath my feelings of 
 joy and pride at the death of this my First Stag 
 a tinge of sadness a little ghost of a feeling of 
 something like remorse ? 
 
 I think so ! 
 
 37
 
 Ill 
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 39
 
 Ill 
 Roebuck Shooting in Bohemia 
 
 S 
 
 " If there's a Heaven upon this earth, 
 In Bohemia it lies." 
 
 O said Longfellow's " Bold Bohemian." 
 
 It was the music of his native land that 
 he boasted about 
 
 "There the tailor blows the flute, 
 
 And the cobbler blows the horn, 
 And the miner blows the bugle 
 Over mountain gorge and bourn." 
 
 One does hear a good deal of music there, cer- 
 tainly. Generally it proceeds from a wheezy old 
 barrel-organ, that plays curious airs, which never 
 sound properly finished off, and are intensely irritat- 
 ing in consequence. 
 
 To the sportsman, however, Bohemia is indeed a 
 Paradise. The lordly red deer roams through the 
 forests. The wild boar still roots contentedly in 
 the swamps. The great capercailzie sits in spring 
 upon some favourite pine-tree, and goes off into his 
 annual fits of passion ; whilst the blackcock makes
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 alternate love and war among the birches. Phea- 
 sants strut through every covert, and hares and 
 partridges swarm on the plains. And besides all 
 these there is the roebuck. 
 
 This graceful little deer is abundant throughout 
 the Austrian Empire. According to the Govern- 
 ment statistics, 68, no roe were killed in Austria 
 (not including Hungary) in the year 1894. 1 l %95> 
 13,118 roe deer were shot in Bohemia alone. Of 
 these numbers, by far the greater proportion are 
 bucks, as to kill a doe is considered a most unsports- 
 manlike proceeding ; and it is safe to assume that 
 nine out of every ten bucks are shot with a rifle. 
 
 The different estimation in which the roebuck is 
 held on the Continent, to what it is in our own 
 country, must have struck every sportsman who has 
 been fortunate enough to shoot on the other side 
 of the Channel. And I think that every one who 
 has stalked a roebuck in the Austrian forests, and 
 partaken of the delicious Rehbraten afterwards, will 
 agree with me that, in this case, our insular prejudice 
 is wrong ! 
 
 The roebuck, as most people are aware, is the 
 smallest of European deer ; and, unlike the red and 
 fallow deer, is never found in large herds. To say, 
 however, as some writers of popular natural his- 
 tories have done, that " it is strictly monogamous," 
 and that the buck remains true to the doe for life, 
 
 42
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 is entirely incorrect. It is a woodland animal, 
 though it by no means despises a visit to a neigh- 
 bouring cornfield during the night. 
 
 The colour of the roebuck varies with the season. 
 In winter it is a dull brown, with a patch of pure 
 white round the tail. The chin is also white, and 
 there is a white spot on each lip ; whilst the abdomen 
 is greyish white. In summer it comes out in a new 
 suit of warm reddish brown, and the noticeable 
 white patch on the hind- quarters disappears. 
 
 The roebuck's horns rise straight from the fore- 
 head, and the full complement of points on each 
 horn is three. From the base to the first tine, the 
 horns are thickly covered with wrinkles or "pearls." 
 (as they are called in German) ; and the size of 
 these "pearls," with the height and girth of the 
 horns, form the marks of excellence in a roebuck's 
 "head." 
 
 The young buck possesses single spikes in his 
 second summer, and is then known as a Kitz-bock. 
 In his third summer he sports pronged spikes, and 
 becomes a Gabeler ; and in his fourth year, in the 
 ordinary course of events, the third point appears, 
 and he rises to the dignity of a Kreuz-bock. Horn- 
 growth depends so largely on food, however, that it 
 is impossible to place much reliance on the size and 
 points of any deer's horns as to the age of the 
 animal. After a certain age, too, all deer begin to 
 
 47
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 "set back." The roebuck sheds his horns in the 
 early part of November, and they are fully grown 
 and clear of velvet again by the beginning or middle 
 of the following May. 
 
 No other species of deer exhibits such irregu- 
 larities, abnormities, and monstrosities with regard 
 to its horns as does the roebuck. Malformed horns 
 are by no means uncommon ; and one occasionally 
 comes across a roebuck with more than three points 
 on the horn. On a certain Bohemian estate, that I 
 know well, there was, in one revier or " beat," a 
 celebrated buck that was said to have seven points 
 on one horn and five on the other. Unless he has 
 died a natural death, he is still there, for no one was 
 ever able to get a shot at him. Personally, I have 
 never even seen him. 
 
 Perhaps the most extraordinary malformation 
 peculiar to the horns of the roebuck is the so-called 
 peruque horn. This, which almost resembles a wig 
 in appearance, is formed of a number of clusters of 
 horn-growth (which when exposed, as in the illustra- 
 tion, is found to be very like a honeycomb), covered 
 with velvet. In certain cases this growth spreads 
 to a very great extent, even, in some rare instances, 
 covering the eyes. Peruque horns are never shed. 
 The cause of this curious monstrosity may be gene- 
 rally traced to some former injury to the animal. 
 
 The size of roebuck's horns varies with the nature 
 
 48
 
 " PERUQUE " HORNS.
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 of the country and the food. In Bohemia the 
 average height of horns, measured from base to 
 extreme tip along the inside of the curve, is, accord- 
 ing to my own experience, about 7^ inches 
 anything over 8 inches is decidedly good. 
 
 But leaving these dull facts, which form but 
 dreary reading, let us go and see (and shoot if we 
 can !) the roebuck in his favourite haunts. 
 
 Imagine a lovely warm June evening, with the 
 sun sinking slowly in the western sky. We are 
 sitting, perched up in a hoch-stand a sort of box- 
 like constuction, set on four legs, some ten feet from 
 the ground, to which one ascends by a ladder 
 looking out upon a clearing in the midst of the 
 woods. The forester has brought us here, and has 
 left us, after arranging the green branches that 
 screen our shelter in front, with many low bows and 
 a whispered Waidmanris Heil ! i.e. "Sportsman's 
 luck," the customary Austrian good wish. A 
 Kreuz-bock is accustomed to make this his evening 
 feeding- place, and here we are, hoping to get a shot 
 at him. 
 
 It is strange that a buck will generally feed in the 
 same place on six or seven consecutive evenings, 
 and will make his appearance each day at almost 
 exactly the same time. 
 
 How still and quiet it is here in the cool forest, 
 with the blue sky overhead, and the golden rays of
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 the sun gilding the fresh and tender green of the 
 young oak leaves ! A golden haze hangs over the 
 whole landscape it is almost like a scene on the 
 stage with a yellow lime-light thrown on to it ! 
 
 There is a hare, quite close to us, nibbling away 
 at the grass. We can see her long ears work as 
 she listens for the approach of any enemy, and the 
 timid way in which the great eyes glance around. 
 She never dreams that we are just above her! 
 
 And yonder is a blackcock, enjoying himself in 
 the sunlight, and never thinking of those poor wives 
 of his who have to work hard to bring up their 
 little families. A great black woodpecker, with a 
 red head, is hammering away at a tree fifty yards 
 on our left ; and the soft and restful coo of the turtle- 
 dove sounds in the depths of the wood behind us. 
 
 Here comes a roe-doe, stepping gracefully along, 
 taking a bite here and a bite there of the young 
 leaves. She too has a good look round for any 
 danger every few minutes. 
 
 What a life of ceaseless watching and listening 
 these wild animals lead ! 
 
 There ! she has frightened the blackcock, and 
 he rises, and goes whirring away over the woods, 
 whilst she jumps aside with a scared bark for a 
 roe barks almost like a dog when alarmed. 
 
 " Oh, it is only that stupid selfish blackcock," she 
 probably says to herself ; " I needn't be afraid of 
 
 52
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 him," and she resumes her interrupted evening 
 ramble. 
 
 Yonder is another doe just leaving the shelter of 
 the wood, and her two fawns with her. What 
 funny little things the young ones are, with their 
 mottled skins ; and how carefully the mother watches 
 over them stopping, waiting, even running back, 
 if they stray more than a few yards from her side ! 
 
 Can anything be more pleasant than sitting here 
 this beautiful evening, with this picture from nature's 
 own book before one's eyes ? 
 
 Buzz-z-z ! Alas ! there is always a drawback 
 to everything, however enjoyable, and in this case 
 it is the . . . mosquitoes ! 
 
 Bloodthirsty little brutes ! Nothing can be more 
 pleasant than sitting and watching half a dozen roe 
 feeding on the oak-scrub ; but nothing can be more 
 unpleasant than sitting with half a dozen mosquitoes 
 feeding on one's nose, and some inquisitive doe 
 standing ten yards from one's hackstand, staring at 
 it ! There is nothing to be done but grin and bear 
 it. If one brushes them off, probably the doe goes 
 off too, barking, and then one's chance of a buck 
 is small indeed. Fortunately mosquitoes do not 
 appreciate tobacco smoke, and one can safely smoke 
 on a hackstand ; for if the buck scents one's smoke, 
 he would, in any case, have scented one's self. 
 
 But it is after seven o'clock ; the edge of the sun 
 
 55 D
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 is drawing near the dark fringe of pine forest on our 
 right ; the shadows are growing longer ; the light 
 is beginning to fade ; and our buck ought to be 
 appearing upon the scene. 
 
 See! What's that? 
 
 There is something moving in the wood a roe, 
 too, and coming our way ; but there in the gloom 
 it is impossible to see clearly, even with the glasses. 
 It looks like a buck, however. 
 
 At this moment, reader, if you are a new hand 
 at this kind of sport, you are, probably, all of a 
 tremble breathing in thick gasps and your heart 
 is beating so loud that you wonder the creature 
 does not hear it and run away ! In fact, you are 
 suffering from a bad attack of " buck fever" ! 
 
 But pull yourself together, and cock your rifle. 
 
 Yes, it is a buck ! Look at his horns they are 
 half as high again as his ears, and, with the glasses, 
 one can see the points. He is a capital fellow. 
 
 He is over a hundred yards off, so don't shoot 
 till he gets a bit nearer a roebuck is not a large 
 animal at any time, and certainly a very small one 
 at this distance ! 
 
 He is gradually feeding our way sauntering 
 quietly along, and biting off the juiciest oak-sprigs 
 as he comes ; so we can afford to wait. 
 
 Now is your time ! He has turned to reach that 
 branch above his head, and his broad-side is towards 
 
 56
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 us it is not more than sixty yards. Aim half-way 
 up the body, and just behind the shoulder steady 
 does it ! 
 
 With the crack of your rifle the scene of peace- 
 fulness is at an end the hare has left us in a 
 hurry the does are making off in all directions, 
 with long leaps and bounds only the buck remains, 
 and he (let us hope) has dropped dead without 
 a struggle. 
 
 A blast from your horn brings up our friend the 
 forester, probably with a heger, or under-keeper, in 
 attendance. The buck is examined, and his head 
 and your shot discussed ; and then, whilst the heger 
 performs the last offices on the dead beast, the 
 forester, with a low bow, and many congratulations, 
 presents you with a sprig of oak, which you stick in 
 your cap as a trophy. Probably, a carriage has 
 been ordered to meet you somewhere near at hand, 
 and the pair of fast-trotting Hungarian horses whirl 
 you swiftly home to dinner. 
 
 Such is the favourite method of shooting the 
 roebuck in Bohemia during the months of May and 
 June. " There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the 
 lip," however, and things do not always go right, 
 even if the buck keeps his appointment, which he 
 frequently fails to do. A wounded buck is almost 
 always recovered ; the roebuck is a very soft animal, 
 and the Bohemian keepers are capital trackers. 
 
 59
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 " Still-hunting," as the Americans call it, is much 
 more sporting than sitting on a hackstand for an 
 entire evening ; but the woods are generally very 
 thick, and the roe harmonize wonderfully with the 
 foliage. On most Bohemian estates stalking-paths 
 are cut through the woods, and kept as free as 
 possible of dead sticks, leaves, etc. Of course, as 
 in all stalking, the wind is the most important 
 consideration. It is sad to think, by the way, how 
 strong and disagreeable the human smell must be, 
 that all wild animals should flee from it so ! 
 
 The rutting-time of the roebuck is in July, and 
 when that season has begun, there is no reliance to 
 be placed on the movements of the bucks. At this 
 time the doe utters a curious little plaintive cry, and 
 an instrument that imitates this sound is often very 
 successful in bringing the buck. 
 
 The morning is the best time for this " blatting," 
 as it is called. The approach of individual bucks 
 varies considerably. One will come slowly and 
 noiselessly along, stalking the imaginary doe ; whilst 
 another will rush along like an express train, crash- 
 ing through the bushes, right up to you. This 
 style of shooting is by no means easy it is 
 necessary to be a quick shot. It is worthy of note, 
 too, that a buck missed will not be taken in again 
 in this way for that summer at least. One must be 
 sure also that it is a buck, and not a doe, that one 
 
 60
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 is shooting at ; for if one's pipe is pitched a little too 
 high, every doe in the neighbourhood will come 
 rushing to see whether it is her offspring that is in 
 trouble. To shoot a doe is an unpardonable offence, 
 and brings lasting disgrace on the unfortunate 
 sportsman. 
 
 A well-known Austrian sportsman, who was out 
 "blatting" in his own woods, tells a good story 
 with regard to this against himself. 
 
 A few plaintive calls from his pipe brought up a 
 big old doe, that saw him and rushed away. Con- 
 tinuing the attractive sounds, he saw what he 
 imagined to be another roe-deer, creeping quietly 
 along in his direction. From its size and general 
 appearance, though unable to see its head, he judged 
 it to be a good buck, and, firing, dropped it dead on 
 the spot. To his horror, however, he found it to 
 be an old doe the same that he had seen before. 
 
 What was he to do ? Carry the thing home 
 himself, or summon a heger to carry it for him ? 
 Never ! Concealment of the carcase was the only 
 possible solution of the difficulty ! 
 
 With the aid of his hunting-knife, after infinite 
 labour, he managed to dig a grave large enough to 
 bury the luckless animal in ; and, after carefully 
 covering it up, he retired, rejoicing in the thought 
 that no one would ever know of the misadventure. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, one of his heger s heard 
 
 63
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 the shot, and quietly approaching the spot, with the 
 idea of arresting a supposed poacher, had witnessed 
 the whole performance ! 
 
 The bucks fight furiously during the rutting- 
 season, and it is nothing unusual for one to be 
 killed in these encounters. 
 
 I witnessed rather a remarkable battle of this 
 kind some two years ago. 
 
 I was sitting on a hackstand on a large clearing, 
 and had not been there more than half an hour, 
 when a buck made his appearance. The moment I 
 saw him I perceived that his horns were malformed, 
 one being curved forwards, somewhat like the horn 
 of that fabulous animal the unicorn, whilst the 
 other curved backwards. As they were very small, 
 however, and the buck himself was an undersized 
 little beast, I spared him. 
 
 After some minutes another buck emerged from 
 the edge of the wood, and the little fellow instantly 
 attacked him. The new animal was nothing loth 
 to fight, but, though a much heavier animal, was 
 quickly put to flight. At this moment a third buck 
 appeared. Though he was over a hundred yards 
 away, it did not require my glasses to see that the 
 new-comer was a very big fellow. 
 
 The small conqueror saw him as soon as I did, 
 and made for him instantly. The big buck was 
 quite ready for him, and the combat was long and 
 
 64
 
 AN ABNORMAL ROEBUCK'S HEAD.
 
 ROEBUCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 stubborn. They advanced and retreated, feinted 
 and parried, closed and broke apart, first one and 
 then the other seeming to have the advantage. 
 
 At length I thought it was time for me to 
 interfere. 
 
 I was using a single-barrel '450 express then a 
 remarkably fine-shooting weapon. 
 
 Setting the hair-trigger, and taking a rest from 
 the side of the hackstand, I fired at the big buck, 
 and he dropped dead on the spot, shot through 
 the heart. 
 
 The little Kiimmerer, as these bucks with mal- 
 formed horns are called in Austria, far from being 
 alarmed at the report of the rifle or the death of 
 his enemy, forthwith again attacked his fallen rival. 
 I verily believe that he laboured under the delusion 
 that he had killed his opponent. 
 
 I had to literally drive him away from the life- 
 less animal in the end ! 
 
 This buck had the highest horns of any I have 
 shot they taped 8 inches from base to tip, 
 measured in a straight line, without following the 
 curve. It was a longish shot, too. I stepped the 
 distance from the hochstand to the dead beast, and 
 found it to be exactly 1 1 2 yards.
 
 IV 
 A DAY'S ROEBUCK DRIVING 
 
 69
 
 IV 
 
 A Day's Roebuck Driving 
 
 "Si forte fugacem 
 conspexit capream." 
 
 VERGIL'S ^Endd t x., lines 724, 725. 
 
 IN the early autumn, when the regular roebuck 
 shooting season is over when the bucks 
 have begun to wander about in search of 
 food, and have ceased to haunt one particular place 
 for several consecutive evenings there are generally 
 two or three days' driving on every Bohemian estate. 
 Probably some out-of-the-way tract of woods has 
 not yielded up its proportion of game there are no 
 favourite feeding places there, perhaps, and the cover 
 is too thick to make stalking a success ; so a drive 
 is necessary to thin down the bucks. 
 
 A drive does not mean a slaughter far from it. 
 Your roebuck is a wily animal, and strongly objects 
 to be driven. He seems to realize at once that the 
 danger lies in front, and not from the line of beaters. 
 The does and the very young and green bucks may 
 go forward, but not the old veteran.
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 " I have seen this game before," he says to him- 
 self. "You don't take me in ! I'll just stop in this 
 thick bush, and when that line of beaters comes 
 up to me I'll slip back through them." 
 
 This being so, one must not be too confident of 
 success. One may not see a buck all day. 
 
 But let us turn over the pages of the book of 
 memory, and take therefrom a typical day's roebuck- 
 driving. 
 
 It is a beautiful morning one of those fine Sep- 
 tember days that seem to be a last remnant of 
 summer. Still there are signs that autumn is near 
 at hand : the heat is as great as ever, but the oaks 
 are already tinged with red and yellow, and under 
 the birches the fallen leaves lie thick. The air in 
 the early morning and late evening is chilly, and the 
 grass is drenched in dew that sparkles in the bright 
 sunshine. 
 
 We are five guns : the Prince, our host, a fine 
 specimen of the sport-loving Austrian, equally at 
 home with gun or rifle, between the flags or behind 
 the hounds ; the Count, tall, elderly, and solemn, 
 with a long grey beard that gives him an "old man 
 
 of the sea" appearance ; M , short and stout, his 
 
 whole figure outlined in graceful curves, with a 
 countenance that beams with good nature like an 
 
 amiable harvest moon ; K , thin and spare, a 
 
 diminutive walking lamp-post ; and lastly, myself. 
 
 72
 
 IN THE SOMBRE WOOD.
 
 A DAY'S ROEBUCK DRIVING 
 
 You are there too, reader, but it is only your 
 "astral body," so it is not visible. 
 
 An hour's drive, mostly through dim, dark fir 
 woods, where even the hoof-beats of the horses 
 seem muffled in the silence, brings us to the scene 
 of our operations. 
 
 Here we find the head forester of the revier t 
 surrounded by his three satellites and a small army 
 of beaters. The latter are all men in walking up 
 partridges the majority of beaters are women but 
 it will be hard work for them to struggle through 
 the thick coverts, so the gentler sex would be out of 
 place to-day. 
 
 Look at the forester he is a good example of 
 the Bohemian keeper. A tall, broad-shouldered 
 man, with a bronzed and sunburnt face, keen grey 
 eyes, and beard and hair plentifully streaked with 
 grey. He carries a horn slung over one shoulder, 
 and a hunting knife slung over the other, and a gun 
 is slung over his back. His long-stemmed pipe 
 sticks out of the pocket of his coat, the collar of 
 which is bright green ; and his hat is also green, and 
 is decorated with a tuft of blackcock's feathers. 
 
 What strange types there are among the beaters ! 
 Do you see that little old white-haired, weak-kneed 
 man ? He is the keenest sportsman alive, and 
 enjoys a day's beating above all things. By trade 
 he is a tailor, and is also a red-hot republican, and 
 
 75
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 has been under police surveillance ever since the 
 Omladina trials ! 
 
 The first drive is through a thick fir wood, dark 
 and mossy, with the lower branches and trunks of 
 the firs covered with grey lichen. Toadstools and 
 bright red fungi grow plentifully under their damp 
 shade. The Count is on the left flank of the 
 
 beaters ; the Prince, M , and K are on the 
 
 right ; and I am in the centre. Come with me, 
 gentle reader! Do not sneer at the fact that we 
 carry shot-guns! At first sight it may seem unsports- 
 manlike to kill an animal as big as a roebuck with 
 anything but a rifle ; but in this sort of shooting a 
 rifle is not a success. If we get a chance at a buck, 
 it will probably be a snap-shot in thick cover ; and 
 besides roebucks we spare young bucks and (of 
 course) does everything that comes is to be shot, 
 capercailzie alone excepted. 
 
 It is wonderfully cool and silent in the sombre 
 wood a deathlike stillness, broken only by the 
 tapping of the beaters' sticks against the trees. 
 There doesn't seem to be much game, though ! 
 
 But what is that ? There is a rustling among 
 the carpet of dead fir needles some animal, cer- 
 tainly. There it is, but it is only a ruddy-brown 
 squirrel, that darts across the grassy ride with a 
 whisk of his bushy tail, and up a tree on the other 
 side. 
 
 76
 
 A DAY'S ROEBUCK DRIVING 
 
 The spiders' webs are a great nuisance ; they 
 hang across the ride like miniature ropes, and catch 
 one's face at every step. It is lucky they are not 
 stronger, or one would run a risk of committing 
 involuntary suicide ! 
 
 Two reports sound on the right, and then a 
 chorus of shouts from the beaters warns us that 
 something is coming our way. You catch a glimpse 
 of some yellowish-reddish-brownish object between 
 the fir trees. It is a roe, but z.geis> and you leave 
 her to go on her way unmolested. A little later 
 another doe, with a fawn, crosses our path ; and 
 then the wood comes to an end, and the first drive 
 
 is over. The Prince has shot a hare, and M 
 
 has missed one. 
 
 The second drive is through a thick, low planta- 
 tion " certain to hold a buck," the forester assures 
 
 us. The Prince and M are on the right flank 
 
 again ; the Count and K have been posted 
 
 forward ; and we are on the left. 
 
 The beaters have hardly entered the cover before 
 a doe breaks our way ; and then a tremendous 
 whirring of wings follows, and a cock capercailzie 
 sails over our heads. What a splendid bird he is ! 
 How the sun lights up the green and purple sheen 
 of his glossy plumage ! and how bright is the ring 
 of vermilion round his eye ! We have a good look 
 at him, as he is only flying some ten yards from the 
 
 77
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 ground. He would be an easy shot one could 
 not miss a bird that size but we should have to hit 
 him in the head to bring him down. Probably he 
 knows himself to be sacred, or he would not be so 
 trustful. 
 
 An old cock pheasant, too, rises in a great flutter 
 of excitement, but goes rocketting back over the 
 heads of the beaters, unfortunately without giving 
 us a shot. 
 
 Next a rabbit scuttles across our path, and we 
 manage to secure Master Bunny before he reaches 
 the safety of the other side. 
 
 No roebuck is considerate enough to appear 
 within shot, but we have the doubtful pleasure of 
 seeing one, in the far distance, slowly and quietly 
 cross just behind the Count, who is intently gazing 
 in exactly the opposite direction. 
 
 The Prince has shot one, and the Count has 
 been tempted has fallen has fired at and has 
 missed a capercailzie ! 
 
 Another drive follows. We kill another rabbit, 
 that rolls over into a pond, and is with difficulty 
 fished out. We also see a polecat he comes 
 sneaking along a few yards before the beaters ; 
 but before we can fire with safety he dodges back, 
 and is lost to us. 
 
 One more drive (a blank ! ), and then comes lun- 
 cheon not the least agreeable item of the day's 
 
 78
 
 A DAY'S ROEBUCK DRIVING 
 
 programme. We are hot and tired, and half an 
 hour's rest in the shade of the big fir trees (to say 
 nothing of the cold chicken and ham and cooling 
 drinks ! ) is very pleasant. 
 
 " There is a pleasure in the pathless woods," says 
 Byron. So there is, and more than that : there is 
 a feeling of rest a sense of the mighty vastness of 
 nature as you lie on the soft bed of fir-needles, 
 and watch the blue smoke from your pipe as it curls 
 upwards and upwards, and gaze through the lace- 
 work of dark green branches overhead into the 
 depths of the blue sky above. 
 
 But the days are growing shorter now, so it is 
 time to go on. We are on a broad green ride, on the 
 right flank of the line of beaters, this time. The 
 cover is a thick, low, fir-plantation, and it is hard 
 work for them to struggle through it, so we move 
 forward very slowly. A doe crosses some way 
 before us, and then a hare darts over, but we were 
 not sufficiently wide-awake, so she escapes without 
 a shot. Another doe follows, and then a young 
 buck offers a tempting shot by standing on the ride 
 and staring at us. His horns are very poor, how- 
 ever, so we resist the temptation, and it flees from 
 us or rather the buck does ! 
 
 But now there is tremendous excitement among 
 the beaters, and the heger who forms the " outside 
 right " of the line bursts out of the cover with a 
 
 79 E
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 torrent of Bohemian. We do not understand his 
 language, but we do his signs he is pointing back 
 into the cover and urging us to something, and to 
 be quick about it ! It must be a buck that has 
 broken back ! 
 
 Yes, there he is, or, to be more correct, there are 
 his horns showing every now and then above the 
 young firs. He is a long way off, and it is but a 
 snap-shot at moving fir branches ; but here goes ! 
 Two of the beaters are rushing back, and the heger 
 also dives into the cover. Have we got him ? 
 
 They have reached the place now, and have 
 stopped. . . . Now they are coming back, and 
 are carrying something. Hurrah ! they have him ! 
 
 A roebuck is but a soft animal, and he has got 
 the full charge of No. 4 shot just behind the 
 shoulder. He is a very old gentleman, and carries 
 a capital head. 
 
 We take three more drives, kill three or four 
 more rabbits and hares, miss one or two others, 
 see several does, and that finishes the day. 
 
 Two roebuck, four hares, and nine rabbits make 
 up the total " bag " not a very large one, you may 
 say! 
 
 No, perhaps not ; but after all the days of big 
 bags are not always the most sporting, or the 
 pleasantest to look back on in future years. There 
 is an immense charm in a day in the woods when 
 
 80
 
 A DAY'S ROEBUCK DRIVING 
 
 the sun is shining brightly in a cloudless sky, and 
 its rays are lighting up the trunks of the fir-trees, 
 and forming here and there golden patches on the 
 green moss ; when you see the birds and the beasts 
 in their native haunts ; when there is a glorious 
 uncertainty as to what kind of game may appear 
 next even if you do kill little or nothing. 
 
 81
 
 ON THE PLAINS
 
 V 
 
 On the Plains 
 
 THE first of August is the date on which the 
 shooting season proper that is to say, 
 partridge, pheasant, and hare shooting 
 legally opens in Bohemia. As a matter of fact, it 
 is generally the middle of the month before the 
 young partridges are big enough and sufficiently 
 strong on the wing to shoot ; and the pheasants 
 and hares are invariably left until the autumn, 
 when the leaves have fallen from the trees and the 
 first frost has come to remind us that summer is 
 a thing of the past and winter well on its way. 
 
 The " little brown bird " of the Bohemian plains 
 is, to the ordinary observer, identically the same 
 as the English partridge. Ornithologists detect a 
 trifling variation in the plumage ; but it is so slight 
 as to be imperceptible to any one but an expert. 
 
 Partridge driving, according to our system, is 
 practically unknown. In many places low covers 
 (known as remisen) are planted as shelters in the 
 midst of the fields, and into these the birds from the 
 
 85
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 surrounding country are driven ; but they are never 
 shot as they come in, being allowed to settle quietly, 
 and then " walked up." No doubt the fact that 
 Bohemia is destitute of fences the only landmark 
 between the fields being generally the change of 
 crop, or, at the most, a ditch militates somewhat 
 against driving ; but, on the other hand, many 
 heath-lands in Norfolk and Suffolk are equally bare, 
 where driving is successfully carried out, the "guns" 
 being either placed in pits, or behind shelters formed 
 of a couple of hurdles. The present system of 
 " walking up " is very pleasant whilst it lasts ; but, 
 naturally, after a fortnight or so, the season is over, 
 the birds becoming so wild that it is impossible to 
 get near them. 
 
 But to turn to partridge-shooting as it is carried 
 on in Bohemia, rather than as it might be ! 
 
 Picture a vast plain, sweltering beneath an Au- 
 gust sun. Stiff rows of plum-trees, affording but 
 the smallest minimum of shade, line the dusty 
 roads, and here and there intersect the fields. The 
 country its surface chequered by the various crops 
 like a patchwork counterpane lies dull, flat, and 
 uninteresting. One village resembles another a 
 collection of low-roofed, whitewashed houses, one- 
 storied, and built of wood many of them ; a white- 
 washed church with a single bell hanging in the 
 turret ; a public-house possibly two or three or 
 
 86
 
 ON THE PLAINS 
 
 hostinez, as it is called in Bohemia ; and a muddy 
 pond, form the regular characteristics. Dirty, half- 
 clothed children play in the dust ; flocks of geese 
 occupy the roadway, and fly cackling from beneath 
 the horse's feet as one drives along ; and a troop of 
 mongrel curs pursue every vehicle with angry bark- 
 ing. The landscape is monotonous, to say the least 
 of it. The tall chimneys of an occasional sugar 
 fabrik are the only landmarks to meet the eye. 
 Such is the country over which one shoots the 
 partridge. 
 
 But though the scenery is far from picturesque, 
 there are many features of interest in the sport itself, 
 especially to a foreigner. The day's arrangements 
 are carried out with much more formality than with 
 us. The long line of beaters advances and halts, 
 turns and wheels, in obedience to bugle calls, with 
 soldier- like precision. The military effect is height- 
 ened by the distinctive dress of the keepers. Each 
 landowner has his own livery. Coat and trousers 
 of green, grey, or brown ; a green coat-collar and 
 waistcoat ; high boots, reaching to just below the 
 knee ; and a soft hat, decked with a tuft of feathers, 
 or some other trophy of the chase, form the keeper's 
 costume. An ornamented cartridge-bag and a horn 
 are slung over his shoulders ; add to these impedi- 
 menta a gun, a walking-stick, a long-stemmed pipe, 
 and a dog in a leash, and it may be understood that 
 
 87
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 each individual has (in more senses than one) his 
 hands full ! 
 
 What first strikes an Englishman is the immense 
 number of beaters. On arriving at the scene of 
 operations, he will be astonished to see an army 
 of two or three hundred peasants, mostly barefooted 
 women and girls. A Bohemian woman, though 
 generally the reverse of beautiful, is always a pic- 
 turesque object. Her dress consists of a short skirt 
 of yellow, red, or blue, with a bright-coloured bodice, 
 and a gorgeous handkerchief tied round her head. 
 However dirty and ragged they may be, these pea- 
 sants never look tawdry, for the reason that they 
 always wear their own simple dress, and never the 
 cast-off clothing of their social superiors. 
 
 The multi-hued line, extending over half a mile 
 or more of country, the puffs of white smoke that 
 issue at intervals along its length, the horn-blowing, 
 the shouts of the keepers in their strange-sounding 
 native tongue, the rich green of the beet, through 
 the dense tops of which one tramps knee-deep, the 
 far-stretching horizon, quivering in the fierce heat 
 of a broiling August day altogether form a great 
 contrast to the surroundings in a day's partridge- 
 shooting at home. 
 
 But let us take a glimpse at the winter sport, 
 when hares and not partridges are our game, and 
 the plain lies bare and barren in the nip of the 
 
 88
 
 ON THE PLAINS 
 
 biting frost, or dazzling white in its robe of fresh- 
 fallen snow. 
 
 The beaters are as numerous as in the summer, 
 but their appearance is very different, for they are 
 muffled up to withstand the cold, and fur caps and 
 gloves are general. The men, too (and sometimes 
 the women) keep taking surreptitious pulls at certain 
 small bottles which they produce from the inner- 
 most recesses of their clothing, and which contain 
 slivovitz, a fiery spirit distilled from the juice of 
 a small black plum. 
 
 Let us suppose that a feld-kreis, or field-drive, is 
 about to take place. From a certain point two 
 lines of beaters, with a "gun " every three hundred 
 yards or so, diverge right and left, and, walking in 
 Indian file, each detachment describes a half-circle, 
 thus forming a ring usually of some two miles in 
 diameter. In the centre of the circle waves a flag 
 upon which the whole line is to converge. 
 
 And now the order to advance, passed from keeper 
 to keeper by the aid of the ubiquitous horn, comes. 
 Every now and then a hare rises from its "form," 
 and steals away, generally out of range. For the 
 first quarter of an hour or so one hardly gets a shot 
 But wait ! Gradually the circle lessens. Hares 
 that have been roused on the other side of the ring 
 begin to make their appearance some with ears 
 laid back, and body stretched out to its full extent, 
 
 89
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 as they gallop for all they are worth, others coming 
 slowly and quietly along, and sitting up, from time 
 to time, to look round for a way of escape. Poor 
 things ! Sooner or later they almost all come to the 
 guns. Now and then one will boldly charge the 
 beaters the best chance for safety, if only they all 
 knew it. Sometimes a covey of partridges will 
 Hash down the wind, scattering right and left, and 
 testing one's skill to the uttermost as they rise high 
 in the air to clear the line; 
 
 The firing grows fast and furious as the ring 
 grows smaller, for the hares are literally in droves. 
 Ten or a dozen hares are frequently lying dead in 
 front of one at the same moment ; and the guns 
 become almost too hot to hold. 
 
 A blast from the horn of the head keeper at 
 length checks the advance. The circle is by this 
 time not much more than a hundred yards across, 
 and firing within it would soon become dangerous, 
 so the beaters open out, and form themselves in 
 groups behind each " gun," thus allowing the re- 
 maining animals egress and a run for life. 
 
 In one drive of this kind five hundred or even 
 more hares are frequently killed. There is some- 
 thing about it, though, not quite in accordance with 
 one's notions of fair play, the animals being, as it 
 were, caught in a trap from which there is no 
 escape. 
 
 90
 
 ON THE PLAINS 
 
 Hare-shooting in the woods is a very different 
 matter. Each " gun," in this case, walks along a 
 narrow path, or schneise, in line with the beaters. 
 The ride is seldom more than a yard in width, and 
 as the undergrowth is generally too thick for an 
 approaching animal to be seen, it will be readily 
 understood that the shooting is by no means easy. 
 Sometimes the sportsman is warned by a chorus 
 of " pussor ! pussor ! " the Bohemian equivalent for 
 " look out " that something is coming his way ; 
 but often the only warning is a flash of yellow across 
 the narrow way, which one has not the time to 
 recognise as a hare ! This is snap-shooting with a 
 vengeance. 
 
 As in all other sports, however, it is possible to 
 achieve the most marvellous accuracy in this style 
 of shooting. An Austrian friend of mine, than 
 whom no better sportsman exists, but who (by 
 reason of his modesty) prefers to conceal his identity 
 under the name of " the Sun " he being so called 
 for his unfailing geniality and cheery smile in one 
 schneise once fired forty-seven shots and killed forty- 
 six hares ! I was walking in the next path to him, 
 and saw and counted the hares at the end of the 
 covert. 
 
 In this woodland shooting, too, the bag consists 
 not only of hares and an occasional partridge, but 
 of pheasants in abundance the good old-fashioned
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 bird with no white ring round his neck, which falls 
 with a thud like a diminutive capercailzie rabbits, 
 and woodcock, to say nothing of a stray roebuck 
 or two thrown in. 
 
 The most solemn function comes at the end of 
 a day's shooting, when the slain are arranged in 
 rows neatly on the ground, and the head-keeper, 
 hat in hand, reads out the number of each variety 
 of game killed and the sum total, closing with a pro- 
 found bow and a " Waidmanns Heil" to which the 
 sportsmen reply with " Waidmanns Dank." On 
 some estates it is customary to blow the death-song 
 of the various beasts and birds, and also to announce 
 what esLchja^er has himself shot. 
 
 Many Austrian hosts give what they consider to 
 be the best place throughout the day to the guest 
 of the highest social rank a proceeding rather apt 
 to lead to a certain amount of jealousy. Sometimes 
 it happens, however, that the favoured individual 
 is by no means the best shot, and, far from being 
 the jagd-konig (as the sportsman who kills the most 
 is called), even fails to hold his own. 
 
 An amusing incident once occurred at the end 
 of a day's covert-shooting. A certain gentleman of 
 high rank, who had enjoyed the best position 
 throughout the day, had fired off a tremendous num- 
 ber of cartridges with but very poor results. This 
 placed the head-keeper in a very delicate position. 
 
 92
 
 ON THE PLAINS 
 
 To announce the decidedly meagre score of the 
 august sportsman was not to be thought of! Ap- 
 proaching one of the other guests, and drawing him 
 aside, he whispered : " Pardon me, but have you 
 any objection to my adding forty of your hares and 
 
 thirty of your pheasants to 's total ? " " Do it 
 
 by all means," replied the other guest ; and, as two 
 or three more sportsmen were equally good-natured, 
 the gentleman in question thus obtained the nominal 
 title of jagd-konig \ 
 
 Whether he fondly imagined that he had killed 
 all the game that he was credited with, or whether 
 he knew that the obliging keeper had " doctored " 
 the figures, I cannot say. 
 
 93
 
 VI 
 BLACKCOCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 95
 
 VI 
 
 Blackcock Shooting in Bohemia 
 
 TO be dragged out of bed at two o'clock on a 
 chilly April morning ; to walk or drive for 
 an hour or two to a clearing in the woods, 
 where one sits, shivering with cold, until daybreak ; 
 all for the sake of potting a bird sitting on the 
 ground, does not sound to the uninitiated very 
 inviting. 
 
 But, unexciting as this sport may sound, there is 
 something that renders it intensely fascinating. Is 
 the trouble and discomfort entailed the secret ? Or 
 the strange habits of the bird itself? Or is it merely 
 the time of day the witching hour of daybreak 
 that makes one ready and eager to turn out morning 
 after morning ? 
 
 There is a great charm in that mystic change from 
 night to day in seeing the grey dawn creep over 
 the darkened landscape in watching the stars pale 
 and die in the stronger and brighter light of the sun 
 in hearing the morning song of the awakening 
 birds, and the other myriad sounds that herald the 
 new-born day. 
 
 97
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 Nature is seen at her best at two periods in the 
 twenty-four hours sunset and dawn. And at no 
 season of the year is she more attractive than in the 
 spring. 
 
 The Birkhuhn^ or " Birch-fowl," as the blackcock 
 is called in German, takes its name from the fact 
 that a birch-copse is one of the most favourite haunts 
 of the bird. A j'dger proverb has it, too, that the 
 mating season, or Balzen, of the blackcock, comes 
 with the first tender buds that adorn the silvery- 
 stemmed " Lady-of- the- wood." 
 
 No bird possesses more curious characteristics 
 than the blackcock. From the time when he for- 
 sakes the maternal wing (paternal authority never 
 troubled him ! ) the young Birkhuhn entirely eschews 
 female society. In the autumn he joins a little band 
 of bachelor friends, and passes the winter comfortably 
 and happily in their companionship. But, with the 
 last week of March, the ladies begin to exercise their 
 influence, and love casts the apple of discord among 
 the hitherto peaceable community. 
 
 The blackcock then betakes himself, at the first 
 streak of dawn, to some open glade or clearing, 
 where he shows off his glossy plumage, warbles his 
 inharmonious love song, and fights desperately for 
 the possession of the soft grey-plumaged hens who 
 sit quietly by, watching the conflict. 
 
 There is nothing more ludicrous than the antics of 
 
 98
 
 BLACKCOCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 the cock bird during his courtship. With a long- 
 drawn " Psh ar r," he will leap a foot in the air 
 a proceeding that is repeated five or six times, at 
 intervals. Then, with trailing wings, outstretched 
 neck, and every feather tremulous with excitement, 
 he utters a curious gobble, turning slowly round and 
 round meanwhile. This " gobble " usually lasts 
 some five to ten seconds, and during these few 
 moments the blackcock is, to all appearance, abso- 
 lutely blind and deaf. A gun may be fired off within 
 a few paces of the bird, and he will remain quite 
 unheeding. On a favourite Balz-platz half a dozen 
 cocks will frequently assemble, and a lively rough- 
 and-tumble fight invariably follows the meeting of 
 two rivals. The blackcock does not mate, in the 
 ordinary sense of the word, as, the breeding season 
 once over, he forsakes completely his numerous 
 wives, leaving the hatching and rearing of the 
 young broods entirely to them. 
 
 The events in connection with the shooting of my 
 first blackcock stand out as plainly in my memory 
 to-day as on the morning when they occurred. 
 Thus it will be the slaying of this particular bird 
 that I shall here describe to give some idea of 
 this form of Bohemian sport. 
 
 It was the morning of the 25th of March, 18 
 (never mind how many years ago ! ), when my 
 alarum going off, with a sound that would have 
 
 99
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 awakened the dead, warned me that it was three 
 o'clock and time to get up. It is dangerous, on such 
 an occasion, to remain a second longer in bed, or 
 the delightful sense of going to sleep again will begin 
 to steal over one ; so slowly and reluctantly I crept 
 forth, wondering as I did so, in a drowsy sort of 
 way, if it was worth the candle to leave one's warm 
 bed at that unearthly hour to go out and shoot such 
 an everyday sort of creature as a blackcock. By 
 the time I had dressed, eaten a crust of bread, 
 and swallowed a nip of brandy to keep out the 
 morning cold, I had come to the conclusion that 
 it was quite; and, as my host and I drove through 
 the inky blackness of the forest, with the light from 
 the carriage lamps casting weird shadows among 
 the pines, I had made up my mind that three 
 o'clock was, in reality, the only sensible hour for 
 rising ! 
 
 Half an hour later saw me ensconced in a sckirm, 
 or shelter of fir-branches, oil a forest clearing. Sable 
 night still brooded over the Bohemian plain, and, as 
 I struck a match to light another pipe, I saw that it 
 was but a quarter-past four half an hour yet to 
 wait before the faintest glimmer of light betokened 
 the coming day. 
 
 What a strange hush lies upon everything at that 
 hour of the morning ! The air hangs heavy and 
 motionless ; the trees stand in silent dark masses, 
 
 100
 
 BLACKCOCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 only slightly blacker than the sky ; the moon has 
 sunk below the edge of the horizon ; and the stars 
 shine but dimly and faintly. Not a cry from bird or 
 beast disturbs the stillness. All Nature seems breath- 
 less awaiting the dawn ! One must have passed 
 this hour in a forest or on the mountains before one 
 knows what silence means ! 
 
 It was bitterly cold work sitting there that March 
 morning, and I was more than glad that I had 
 brought with me, from the carriage, the fur-lined 
 fuss-sack a sort of bag into which one gets bodily, 
 and which reaches almost to the armpits without 
 which no Austrian would think of driving, during 
 the winter months. 
 
 Far away in the forest an owl hooted. It was 
 the first sound I had heard, and, breaking in as 
 it did on the weird stillness, it seemed almost like 
 a burst of demoniacal laughter. 
 
 A sickly grey light glimmered in the east, and 
 objects near at hand began to loom up through the 
 semi-darkness. Patches of unmelted snow flickered 
 ghostlike through the gloom. 
 
 A partridge called in the distance ; and then a 
 rush of whirring wings, and the sound of a heavy 
 soft body settling on the ground, warned me that 
 the first blackcock had arrived at the trysting-place. 
 A low "cluck, cluck" followed, and soon more 
 whirring of wings and several " dumps " betokened 
 
 101
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 new-comers. Noiselessly I slipped the cartridges 
 into my gun, and strained my eyes and neck in the 
 attempt to make out one old fellow who began to 
 ** Psh ar " just behind me. 
 
 Gradually the light grew stronger. Here and 
 there I could dimly discern a dark spot on the 
 ground, which looked as if it might be a bird. The 
 clucking and gobbling told me, too, that two or three 
 cocks, at least, were in my immediate neighbour- 
 hood ; but still it was far too dark to shoot. 
 
 It is at such times as this that one is always 
 possessed with a strong desire to sneeze, or cough, 
 or scratch oneself! The suspense of sitting perfectly 
 motionless was dreadful, and my legs both went 
 to sleep. 
 
 But now the stars had, one by one, glimmered 
 and gone out ; and grey morning had really come. 
 The eastern sky blushed in the first rays of the 
 morning sun. and all Nature was awake, A roe- 
 buck, his horns covered with velvet and but half 
 grown, trotted shadow-like across the clearing ; and 
 a hare stole forth, and began to feed not ten yards 
 from my ambush. I could see three blackcock at 
 varying distances, but all out of shot, before me ; 
 and sharp angry clucking warned me that two rivals 
 were engaged in a desperate struggle in my rear. 
 
 How to turn round that was the question. 
 
 Slowly I twisted round on my seat, and with infi- 
 
 102
 
 BLACKCOCK SHOOTING IN BOHEMIA 
 
 nite precautions at length managed to get a sight of 
 the battle. 
 
 The combatants were hopping round one another, 
 when I first spied them, each one evidently bent on 
 securing some advantage in the attack. Now they 
 would advance, now retreat, then both would leap a 
 foot or so into the air, and all the time the clucking 
 and gobbling went on without intermission. At 
 length they clinched, and went at it beak, wing, 
 and claw. I might with good luck have killed 
 them both with one shot, but it was my first 
 morning with the blackcock, and I was anxious 
 to see the end of this strange battle. 
 
 A fierce fight of a minute or so's duration, and 
 then I could see that one of them was evidently 
 getting the worst of it. For a few seconds more he 
 defended himself, and then, breaking away, he rose 
 from the ground, and went whirring away over the 
 forest defeated ! 
 
 My turn came next The first rays of the sun 
 were penetrating the morning mist, as I poked my 
 gun barrels through a hole in my shelter lighting 
 up the glowing black plumage of the victor as he 
 triumphantly " gobbled " before the gaze of his 
 admiring wives. 
 
 I took him sitting I confess it ! or rather turn- 
 ing, for he was revolving on his own axis like 
 a humming-top. 
 
 103
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 When the smoke of my shot had cleared, a few 
 feathers were floating down the morning breeze, 
 and there in the sunlight, on the scene of his 
 recent victory, lay my first blackcock. 
 
 104
 
 K>5
 
 VII 
 
 An Autumn Picture 
 
 "Good-bye, Summer!" 
 
 G. J. Whyte Melville. 
 
 AUTUMN is perhaps the most beautiful 
 season in Bohemia. The sun shines his 
 brightest, the skies are their bluest, and the 
 trees of the forest seem to vie with each other in 
 the rich and gorgeous colouring of their foliage." 
 Only the firs remain dark, sombre, and unchanged 
 like old staunch friends, ever and always the same ! 
 
 And yet there is something particularly sad about 
 autumn. The summer is dead, and bleak cold 
 winter is coming, and everything is changing. One 
 feels almost grateful to the firs that they at least do 
 not alter ! 
 
 So it is in life. There comes a season not 
 necessarily when one is past middle age ; it comes 
 (alas !) to many in youth that one may call its 
 autumn ! 
 
 It is when everything that made life joyous and 
 bright has gone out of our lives when that golden 
 dream that you have cherished so long has faded 
 
 107
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 away that fairy bubble has burst that castle in 
 the air, that you took such pleasure in building 
 up, has come toppling down about your ears and 
 there is nothing left but nothingness the blank 
 weary long winter of life ! Some call it disillusion, 
 or it may be called the death of hope. To most of 
 us it comes sooner or later and God help each one 
 of us when it does come ! 
 
 But let us go out into the woods this fine autumn 
 evening. Here is some cultivated land in the 
 middle of the forest, and this patch of clover is a 
 favourite feeding-place for the roe we may get a 
 shot at a buck perhaps. There is a schirm just at 
 the edge of the wood, a shelter of fir branches with 
 a seat in it, where we can sit and watch without 
 being seen. 
 
 The sun is sinking slowly behind the high wood 
 on our right, sinking in a soft haze, that veils the 
 dark forest before us in blue vapour. Not a breath 
 of wind stirs the great trees that rise heavenwards 
 the oaks yellow and red with their changing 
 foliage ; the firs ever the same sombre green 
 against the blue sky. Overhead the squirrels are 
 clicking and chattering, as they gather their stores 
 of acorns that are to last them through the coming 
 winter busy little toilers, with their bushy tails and 
 bright, black, beady eyes. How they swear when 
 an acorn slips from between the nimble paws, and 
 
 1 08
 

 
 AN AUTUMN PICTURE 
 
 comes crashing down among the withered oak leaves ! 
 A jay utters its harsh scream in the woods behind 
 us ; and a flight of rooks sail over our heads, cawing 
 as they go, their black wings moving lazily in their 
 homeward flight. A cock pheasant crows lustily, 
 and then repeats the cry, as if to let us know he is 
 there a conceited bird ; but doubtless his wives 
 think what a fine fellow he is as he struts among 
 them with his glossy green head and radiant 
 plumage ! A covey of partridges are calling to 
 each other among the clover. But these sounds of 
 nature seem to merely deepen, not disturb, the 
 silence of the evening. 
 
 Ah ! here is the first roe -a doe, and in her winter- 
 coat. The pretty ruddy colour of the summer 
 months has changed to a dark brown, with a white 
 patch on the hind-quarters. It seems strange, 
 when one first thinks of it, that the colour of an 
 animal should change completely with the time of 
 year ; but look carefully at a roebuck in the woods 
 at the different seasons, and you will see the reason. 
 That ruddy coat of summer harmonizes perfectly 
 with the trunks of the firs themselves ruddy in 
 the rays of the sun that come filtering through their 
 branches ; or melts into the background of scrub- 
 oak so well, that it is only after some minutes' 
 consideration that one is sure one sees an animal 
 at all. And in winter, when the fir trees are dark 
 
 in
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 and damp with the melting snow, the dark winter 
 coat matches exactly with their colour. Truly 
 Nature is bountiful to her children, and uses her best 
 endeavours for their protection ! And men see (or 
 rather do not see) such things every day, and then 
 doubt the existence of a ruling Power ! 
 
 But here are four more roe, trotting out, one 
 after the other, from the shelter of the wood. They 
 must be a family party, these four ; the mother, and 
 her two young ones of this year, and an elder sister 
 perhaps, who has not yet set up housekeeping on 
 her own account. There is another doe further off; 
 and there is another . . . and another ! Nine 
 roe on this patch of clover, but not a buck among 
 them! It is a ladies' evening party, possibly the 
 presence of gentlemen strictly prohibited. How 
 gaily the fawns jump and frisk about, playing with 
 each other ; whilst the staid matrons, sobered by 
 their weight of years and family cares, feed quietly 
 keeping a constant watch, however, for any 
 threatened danger. They are blissfully unconscious 
 of our presence. 
 
 There comes a buck ! Even in the fading light 
 and at this distance for he is a good hundred yards 
 away one can see the shorter face, thicker neck, 
 and more compact build than that of the doe ; 
 and, with the glasses, one can make out his horns 
 distinctly. 
 
 112
 
 Photo by OTTOMAR ANSCHUTZ,] 
 
 A BUCK. 
 
 [Bfrlin, II'. (friiher Lissa
 
 TWILIGHT,
 
 AN AUTUMN PICTURE 
 
 With almost all animals (and birds and insects 
 too, in most cases) Nature seems to bestow the 
 greater beauty upon the masculine gender. Cer- 
 tainly a buck's head is far prettier than a doe's. Is 
 it ungallant to say so ? 
 
 But we are not fated to have a shot at him. As 
 he saunters leisurely out into the open a covey of 
 partridges comes whirring over the clover, and the 
 buck, scared by the rush of wings, with a deep bark, 
 turns and vanishes again in the depths of the wood. 
 
 Bad luck, you say ? 
 
 After all it would have been almost a pity for the 
 crack of the rifle to have disturbed the quiet of the 
 evening, and to have taken the life of the most 
 graceful creature in the picture ! 
 
 And now the twilight has come, and the shadows 
 are falling fast about us. Far in the west the 
 evening star hangs trembling in the last faint glow 
 of the sunset ; and from a distant village the sound 
 of the Angelus is borne faintly on the little breeze 
 that is springing up. 
 
 "Twilight and evening bell, 
 And after that the dark!" 
 
 We can see no longer the roe are now but dark 
 blurs in the gathering gloom let us go ! 
 
 117 G
 
 VIII 
 THE PHANTOM ROEBUCK 
 
 119
 
 VIII 
 
 The Phantom Roebuck of the 
 Dismal Pool 
 
 I AM not superstitious far from it ! I have 
 never been a believer in either ghosts or 
 goblins, wraiths or apparitions ; and nothing 
 of that kind had ever troubled me, until but there-! 
 let me begin the story from the beginning. 
 
 I was staying at L , a castle in Bohemia, a 
 
 place where I have spent some of the happiest days 
 of my life, and the woods round which I know as 
 well as any keeper on the estate. It was the 
 beginning of July, and I had but arrived from 
 England the day before. 
 
 "You had better have a go at the roebucks," 
 said my host to me, after that mid-day meal which 
 we term luncheon, but the Austrians call breakfast. 
 " The keeper says that there's a good buck coming 
 out by the Dismal Pool." 
 
 " Right you are ! " I said ; " I'll try and get a shot 
 at him this evening." 
 
 121
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 It had been a remarkably hot day, with not a 
 "breath of wind to cool the heated atmosphere ; and 
 it seemed more sultry than ever as I set out, my 
 trusty rifle slung on my back in the Continental 
 fashion. Great black clouds were massed on the 
 horizon, and there was a lurid look in the sky, that 
 betokened a thunderstorm before many hours had 
 passed. 
 
 Half an hour's walk brought me to the place my 
 host had named the Dismal Pool. There was 
 something almost eerie about its very appearance, 
 with its black oily-looking water, and the rotting 
 vegetation that clothed its slimy banks. It looked 
 the very spot for some dark crime, and indeed more 
 than one human being had met their death there. 
 Many years ago an under-keeper had been found 
 floating in its stagnant depths, his head beaten in, 
 and his face unrecognisable even to his nearest and 
 dearest. A shadowy story had been handed down 
 of a perversion of justice, and the execution of an 
 innocent person, and the eventual suicide of the 
 real murderer. In that gloomy pond, too, a poor 
 peasant girl had sought rest and forgetfulness, with- 
 in my own recollection. Small wonder that people 
 rather avoided that bit of forest, and that the 
 Dismal Pool possessed the reputation of being 
 haunted \ 
 
 On three sides dense thicket hemmed it in ; but 
 
 122
 
 SCHLOSS T.
 
 THE PHANTOM ROEBUCK 
 
 on the fourth a little glade of rough coarse grass, 
 covered with scattered bushes, opened out ; and on 
 this stood an old crumbling hochstand. It still just 
 held together, and mounting the rickety ladder, I 
 took my seat therein. 
 
 The sky was now covered with angry-looking 
 copper-coloured clouds, and that curious brassy 
 light that denotes the coming storm lay upon every- 
 thing. An intense stillness filled the air not a 
 sound disturbed the weird calm all Nature seemed 
 to be breathlessly awaiting the bursting of the 
 tempest. The heat was stifling, and the perspiration 
 poured down my face, with the mere exertion of 
 sitting still. 
 
 At this moment I saw a sight that instantly 
 rivetted my whole attention. A roebuck stood 
 facing me some sixty yards away such a roebuck 
 as I had never before seen ! H is enormous horns 
 rose high above his ears, like those of the so-called 
 Ur-bock of former days those huge heads that one 
 sees in old German collections. In size he was far 
 bigger than the ordinary buck, but the most extra- 
 ordinary thing about him was his colour. He was 
 of a light fulvous yellow, but a few shades removed 
 from white ! 
 
 So astonished was I at his appearance, that, for 
 some moments, I sat breathlessly staring at him. 
 Then as he turned and walked quietly across the 
 
 125
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 glade, I remembered the rifle that lay across my 
 knees. He stopped, and I had a steady broadside 
 shot, at not more than seventy yards. 
 
 As I pressed the trigger, a fearfully vivid flash of 
 lightning was followed instantaneously by a tre- 
 mendous peal of thunder, in which the crack of the 
 rifle was completely lost, and down came the rain in 
 torrents. In two minutes I was wet to the skin. 
 
 Meanwhile I searched vainly for any trace of the 
 roebuck. He had vanished as completely as if the 
 earth had opened, and swallowed him up. Not a 
 drop of blood not a footprint nothing ! 
 
 Sadly and sorrowfully and dripping wet, I made 
 my way homewards, persuading myself that I must 
 have missed him, and that in the bursting of the 
 storm I had not noticed him go away. 
 
 Need I say that I sat in the same hackstand the 
 next evening, and the next ? But it was not till a 
 week afterwards that I saw him again. 
 
 He emerged from the same place, and I fired at 
 him the instant he appeared ; and again I shot as 
 he crossed the glade. He neither faltered, nor 
 hurried his pace, and disappeared as if by magic. 
 
 Once more I sought eagerly for some trace of 
 him, but without result. I could have cried with 
 sheer vexation of spirit ! 
 
 Of course, as is the way of most people on such 
 occasions, I blamed my rifle for these failures. So 
 
 126
 
 THE PHANTOM ROEBUCK 
 
 the next morning I fired some dozen shots at a 
 target. To my surprise the rifle shot perfectly. 
 
 That evening I persuaded my host to go to the 
 Dismal Pool, whilst I went in exactly the opposite 
 direction. I saw and stalked a good buck, got up 
 to within fifty yards of him, found that I could only 
 get a clear shot at his head, and so fired at that, 
 and dropped him dead in his tracks. That comforted 
 me not a little, as I was beginning to think (though 
 this went sorely against the grain) that my own 
 bad shooting might have something to do with the 
 former misses ! 
 
 My host and I arrived at home at almost the 
 same time, and he told me the following story. He 
 went to the Dismal Pool, and waited there, not on 
 the hochstand, but behind a pile of wood that had 
 been cut and left at the edge of the little glade. 
 The buck came, and stood forty yards away. He 
 took a rest from the pile of wood, had a perfectly 
 steady shot, and missed ! 
 
 Let me here remark that my host was (and is) a 
 first-rate shot with both gun and rifle. 
 
 And now the thought began to arise in my mind 
 that there was something about this roebuck not 
 quite canny \ 
 
 Every evening for another week I sat on the 
 hochstand by the Dismal Pool, without a glimpse of 
 him. 
 
 129
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 And then I saw him again ! 
 
 It was a lovely sunny evening, and the forest 
 seemed basking in the golden sunlight. Only the 
 Dismal Pool lay dark and sombre, like a great blot 
 in the midst of a sea of billowy green. The harsh 
 croaking of frogs arose from its black waters, but 
 save for their discordant clamour there was no sign 
 of life. No water-fowl rested on its surface, no fish 
 swam in its depths the very frogs were loathsome, 
 slimy creatures, that seemed to cast malignant 
 glances from their staring eyes. It was as if some 
 evil influence hovered round the spot, and spread 
 itself to me, for I shivered as I sat there, in spite of 
 the summer heat. 
 
 I had my eyes fixed on the place where he had 
 appeared before, but I never saw him come. One 
 second and there was nothing but the sunlight on 
 the glade, and the long blue shadows cast by the 
 scattered bushes the next, he stood there, in the 
 middle of the bright sunshine ! 
 
 And then I saw something that made my blood 
 run cold ! He seemed to have no shadow / The 
 rays from the setting sun shone where the shadow 
 should have been, as if no animal of solid flesh and 
 blood was there ! 
 
 Was I dreaming, or was the whole thing an 
 hallucination ? I shut my eyes, and then looked 
 again. At this moment a light fleecy summer cloud 
 
 130
 
 passed over the face of the sun, and for a few 
 seconds the whole bit of open ground lay in the 
 shade. I could not be sure if my vision had 
 deceived me ! 
 
 Slowly the roebuck passed on, his head always 
 turned in my direction, and then he halted again 
 in front of a small oak sapling. 
 
 My rifle was at my shoulder, and, the moment he 
 stopped, I pressed the trigger. 
 
 A crack a cloud of smoke and the roebuck 
 had gone vanished instantly as suddenly as he 
 had come, so he went! 
 
 I rushed to the spot. Yes, there was the track of 
 my bullet it had passed completely through the 
 tree, but to do so it must have first passed through 
 the animal's shoulder ! There was no doubt of it 
 it was just the right elevation. 
 
 Of course I should find the roebuck lying dead 
 a few yards away so I told myself ; but somehow 
 I felt that it was impossible to kill that beast! 
 
 I looked, but I knew my search would be in vain ; 
 I found nothing. 
 
 I blew my horn with all my might, and I was 
 really glad to hear an answering blast close at hand. 
 Somehow I disliked to be alone. 
 
 The next moment the head forester and an 
 under-keeper came up, and to them I told my 
 story.
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 It was with an air of mystery that both men 
 listened, and, when I had finished, I noticed the 
 quick questioning way in which the heger looked up 
 at his superior. The forester merely shrugged his 
 shoulders, but he, too, cast a startled glance at the 
 Dismal Pool. It was as if both men knew some- 
 thing which they would not speak of. 
 
 We looked vainly about for some trace of the 
 beast ; and then we parted. 
 
 But before I had gone many yards I found the 
 heger at my elbow. 
 
 "If the thing you shot at had been a real live 
 roebuck," he muttered in broken German, " it 
 should have been lying dead at the foot of that 
 tree ! And believe me, sir, it were better not to 
 come again to this cursed pool ! " 
 
 Then he turned and left me. 
 
 Need I say I went there again ? But I never 
 saw that roebuck afterwards ! 
 
 132
 
 IX 
 SOME SHOOTING STATISTICS 
 
 i33
 
 IX 
 
 Some Shooting Statistics 
 
 IT may not be generally known that the Aus- 
 trian Government keeps a careful record of 
 the game shot throughout the Empire. Such 
 is, however, the case. Naturally, the numbers 
 given are rather below than above the mark, for 
 poachers furnish no returns of their successes not 
 even for the sake of the accuracy of the Imperial 
 registers. 
 
 Some of these statistics may prove of interest to 
 English readers. The first table, which is taken 
 from the Allgemeine Sport- Zeitung i February 2ist, 
 1897, gives the total game killed in one year in the 
 dual monarchy the first column being the game 
 list for Hungary for the year 1894 ; the second, the 
 game list for Austria for 1892. 
 
 135
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 LIST OF GAME KILLED IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY IN ONE YEAR. 
 
 
 Hungary, 
 1894- 
 
 Austria, 
 1892. 
 
 Red Deer .... 
 
 3,836 
 
 12,385 
 
 Fallow Deer .... 
 
 1,022 
 
 2,788 
 
 Roe Deer .... 
 
 W44 
 
 68, no 
 
 Chamois .... 
 
 173 
 
 8,144 
 
 Mufflon .... 
 
 53 
 
 
 Wild Boar .... 
 
 4,984 
 
 3>59 
 
 Hares ..... 
 
 558,440 
 
 1,309,688 
 
 Rabbits .... 
 
 31,970 
 
 95,8o3 
 
 Various .... 
 
 1,385 
 
 
 Marmots .... 
 
 
 647 
 
 Capercailzie .... 
 
 274 
 
 5> X 43 
 
 Blackcock .... 
 
 J 75 
 
 9,458 
 
 Hazel-grouse. 
 
 5>9 6 
 
 10,851 
 
 Wild Turkeys 
 
 I2O 
 
 
 Pheasants .... 
 
 64,499 
 
 141,264 
 
 Partridges .... 
 
 190,359 
 
 1,036,836 
 
 Quail 
 
 107,740 
 
 94,995 
 
 Landrails .... 
 
 6,064 
 
 
 Wild Geese . 
 
 3,612 
 
 1,245 
 
 Wild Duck .... 
 Waterhens .... 
 
 46,956 
 l6 ,477 
 
 52,440 
 
 Ptarmigan .... 
 
 
 2,075 
 
 Stone Partridges . 
 
 
 
 3,95 2 
 
 Bustards and Cranes . 
 
 957 
 
 
 Woodcock .... 
 
 22,487 
 
 26,057 
 
 Snipe . . . 
 Wood Pigeons 
 
 9,97o 
 21,652 
 
 14,756 
 
 Thrushes .... 
 
 I2 , 8 37 
 
 
 
 Various Birds 
 
 W34 
 
 
 
 Total 
 
 1,139,416 
 
 2,899,453 
 
 136
 
 SOME SHOOTING STATISTICS 
 
 LIST OF "VERMIN 
 
 KILLED IN AUSTRIA-HUNGARY IN ONE 
 YEAR. 
 
 
 Hungary, 
 1894. 
 
 Austria, 
 1892. 
 
 Bears 
 
 177 
 
 33 
 
 Lynx. ..... 
 
 36 
 
 31 
 
 Wolves 
 
 380 
 
 69 
 
 Wild Cats 
 
 1,348 
 
 
 
 Otters 
 
 621 
 
 1,267 
 
 Badgers 
 
 I,8 9 I 
 
 3,870 
 
 Foxes ..... 
 
 24,37 
 
 26,553 
 
 Martens ..... 
 
 2,174 
 
 11,281 
 
 Polecats ..... 
 
 7,901 
 
 30,688 
 
 Weasels ..... 
 
 14,874 
 
 
 
 Various ..... 
 
 iS,^ 6 
 
 
 
 Eagles and Buzzards . 
 
 4,353 
 
 510 
 
 Various Hawks .... 
 
 47,690 
 
 101,960 
 
 Owls 
 
 9,!3 2 
 
 29,741 
 
 Horned Owls .... 
 
 
 
 1,114 
 
 Ravens, Crows, and Magpies 
 
 172,310 
 
 
 
 Various Birds .... 
 
 28,683 
 
 
 
 Wandering Dogs and Cats . 
 
 35,553 
 
 
 
 Total 
 
 364,599 
 
 207,117 
 
 The foregoing figures may be taken as those of 
 average years. 
 
 Bohemia furnishes a large proportion of the game 
 list for Austria, as will be seen from the follow- 
 ing : 
 
 LIST OF GAME SHOT IN BOHEMIA IN THE YEAR 1895. 
 Red Deer 2,469 
 
 i,933 
 
 . . . 13,118 
 843 
 
 Fallow Deer 
 Roe Deer 
 Wild Boar 
 Hares 
 
 410,846 
 
 137 
 
 II
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 Rabbits . 
 
 Capercailzie 
 
 Blackcock 
 
 Hazel-grouse 
 
 Pheasants 
 
 Partridges 
 
 Quail . 
 
 Woodcock 
 
 Snipe . 
 
 Wild Geese 
 
 Wild Duck 
 
 Total 
 
 30,910 
 
 1,101 
 
 5,328 
 
 842 
 
 69,735 
 
 382,777 
 
 9,016 
 
 2,174 
 
 535 
 218 
 
 947,395 
 
 THE "BLACK LIST" FOR BOHEMIA IN THE YEAR 1895. 
 
 Foxes ...... 2,348 
 
 Martens . . . . . 2,979 
 
 Polecats 9,724 
 
 Otters ...... 239 
 
 Badgers. . -343 
 
 Weasels ...... 105 
 
 Owls (spared on most estates) . 72 
 
 Hawks, Falcons, Buzzards, etc. . 25,312 
 
 Crows and Magpies . . . 4,736 
 
 Total . 45,858 
 
 It has been suggested that the annual " bags " on 
 some of the great Bohemian estates might prove 
 interesting to English sportsmen. The following 
 figures will give a good idea of the sport obtained 
 on them. They do not, however, constitute 
 "records," having been obtained merely for the 
 purpose of showing the average head of game killed 
 annually on a first-rate sporting property. 
 
 138
 
 SOME SHOOTING STATISTICS 
 
 GAME KILLED ON PRINCE ADOLF SCHWARZENBERG'S ESTATE AT 
 FRAUENBERG, IN BOHEMIA, 1887-1895. 
 
 
 Red Deer. 
 
 Wild Boar. 
 
 Fallow Deer. 
 
 
 Roe Deer. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 B 
 
 
 
 
 Year. 
 
 . 
 
 5 
 
 t/5 
 
 ta 
 
 y 
 
 Si 
 
 ; 
 
 M 
 
 u5 
 
 O 
 
 B 
 
 5 
 
 . 
 
 in 
 
 
 u 
 
 C 
 
 > 
 
 i 
 
 o 
 
 ~M 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 3 
 
 o 
 
 <8 
 
 a 
 
 
 55 
 
 5 
 
 3 
 
 o 
 
 m 
 
 CO 
 
 i 
 
 Q 
 
 1 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 
 M 
 
 Q 
 
 cS 
 
 1887 
 
 3 1 
 
 24 
 
 29 
 
 3 
 
 52 
 
 141 
 
 41 
 
 33 
 
 12 
 
 2 
 
 208 
 
 55 
 
 10 
 
 1888 
 
 33 
 
 18 
 
 15 
 
 4 
 
 32 
 
 162 
 
 41 
 
 37 
 
 13 
 
 
 
 16! 
 
 48 
 
 5 
 
 1889 
 
 34 
 
 36 
 
 36 
 
 5 
 
 58 
 
 217 
 
 3 1 
 
 44 
 
 28 
 
 3 
 
 177 
 
 46 
 
 33 
 
 1890 
 
 22 
 
 27 
 
 22 
 
 2 
 
 28 
 
 135 
 
 3 
 
 34 
 
 14 
 
 2 
 
 113 
 
 18 
 
 2 
 
 1891 
 
 30 
 
 24 
 
 40 
 
 3 
 
 42 
 
 175 
 
 35 
 
 42 
 
 16 
 
 4 
 
 150 
 
 49 
 
 II 
 
 1892 
 
 24 
 
 44 
 
 37 
 
 5 
 
 20 
 
 1 80 
 
 35 
 
 35 
 
 IO 
 
 10 
 
 182 
 
 39 
 
 9 
 
 1893 
 
 23 
 
 19 
 
 29 
 
 4 
 
 37 
 
 2IO 
 
 28 
 
 26 
 
 15 
 
 10 
 
 276 
 
 74 
 
 17 
 
 1894 
 
 30 
 
 46 
 
 33 
 
 4 
 
 3 
 
 147 
 
 4 1 
 
 33 
 
 IO 
 
 IO 
 
 352 
 
 239 
 
 35 
 
 1895 
 
 21 
 
 16 
 
 20 
 
 4 
 
 26 
 
 153 
 
 40 
 
 28 
 
 12 
 
 5 
 
 231 
 
 166 
 
 84 
 
 
 248 
 
 v^ 
 
 254 
 
 261 
 
 ^ 
 
 34 
 
 *- _ 
 
 325 
 
 1,520 
 
 . - 
 
 322 
 
 ^ . 
 
 312 
 
 130 
 
 - 
 
 46 
 
 1,850 
 
 *^- _ 
 
 734 
 
 2O6 
 
 *s 
 
 763 
 
 i,879 
 
 764 
 
 
 ^r~ 
 
 2,790 
 
 Year. 
 
 en 
 
 1) 
 
 "B 
 
 '3 
 u 
 
 Jj 
 
 O 
 o 
 
 V 
 
 | 
 
 u 
 
 Jyo 
 
 u 
 
 U) 
 
 1) 
 
 0) 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 Q 
 
 "o 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 u 
 
 .i 
 
 Total. 
 
 
 ffi 
 
 a. 
 
 i 
 
 u 
 
 C 
 
 2 
 
 i 
 
 CJ 
 
 
 
 UD 
 
 
 
 
 U 
 
 s 
 
 
 
 & 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 1887 
 
 9,414 
 
 4 
 
 7 
 
 690 
 
 5,29 6 
 
 23 
 
 915 
 
 424 
 
 50 
 
 4 
 
 17,468 
 
 1888 
 
 7,738 
 
 7 
 
 ii 
 
 477 
 
 4,353 
 
 9 
 
 902 
 
 I2 5 
 
 37 
 
 5 
 
 14,233 
 
 1889 
 
 8,935 
 
 
 18 
 
 876 
 
 4,662 
 
 37 
 
 1,362 
 
 93 
 
 30 
 
 i 
 
 16,845 
 
 1890 
 
 7,067 
 
 9 
 
 9 
 
 677 
 
 4,219 
 
 16 
 
 1,311 
 
 156 
 
 97 
 
 3 
 
 14,018 
 
 1891 
 
 6,676 
 
 7 
 
 12 
 
 562 
 
 4,352 
 
 15 
 
 811 
 
 97 
 
 40 
 
 8 
 
 13,205 
 
 1892 
 
 7,318 
 
 7 
 
 9 
 
 1,103 
 
 3,988 
 
 75 
 
 1,193 
 
 157 
 
 105 
 
 17 
 
 14,602 
 
 1893 
 
 9,324 
 
 5 
 
 ii 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 1,113 
 
 258 
 
 
 36 
 
 18,584 
 
 1894 
 
 12,050 
 
 13 
 
 19 
 
 2,291 
 
 8,599 
 
 53 
 
 878 
 
 382 
 
 62 
 
 18 
 
 25,618 
 
 1895 
 
 1,566 
 
 21 
 
 27 
 
 2,084 
 
 2,019 
 
 35 
 
 941 
 
 609 
 
 18 
 
 4 
 
 8,136 
 
 70,088 
 
 92 
 
 123 
 
 10,492 
 
 42,729 
 
 3^9 
 
 9,426 
 
 2,301 
 
 458 
 
 96 
 
 142,709 
 
 139
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 GAME KILLED ON PRINCE CHARLES SCHWARZENBERG'S ESTATE AT 
 WORLIK, IN BOHEMIA, 1889-1894. 
 
 
 Red Deer. 
 
 
 Fallow Deer. 
 
 
 
 
 
 cS 
 
 O 
 
 
 c 
 
 L! 
 
 <L) 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Year. 
 
 u5 
 
 ui 
 
 
 m 
 
 in 
 
 
 
 
 o 
 
 S3 
 
 Q 
 
 
 M 
 n 
 
 C 
 
 
 2 
 
 U 
 
 O 
 
 if 
 
 3 
 
 o 
 
 
 CO 
 
 ffi 
 
 O 
 
 * 
 
 pq 
 
 Q 
 
 
 
 
 
 1889 
 
 36 
 
 45 
 
 44 
 
 129 
 
 17 
 
 7 
 
 14 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 1890 
 
 37 
 
 33 
 
 22 
 
 109 
 
 24 
 
 12 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 1891 
 
 34 
 
 44 
 
 39 
 
 138 
 
 20 
 
 2O 
 
 17 
 
 I 
 
 74 
 
 1892 
 
 55 
 
 5 2 
 
 33 
 
 164 
 
 2 9 
 
 21 
 
 16 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 1893 
 
 78 
 
 53 
 
 40 
 
 139 
 
 26 
 
 23 
 
 21 
 
 2 
 
 IOO 
 
 1894 
 
 54 
 
 74 
 
 19 
 
 141 
 
 24 
 
 37 
 
 27 
 
 
 
 118 
 
 
 294 
 
 ^ 
 
 301 
 
 197 
 
 -^ 
 
 820 
 
 I4O 
 
 ^ 
 
 I2O 
 
 - 
 
 3 
 
 52i 
 
 
 792 
 
 
 365 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 in 
 
 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 % 
 
 aT 
 
 o 
 
 
 'N 
 
 4 
 
 in 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 bo 
 
 *^ 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 I3 
 
 
 O 
 
 
 Year. 
 
 & 
 
 S 
 
 g 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 T3 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 U 
 
 o 
 
 a, 
 
 Total. 
 
 
 W 
 
 c 
 
 A 
 
 1 
 
 s 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 Q 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 rt 
 
 s 
 
 a 
 
 
 1889 
 
 4,046 
 
 1,817 
 
 4,606 
 
 6,303 
 
 34 
 
 2O 
 
 172 
 
 2 
 
 II 
 
 i 
 
 17,384 
 
 1890 
 
 5,3 10 
 
 1,869 
 
 3,224 
 
 5,959 
 
 17 
 
 77 
 
 193 
 
 I 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 16,977 
 
 1891 
 
 4,167 
 
 1,900 
 
 3,832 
 
 6,601 
 
 6 
 
 23 
 
 
 2 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 17,085 
 
 1892 
 
 4,296 
 
 2,011 
 
 2,777 
 
 8,489 
 
 5 
 
 27 
 
 126 
 
 2 
 
 ii 
 
 
 
 18,188 
 
 1893 
 
 5,807 
 
 88 5 
 
 2,654 
 
 8,973 
 
 7 
 
 5 
 
 132 
 
 4 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 18,951 
 
 1894 
 
 6,641 
 
 796 
 
 2,093 
 
 8,533 
 
 6 
 
 62 
 
 59 
 
 i 
 
 12 
 
 
 
 18,697 
 
 
 30,267 
 
 9 ,278 
 
 19,186 
 
 44,858 
 
 75 
 
 214 
 
 841 
 
 12 
 
 49 
 
 i 
 
 107,282 
 
 140
 
 SOME SHOOTING STATISTICS 
 
 GAME KILLED IN Two SEASONS ON PRINCE HANAU'S ESTATES AT 
 HOROWITZ AND TINEC, SHOWING THE EFFECT OF A SEVERE 
 BOHEMIAN WINTER ON THE FOLLOWING SEASON. 
 
 
 Red Deer. 
 
 Fallow Deer. 
 
 Roe Deer. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 in 
 U 
 
 
 Year. 
 
 in 
 M 
 
 3 
 
 c/5 
 
 in 
 
 13 
 
 HH 
 
 U 
 
 U 
 
 in 
 u 
 
 in 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 Q 
 
 1 
 
 in 
 
 u 
 
 
 
 Q 
 
 in 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 W 
 
 .a 
 
 
 1888 
 
 18 
 
 10 
 
 4 
 
 27 
 
 12 
 
 4 
 
 80 
 
 16 
 
 2 
 
 59 
 
 8.43 1 
 
 200 
 
 1895 
 
 7 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 58 
 
 8 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 1,490 
 
 35 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 <u 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 c 
 
 
 
 
 in 
 
 "S 
 
 j2 
 
 3 
 
 <8 
 
 
 u 
 
 
 i 
 
 in 
 
 
 
 g 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 t/j 
 
 ; 
 
 3 
 
 o 
 
 U) 
 
 SJ 
 
 
 Year. 
 
 I 
 
 M 
 
 o> 
 
 cm 
 
 8 
 
 1 
 
 
 12 
 
 'u 
 
 "S 
 
 0- 
 
 Q 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 o 
 
 O. 
 
 -8 
 
 o 
 
 vS 
 
 13 
 
 Total. 
 
 
 CL, 
 
 U 
 
 M 
 
 rt 
 
 K 
 
 PH 
 
 
 1 
 
 > 
 
 
 k 
 
 
 1888 
 
 1,200 
 
 16 
 
 15 
 
 5 
 
 6,9OO 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 46 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 i7.5 8 
 
 1895 
 
 233 
 
 8 
 
 4 
 
 i 
 
 2,66o 
 
 i 
 
 3 
 
 31 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 4,5 6 
 
 141
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 VERMIN KILLED ON PRINCE HANAU'S ESTATES AT HOROWITZ 
 AND TlNEC DURING THE SAME TWO SEASONS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 c/T - 
 
 
 
 
 d 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 -H3 
 
 'oJ 
 
 I-H 
 
 rt rt . 
 
 c 
 
 Year. 
 
 X 
 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 13 
 
 8 
 
 
 ffi S 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 a 
 
 3 
 
 PH 
 
 Q 
 
 u 
 
 S 
 
 3 
 
 cr 
 
 C/3 
 
 r 
 rt (3 
 
 ffi 
 
 1888 
 
 19 
 
 28 
 
 40 
 
 90 
 
 400 
 
 240 
 
 600 
 
 3 
 
 I 
 
 1895 
 
 13 
 
 15 
 
 26 
 
 79 
 
 260 
 
 126 
 
 662 
 
 18 
 
 I 
 
 Year. 
 
 l| 
 
 CXM 
 Cfi HH 
 
 ggs of Spar- 
 ow Hawks. 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 U 
 
 2 
 ^n 
 
 M 
 
 U 
 
 '& 
 
 I s 
 
 ^ 
 
 Shrikes. 
 
 kingfishers. 
 
 Total. 
 
 
 
 W 
 
 
 W 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1888 
 
 9 
 
 2 
 
 500 
 
 5 
 
 4 
 
 100 
 
 2OO 
 
 4 
 
 2,398 
 
 1895 
 
 74 
 
 5 
 
 334 
 
 41 
 
 5 
 
 116 
 
 203 
 
 I 
 
 !,979 
 
 With regard to personal records, Prince Carl 
 Trauttmansdorff, one of the best among the many 
 crack shots and good sportsmen of Austria, has 
 most kindly supplied the following details of his 
 individual performances. He says : " My best day 
 was 862 head. My greatest bag of pheasants in 
 one day was 303 ; of partridges, 632 ; of hares, 416 ; 
 of rabbits, 638; of roebucks, 12 ; of fallow deer, 
 20 ; of wild boar, 23 ; and of blackcock, 14. 
 
 My biggest stag was a twenty pointer 252 kilog. 
 clean. 
 
 My best year was 10,833 head. 
 
 My total bag up to to-day (December Qth, 1896) 
 is 190,858 head ; and is made up as follows : 
 
 142
 
 SOME SHOOTING STATISTICS 
 
 188 
 
 Woodcock 
 
 150 
 
 Snipe 
 
 6 
 
 Pheasants 
 
 209 
 
 Partridges 
 
 1,013 
 
 Quail 
 
 2,409 
 
 Water Fowl 
 
 67,533 
 
 Vermin . 
 
 21,005 
 
 Various . 
 
 169 
 
 
 208 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 617 
 
 98 
 
 24,044 
 
 51,497 
 
 483 
 
 920 
 
 3,784 
 
 16,519 
 190,858" 
 
 Wild Boar . 
 
 Chamois 
 
 Mufflon 
 
 Red Deer . 
 
 Fallow Deer 
 
 Roe Deer . 
 
 Hares 
 
 Rabbits 
 
 Capercailzie 
 
 Blackcock . 
 
 Hazel-grouse 
 
 A few days after receiving this letter the follow- 
 ing extract appeared, curiously enough, in the 
 columns of The Standard. I append it for the 
 sake of comparison. 
 
 "The record of game killed by Earl de Gray 
 from 1867 to 1895 i s a most extraordinary one. 
 Between the dates mentioned his lordship has killed 
 316,699 head of game, his average during the last 
 twenty years being about 10,000 each year. His 
 record in 1893 was 19,135, composed as under: 
 8,732 partridges, 5,760 pheasants, 2,611 grouse, 
 837 hares, 914 rabbits, and nearly 300 various. Of 
 the total, 316,699, there are 111,190 pheasants, 
 89,401 partridges, 47,468 grouse, 26,747 rabbits, 
 26,417 hares, 2,735 snipe, 2,077 woodcock, 1,393 
 wild duck, 381 red deer, 186 deer, 97 pigs, 94 black 
 game, 45 capercailzie, 1 9 sambur, 1 2 buffaloes, 1 1 
 tigers, 2 rhinoceros, 8,424 various." 
 
 143
 
 X 
 TO THE MOUNTAINS
 
 X 
 
 To the Mountains 
 
 "Away to the hills." 
 
 Sir Walter Scoff. 
 
 THE Tyrol ! There is something suggestive 
 in the very name a suggestion of massive 
 mountains and rushing rivers, of pictur- 
 esque costumes and pretty faces, of a country wild, 
 free, romantic, and unspoilt ! 
 
 There are two Tyrols, however. On the one 
 hand that of the tourists, all mapped out and 
 arranged in the pages of Bedaeker, with the ex- 
 cursions to be made, and the sights to be seen, 
 and the hotels to be stayed in ; and, on the other, 
 the pure and unadulterated Tyrol, where that most 
 estimable throng come not, and where one stands 
 face to face with Nature herself. The latter is the 
 preferable side of the picture to me, at least. 
 
 Some half-hour's railway journey from Innsbruck, 
 on the Vienna side, is a small station of the name of 
 Jenbach. It is not an important place, and few 
 people alight there; but four passengers, surrounded 
 
 147
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 by a pile of luggage, might have been seen standing 
 on the platform one November evening. From the 
 way in which one of them a short fat man was 
 fussing about after the aforementioned luggage, 
 Mr. Sherlock Holmes (if he had been there) would 
 probably have " deduced " that he was a servant ; 
 and, from the number of gun-cases, he might have 
 concluded that some one intended to kill something. 
 In both deductions he would have been correct : 
 three of the passengers were the Prince, " the 
 Sun," and myself ; the fourth was the Prince's man- 
 servant ; and we had come there to shoot chamois. 
 
 Chamois, as most people are aware, are found 
 in all the higher mountain chains of Central and 
 Southern Europe. But it is in the Austrian Alps 
 that the greatest number exist In the whole range 
 of the Alps some 1 1 ,000 chamois are shot every 
 year, and of this total over 8,000 are killed in 
 Austria. 
 
 From mediaeval times a kind of superstitious 
 halo has always surrounded this mountain antelope ; 
 for an antelope it is, and not a goat as many persons 
 imagine. Probably more fabulous stories and 
 quaint legends have been told, and believed in, 
 with regard to it, than of any other beast or bird. 
 Thus we are gravely informed, by writers of the 
 last century, that its curved horns are largely used 
 in the ascent and descent of the precipices among 
 
 148
 
 TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 which it dwells ; and that it will avoid the notice 
 of the hunter by hanging by the crooks of its 
 horns over some ledge of rock. 
 
 The blood of the chamois was formerly con- 
 sidered to be possessed of valuable medicinal 
 qualities ; and the celebrated Bezoar stone an 
 accumulation of hair and resinous fibre occasionally 
 found in the stomach of the animal was believed 
 in as a sovereign remedy for all the ills to which 
 mankind is heir! 
 
 In these days of excellent and popular natural 
 histories, every one is familiar with the appearance 
 of the chamois. Horns are common to both sexes ; 
 but the buck's differ from those of the doe in their 
 greater thickness at the base, and the sharper bend 
 of the curve. 
 
 Chamois change their colour with the season. 
 In summer they are of a greyish brown ; but in 
 winter their coats become much longer and thicker, 
 and are almost black. They are gregarious ; and, 
 like all animals that are found in herds, have always 
 a sentinel, whilst feeding, to guard their safety. 
 The old bucks, however, prefer a solitary existence, 
 and are only to be found with their families during 
 the rutting season. This, with the chamois, begins 
 as a rule in the first week of November. The buck 
 at this time is even more exercised, perhaps, than 
 the lordly stag in the guarding of his harem. Not 
 
 149
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 content with merely driving away an intending 
 rival, he will even chase the invader down a whole 
 mountain side, across the valley, and up the op- 
 posite peak ; to return to find the fickle ladies, over 
 whom he rules, have most likely been abducted by 
 other adventurous strangers ! Thus his domestic 
 troubles are never ending. 
 
 The surefootedness of the chamois is its most 
 striking feature. There is perhaps no more won- 
 derful sight in Nature than to watch a herd of these 
 animals ascend the steep face of one of the giant 
 Alpine peaks. To the observer the rock may ap- 
 pear unscaleable, but the chamois leap nimbly from 
 one projecting ledge to another, with never a slip or 
 falter. The hind legs are longer than the forelegs, 
 so they ascend the rocky cliffs more easily and 
 quickly than they descend them. In descending, 
 however, another marvellous contrivance of Nature 
 comes into play. The hind feet possess false hoofs, 
 which catch in every crack and crevice, and thus 
 act as a sort of brake ; whilst the animal slides for- 
 ward on the sharp hoofs of its fore-feet, which are 
 set close together, and kept well in advance. 
 
 There is no beast better able to take care of 
 itself than this mountain antelope. Endowed with 
 keen sight and hearing, its scent is still far more 
 remarkable. Any one who has participated in a 
 chamois drive will have noticed the enormous 
 
 150
 
 TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 distance at which it will get scent of the beaters. 
 It is strange to remark, however, the difficulty that 
 chamois (and deer too) have in making out a sta- 
 tionary object. The chamois is a very inquisitive 
 animal, and when its curiosity is aroused will use 
 every endeavour to satisfy it. An old chamois- 
 hunter told me that on one occasion a doe, that was 
 unable to make him out, came up and actually smelt 
 his alpine-stock in her thirst for knowledge ! Of 
 course the hunter kept perfectly motionless, and the 
 wind was blowing strongly from the chamois to 
 him. 
 
 A startled chamois, too, always stops, after run- 
 ning a little distance, to look back fixedly at the- 
 object that frightened it ; and even in a chamois- 
 drive it is very unusual for the driven animals to 
 continue their course without stopping to look about 
 them. 
 
 We passed the night at a large roomy hotel not 
 " first-class," perhaps, in the accepted sense of the 
 expression, but scrupulously clean and comfortable. 
 What a blessing it is to be in an old-fashioned 
 establishment of this kind, and freed from that 
 abomination the modern waiter ! How much 
 nicer the waitresses look in their white aprons, and 
 how much better one is attended to, as a rule ! 
 
 At the hotel we found our fourth " gun," the 
 Baron, already installed. We made an early start 
 
 153
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 the next day in two carriages, with our luggage 
 on the box of the one, and the fat Anton on the 
 box of the other. It was a misty morning great 
 wreaths and clouds of grey vapour hung round the 
 mountains, giving us but fleeting glimpses of their 
 rugged and fir-clad slopes, and the giant snow-clad 
 peaks that towered up to heaven above us. 
 
 Our road lay along the Zillerthal " the Valley 
 of Song," as it is often called, from the musical 
 tastes of its people through which flows the blue- 
 green Ziller, its waters clear and sparkling as when 
 they left their snowy source somewhere in cloud- 
 land. 
 
 Two hours' drive brought us to Zell, where we 
 stopped for half an hour to rest the horses ; and 
 in another hour we were at Mayrhofen the last 
 civilized place we should see before our return 
 journey. 
 
 Luncheon was prepared for us at the house of 
 one Anton Hochleitner, for many years the Im- 
 perial forester in charge of these mountains. A 
 great chamois-hunter was this fine old man. Some 
 nine hundred chamois have fallen to his rifle, in the 
 course of his long life ; but (alas !) the passage of 
 seventy-five years leaves one too old for the moun- 
 tains. Not that he thinks so, however. " I cannot 
 come this year, your Highness, but I hope I shall 
 be able to do so the next," he said as we left him, 
 
 154
 
 ANTON HOCIILEITNER.
 
 TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 and there were tears in his bright old eyes as he 
 watched us go. 
 
 Our luggage had been taken forward carried on 
 the backs of some twelve or fourteen stalwart 
 Tyrolese our beaters for the ensuing week's shoot- 
 ing. 
 
 And now, accompanied by the son of old Hoch- 
 leitner and another over-forester, both of them in 
 the Imperial service, we set out for a four hours' 
 walk to the little hut among the mountains that was 
 to be our temporary home. I say " we," but I, 
 personally, rode a sober, staid, chestnut pony, 
 Bosnian as to breed, sure-footed as a mule, and 
 rejoicing in the name of " Hansel." It was my. 
 first acquaintance with mountain sport, and our 
 host, " the Sun," with kindly forethought, had 
 engaged this trusty quadruped, "as he didn't want 
 to quite kill me the first day." 
 
 Our path led upwards for more than an hour 
 zig-zagging through dim sombre pine-woods, under 
 whose shade the moss grew green and luxuriant 
 in a thick soft carpet ; whilst, in the branches over- 
 head, flocks of siskins, with their sweet low call- 
 notes, flitted to and fro. 
 
 Then we descended towards where a brawling 
 rivulet clattered and foamed along its rocky bed, 
 and we afterwards followed the course of this 
 mountain stream. Here and there we came to the 
 
 157 i
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 path of an avalanche, where the great fir-trees were 
 snapped off like reeds, and huge boulders lay scat- 
 tered to the water's edge. 
 
 The mist had cleared off by this time, and the 
 mountains rose up on each side of us in all their 
 grandeur ; whilst the warm rays of the afternoon 
 sun lit up their weather-beaten sides, and cast those 
 wonderful purple shadows over the grey rock. 
 
 There is a strange charm in mountain scenery a 
 feeling of awe that steals over one as one looks 
 at these mighty products of nature, so solemn, so 
 still, so massive, in their silent majesty ! 
 
 I have heard people say that a mountain is a 
 mountain, and that each one is like every other. 
 To me it is not so. Each mountain has its own 
 distinctive features, its own character, if one may 
 say so. One can almost fancy that they are not 
 inanimate things these great peaks but living 
 feeling monsters, unchangeable and immovable in 
 their sublimity ! 
 
 " Hansel " had but one fault a mania for walk- 
 ing along the edges of precipices. He also re- 
 sented my interfering with his course ; and, when I 
 did so, had a disagreeable way of standing on three 
 legs on the brink of a perpendicular descent, with 
 one hind leg dangling over the edge. It was not 
 quite pleasant, but I gave up trying to guide him 
 in the end, and let him follow his own sweet will. 
 
 158
 
 THE THREE KEEPERS.
 
 TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 I believe that pony had a sense of humour, and was 
 playing practical jokes on me ! 
 
 It was five o'clock and the light was fading when 
 we reached " home." A little two-storied wooden 
 hut, standing on a grassy meadow at the head of the 
 Zillergrund, as the valley up which we had come is 
 called ; a sitting-room fifteen feet square, a small 
 kitchen, and three smaller bedrooms such were 
 our quarters. Three or four more log-huts stood 
 near it deserted for the winter, however, for the 
 peasants had long before driven their cattle down to 
 the main valley. On either hand of the hut a fresh 
 valley opened out ; behind it rose a solid wall of 
 mountain ; whilst fifty yards below our little habita- 
 tion flowed the river. 
 
 "The Baron" and I shared the same room. It 
 was small very the two beds took up most of it ; 
 but we both were just able to dress in the remaining 
 space at the same time ! It would not have done 
 to have talked secrets in that hut one could hear 
 every word spoken, in whatever room, all over the 
 house ! 
 
 Six o'clock dinner and a smoke afterwards, and 
 then the keepers came in to discuss the plans for 
 the morrow's drive. 
 
 There were three of them two, giants of over 
 six feet high, handsome stalwart men, and truly 
 picturesque in their grey frieze jackets, short leather 
 
 161
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 breeches, and heavy iron-shod boots. The third 
 keeper was smaller, and there was a merry twinkle 
 in his bright eye that made it impossible to look 
 into his jolly face without smiling. 
 
 In summer the men leave their knees bare ; but 
 in winter, though they still have the short breeches, 
 they wear warm under-garments that cover the 
 knee. 
 
 The cold is intense in the winter, and the dwel- 
 lers in huts high up the mountains are frequently 
 snowed up for months together. Even should a 
 death occur, it is impossible to take the corpse down 
 to the valley for burial till the spring. There is a 
 somewhat gruesome story told in this connection, 
 which has too its comic side. 
 
 In a lonely hut far up the mountain side there 
 once lived a father with his sons. At the beginning 
 of a severe winter the old man died. When the 
 warmer weather came, the sons carried the frozen 
 corpse down to the valley. 
 
 " But," said the priest, "what are all these holes 
 in your father ? " 
 
 " Well ! you see poor old father died," replied one 
 of the sons, " and we put him up in the roof and he 
 got frozen. So we used to take him out on moon- 
 light nights as a bait, and shoot foxes ! " 
 
 The poor old man was riddled with small shot ! 
 
 " Breakfast at half-past six to-morrow," said our 
 
 162
 
 TO THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 host, as we went early to bed; for "early to bed 
 and early to rise " is the motto in the mountains. 
 
 And when I fell asleep, with the gentle murmur 
 of the river in my ears, I dreamt that I had wounded 
 a white chamois with golden horns the Zlatorog of 
 the Carinthian mountains, which to kill is eternal 
 happiness, but to miss is death ! 
 
 163
 
 XI 
 MY FIRST CHAMOIS 
 
 165
 
 XI 
 
 My First Chamois 
 
 SUNRISE is always a glorious sight, whether 
 by land or sea ; but perhaps it is surpass- 
 ingly beautiful in a mountainous country. 
 
 The stars paling in the first glimmer of light. 
 The dim outlines of the mountains looming dark 
 through the morning mists, and becoming each 
 moment clearer and more defined as the dawn 
 breaks. The eastern sky growing lighter and 
 brighter changing from grey to white from white 
 to saffron. And then the rosy blush that spreads 
 upwards and outwards from sky to mountain-top 
 until the golden rays of the sun, striking the summits 
 of the highest peaks, flash back reflected from 
 every ice-field, from every glacier in a million 
 sparkling crystals of brilliant light ! 
 
 Such was the spectacle that met our eyes on the 
 morning that was to see my introduction to the 
 chamois. 
 
 Half an hour's walk, along the same path up which 
 
 169
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 we had come the preceding afternoon, brought us to 
 the point where we struck up the mountain side. 
 Salchner, the tall dark handsome keeper, led, with 
 his slow easy stride, never changing or altering the 
 regular pace of all the Tyrolese when going up-hill. 
 It was quite fast enough for me, however ; there is 
 nothing that tries the wind and condition more than 
 mountain climbing ! 
 
 Something over an hour brought us to the lowest 
 "stand," which was designated to me. It consisted 
 of a pile of stones, covered with a layer of fir- 
 branches, for a seat ; whilst the rock, against which 
 they were placed, provided a rest for one's back. 
 The trunk of a fir-tree, with some stones and 
 branches, partially screened one in front. 
 
 Here I settled myself comfortably with my 
 trager as the man who carries one's rucksack, rifle, 
 etc., is called beside me. The rucksack is a bag, 
 with two leather straps through which the arms are 
 passed, and which will hold anything from a defunct 
 chamois downwards. In this case it held a waist- 
 coat, a woollen " sweater," and my warm Tyrolese 
 mantle all of which I put on, for it is none too 
 warm sitting on the breezy mountain side and our 
 lunch. A bit of wurst (or sausage) and a hunch of 
 black bread, with some red wine, and a nip of some- 
 thing stronger afterwards to keep the cold out ; and 
 then we compose ourselves for a long wait, for the 
 
 170
 
 WECHSELBERGER.
 
 MY FIRST CHAMOIS 
 
 highest post is an hour's hard climbing from where 
 we sit. 
 
 Behind, and on our right, rises a perpendicular 
 wall of rock ; and a deep cleft in the mountain side 
 yawns beneath us. We look across this chasm, 
 however, on to a steep stony slope, covered for the 
 most part with fir-trees, and down this the chamois 
 are expected to come. A tiny streamlet trickles 
 down the rocks, and from far beneath in the distant 
 valley comes the sound of the river. It is one of the 
 most striking features of the Zillerthal that, wherever 
 one is, there is always the murmur of water to be 
 heard. 
 
 An hour slowly passes. The cartridges have long 
 been in my rifle, and I have consulted Wechselber- 
 ger, my trager, as to the range of various striking 
 landmarks. There is nothing more difficult to a 
 stranger to the mountains than the correct judgment 
 of distances. In the rarefied air everything appears 
 so much nearer than it really is. 
 
 A black squirrel plays about on the stony slope 
 before us. How one envies the little fellow his 
 powers of climbing! It is strange, but here in the 
 mountains black squirrels are more common than 
 the red ones. 
 
 An Alpine crow, or chough, as we call it in Eng- 
 land, flies away from the cliff above our heads, with 
 a harsh cry of defiance half croak, half caw ; and a 
 
 173
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 little winter moth is hovering aimlessly among the 
 branches of a fir-tree they and the squirrel are the 
 only signs of life. 
 
 What's that ? Thunder ? Surely not in No- 
 vember not a cloud in the sky ; a thunder-storm 
 too absurd ! But there it is again ! " The signal 
 shots," whispers Wechselberger. 
 
 Yes, there is another shot, faint and indistinct ; 
 and then conies a roll as of cannon, as the report is 
 echoed and re-echoed from every mountain chain. 
 
 The drive has begun ! 
 
 For an hour and a half we sit absolutely motion- 
 less, only our eyes moving as we eagerly scan ii 
 every direction our somewhat limited range of vision. 
 
 The shots from the beaters grow nearer and 
 nearer, and the icy wind chills one through and 
 through, but still nothing comes. I steal a glance 
 at Wechselberger ; there is a decidedly depressed 
 look on his face evidently he thinks there is small 
 chance of anything coming now, and my spirits sink 
 to zero ! 
 
 A hissing sound uttered by Wechselberger inter- 
 rupts my dismal forebodings. I follow the direction 
 of his glance, and there behold, far below us, a 
 brownish-blackish animal with a white face, pick- 
 ing its way up the steep slope, and stopping to gaze 
 around every few yards ! The white face is its most 
 striking feature. 
 
 174
 
 MY FIRST CHAMOIS 
 
 "Buck!" whispers Wechselberger. 
 
 So this is a chamois! It is the first I have ever 
 seen, except in picture-books ! 
 
 " Shoot the next time he stands," is the command 
 of my faithful trdger. 
 
 Curiously enough I feel perfectly cool and quiet ! 
 My rifle is already cocked, and I bring it slowly up 
 to my shoulder, rest my elbows on my knees, so as 
 to secure a perfectly steady shot, and wait. 
 
 He has stopped, but behind a tree, and it is im- 
 possible to fire. 
 
 Now he is moving on. 
 
 There ! He has stopped again, and in an open 
 place. He is close to one of my landmarks, so I 
 know the distance to be about 120 yards, and 
 he presents me his full broadside. 
 
 " Crack " goes my little '360 express, and through 
 the smoke I see the chamois flinch to the shot. 
 Evidently he is hit far back, for he draws himself 
 together with his back arched and then goes slowly 
 forward with feeble tottering steps. He turns and 
 stands, and I fire a second time at his chest as he 
 faces me. This time I have a vision of four legs in 
 the air, and the truth dawns upon me that I have 
 killed my first chamois ! 
 
 But there is little time for self-congratulation, for a 
 big black bounding object comes down the slope 
 with the speed of a cannon-ball. 
 
 177
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 " Schiess! Schiess!" exclaims Wechselberger. 
 
 It is very easy to say, but not so easy to do, 
 for the chamois is hidden every second by a tree or 
 a stone. I do "sc/uess, schiess" however, but in vain, 
 and the beast disappears unharmed in the wood 
 below. 
 
 Another ten minutes' wait ; and then it seems 
 to me that straight in front of us, amongst the trees, 
 is some dark object that was not there two seconds 
 before. It is perfectly immovable, and so are we. 
 Minutes, that seem like hours, slowly pass ; but 
 at length when I have almost made up my mind 
 that I must be gazing at some hitherto unnoticed 
 root or stone it moves out on to a crag that 
 rises above the surrounding fir-trees. There it 
 stands a black silhouette against the blue sky ! 
 
 The next moment my shot rings out, and the 
 chamois, springing high into the air, and turning 
 over and over, falls down . . . down . 
 into the abyss beneath. 
 
 I have one more shot at a chamois that sneaks 
 upwards through the trees, and which goes its way 
 seemingly untouched, though Wechselberger affirms 
 that it is hit. 
 
 In chamois driving everything that comes is, as a 
 rule, legitimate game Kitz-geisen and kids alone 
 excepted. The big old bucks are, however, what 
 one always looks and longs for. An old buck is 
 
 178
 
 I REST MY ELBOWS ON MY KNEES, SO AS TO SECURE A 
 PERFECTLY STEADY SHOT."
 
 MY FIRST CHAMOIS 
 
 generally almost, if not quite, black in November ; 
 and as their winter coat is much longer and thicker 
 than their dun-coloured summer one, they look 
 particularly thick-set and sturdy. 
 
 The trophies of a chamois are, of course, the 
 horns, or Krucklen, and the Gems-Bart, or beard. 
 To the uninitiated it may be as well to explain that 
 this " beard " grows, not on the chin, but along the 
 back! In other words, the long white-tipped hairs 
 that grow along the spinal column are carefully 
 plucked out, and made up into a tuft, which is worn 
 in the hat by Continental sportsmen, and is called 
 the Gems-Bart. The older the buck, as a rule, the 
 longer the "beard"; and the longer the "beard," 
 and the whiter the tips of the hairs that compose it, 
 the more is it prized by its owner. It is a curious 
 but well-established fact that the horns of chamois 
 shot on the limestone ranges of the Alps are better 
 than those shot on the granite formation. Exactly 
 the converse holds good with regard to the beards. 
 
 My first chamois was a three-year-old, with good 
 horns for his age, but a poor " beard." The second 
 one I never saw. Neither a shot through the lungs, 
 nor the fall, had killed him ; and he had dragged 
 himself along to an absolutely unapproachable place 
 doubtless to die ! 
 
 The third was but slightly wounded (if he was 
 hit !), and was probably little the worse. 
 
 181
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 It was not quite agreeable getting back from my 
 "stand" to a sort of sheep-path by which we had 
 ascended the mountain. In one place but some 
 two yards of steep grass-slope separated us from a 
 sheer drop of hundreds of feet, and the thought of 
 what would happen if one d&fslip was not pleasant! 
 It is an old truth in climbing that wherever one can 
 get down (provided one does not jump or drop) one 
 can get up I had hardly noticed this place in 
 ascending ! 
 
 More than one drive is seldom taken in a day, 
 so when the other guns came down we made for 
 home. 
 
 The Prince and young Hochleitner had each shot 
 a doe. "The Sun " had wounded and lost a good 
 buck. The other Imperial keeper had missed a 
 beast, and the Baron had seen nothing within 
 shot. 
 
 Poor old " Sun " ! He was very gloomy about 
 his buck, and the drive generally. 
 
 " Only three chamois in the day ! We ought to 
 have got more," he kept saying. 
 
 But I do not think there was a happier individual 
 in all the Austrian Empire that evening than I ! 
 
 182
 
 XII 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE SNOW 
 
 183
 
 XII 
 
 THERE is an old proverb to the effect that 
 " a bad beginning makes a good ending." 
 So it was with the weather on Wednesday, 
 November nth, the day on which we had deter- 
 mined to drive the Rach-Kaar, as one of the highest 
 mountains of the Zillergrund is called. 
 
 We rose at half-past five, breakfasted by candle- 
 light, and then only to find that the mountains were 
 covered with thick mist. 
 
 Mist is the most dreaded foe of the chamois- 
 hunter. You may have the best place in the best 
 drive ; and the chamois may do their duty and all 
 come obligingly forward ; and there you can sit, 
 listening to the stones falling from beneath their 
 feet as they pass, perhaps, within a few yards of 
 you and not see so much as a shadowy phantom 
 of one, through the dense curtain of vapour that 
 enfolds you in its damp and chilly embrace ! 
 
 However, we set off, following the course of the 
 river, which comes roaring and clattering down a 
 
 187
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 narrow gorge, to form a bend below the hut, and 
 flow on down the main valley the Zillergrund. 
 
 There is great beauty in these mountain streams. 
 The rocks and boulders that lie scattered along their 
 course, encrusted with red or grey or yellow lichen ; 
 the little pools among the rocks, blue as the sea and 
 clear as crystal ; the miniature cascades and water- 
 falls where the rushing torrent bubbles and foams in 
 its haste ; and the pure cold water itself, fresh from 
 its snowy source, hurrying onward ever onward ! 
 
 There had been a hard frost in the night, and the 
 ground was like iron, whilst the ice-coated stones 
 made climbing slippery and sometimes difficult 
 work. The colour of the fir-trees was changed to 
 pearly white by hoar-frost, which sparkled and 
 glittered in the rays of the morning sun, that now 
 began to struggle through the mist. 
 
 Two hours' climbing brought us above the tree 
 line, where the only vegetation besides the rough 
 coarse grass is a small species of rhododendron, 
 that in the spring brightens these high altitudes 
 with its deep red flowers, and the Latchen, or 
 dwarf pine, loved by the chamois both for shelter 
 and food. 
 
 Another hour, and we came out on to the upper 
 slopes, where all vegetation ceases, and a view, such 
 as I have never before seen, lay before us. 
 
 The valley we had left behind was filled with 
 
 188
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE SNOW 
 
 mist, like a sea of white fleecy cloud or swan's-down. 
 All round, the mountain-tops rose pure and white, 
 against a sky of such a deep, dark blue that only 
 the Alps can show ; whilst the glorious sunshine 
 poured down on the dazzling whiteness, and cast 
 those blue shadows on the snow that only they who 
 have seen can realize. 
 
 It was a sight that made one catch one's breath 
 at its very loveliness ! 
 
 My post was on the extreme left of the line of 
 guns, and the whole drive was visible from it. 
 Before me lay the Rach-Kaar, a steep knife-back 
 ridge, down whose snow-clad side the beaters would 
 come. On my left the mountain descended almost 
 perpendicularly to the valley. About a hundred 
 yards on my right a stream flowed along a shallow 
 ravine a favourite line of retreat of the chamois, 
 Wechselberger told me. 
 
 A frugal lunch, and a pipe, and then followed 
 the usual long wait. The sun shone down upon us 
 with summer-like warmth, whilst we basked in its 
 rays, and watched the Prince and his trager, like 
 ants on the mountain side, climbing to his stand. 
 A dread of an insufficiency of exercise, and a laud- 
 able desire to tire himself out which, however, 
 I never knew him able to accomplish led him 
 always to prefer the highest post ! Two or three 
 little bands of chamois, too, were visible with their 
 
 189
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 kids. Some ptarmigan, white as the mountain tops 
 they haunt, were flying around us. 
 
 The drive was to begin at noon, and at twelve 
 o'clock to the second the signal shot echoed and 
 re-echoed along the mountains. It was interesting 
 to watch its effect on the chamois that were in sight. 
 Instantly they seemed to recognise their danger. 
 A second or two of indecision, and then the leader 
 (always an old doe) seemed to have made up her 
 mind and chosen the line of flight. In the first 
 instance this was always backwards towards the 
 higher ground and the beaters, as if they knew that 
 the real peril lay in front. 
 
 But more chamois are to be seen coming over the 
 steep ridge little black dots on the white snow. 
 Through the glasses I have been watching one on 
 the sky line, standing in its characteristic position, 
 with its head and neck just over the edge, immov- 
 able, gazing intently downwards ; when Wechsel- 
 berger draws my attention, by the usual serpent-like 
 hiss, to something nearer at hand. 
 
 A chamois is standing within a hundred and 
 twenty yards of us ! 
 
 "Shoot?" I whisper, for I am but a beginner, 
 and make no pretensions to be able to spot the 
 right animal. 
 
 My keen-eyed trager replies in the affirmative, 
 so I slowly bring up my rifle, and fire. 
 
 190
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE SNOW 
 
 The sun is drawing near the edge of the Rach- 
 Kaar, and I was shooting right into it, so I feel 
 somewhat doubtful about the success of the shot. 
 I fancy I saw the chamois give a sort of flounder 
 though, as he disappeared over the big rock on 
 which he was standing. In any case I have not 
 seen him go away. 
 
 A chamois-drive, enjoyable at any time, is still 
 more so when one has a wide view of mountain. 
 There are then almost always chamois in sight, and 
 the interest is sustained and one's attention kept 
 continually at the highest stretch. 
 
 It is bitterly cold now, for the sun has sunk 
 behind the great mountain, and we are in the shade. 
 One or two beaters are already visible on the top 
 of the ridge, standing out black against the bright- 
 ness of the sky. There has been firing from the 
 right, but we are too far away to see the result of 
 the shots. It is the most difficult thing in the 
 world, too, owing to the deceptive echo, to locate 
 the report of a rifle, and to be sure whether the 
 firing comes from the other guns, or from the 
 beaters. 
 
 Suddenly two chamois, that have been for a long 
 time hesitating by which route to escape, evidently 
 determine to break through on the flank. From 
 their direction we know, that if nothing changes it, 
 they will pass at one point within a hundred and 
 
 191
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 fifty yards of us. This is almost the most exciting 
 feature of a chamois-drive the doubt as to whether 
 the chamois that one sees approaching will or will 
 not come within range. 
 
 The two we are watching are continually hidden 
 by the conformation of the ground, and it is with 
 breathless anxiety that we each time await their 
 reappearance. Now they are out of sight again ; 
 when they next come into view they will be within 
 shot, if nothing turns them. The suspense is dread- 
 ful. Did ever a chamois take so long to traverse a 
 couple of hundred yards of ground ? They must 
 have turned up the hill again ! 
 
 No ! The leading one suddenly springs out upon 
 a rock, almost the same place where the other 
 chamois stood, but a little farther off. 
 
 Wechselberger says " Shoot ! " and I do so. 
 Again the chamois has disappeared, and I know not 
 whether hit or missed. My trusty trdger is not 
 sure either ; he thinks it may be hit, he says. 
 There is nothing for it but to possess one's soul 
 in patience ; at the end of the drive we shall 
 know ! 
 
 The beaters are now descending the almost per- 
 pendicular ridge before us. In the distance it looks 
 well-nigh impossible for any human being to obtain 
 a foothold there ; but they come skipping down, 
 with almost as much unconcern as if they were on 
 
 192
 
 
 Photo by OTTOMAR ANSCHUTZ,] 
 
 "END ON, AND TURNED AWAY. 
 
 [Berlin. II'. (friiker Lissa). 
 
 T "
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE SNOW 
 
 the level ground. There is no other word but 
 skipping that will describe the Tyrolese method of 
 going down hill. The bergstock (or staff) is placed 
 well in front, and the mountaineer descends with 
 a series of little skipping jumps, throwing all his 
 weight upon his trusty "stock," but allowing his 
 hands to slide down it. The bergstock, the iron 
 point of which never slips if properly placed, brings 
 him up, after each series of jumps. 
 
 What is this beast that is stealing along by the 
 water-course ? It looks very big and very black, 
 and comes forward very stealthily, stopping to gaze 
 for minutes together every few yards. 
 
 "Ein capitaler Bock ! " whispers Wechselberger. 
 
 He has crossed the stream, and is trotting along 
 the opposite bank. If only he would stop ! And 
 here let me remark, in parentheses, that one shot 
 at a standing object is worth six at a moving one ; 
 and that a chamois will generally stand to look 
 about him if one only has the patience to wait. 
 
 He has done so ! It is only for a second, though ; 
 for as I press the trigger he moves forward. 
 
 There is no doubt about his being hit, however. 
 He comes staggering down the bank, but then pulls 
 himself together, and makes off. 
 
 Twice more I fire, but they must both be misses, 
 for he never falters. 
 
 Am I going to lose him, after all ? 
 
 195
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 I reload the right barrel, and fling myself flat on 
 the rock. Visions of long-range shooting at the 
 rifle butts, and the welcome white disc that marked 
 the "bull," flit before me. 
 
 He has stopped again ! Now is my opportunity ; 
 my last chance too, for in another yard or two he 
 will be over a ridge and out of sight. It is well 
 over two hundred yards, and he is end on, and 
 turned away. I set the hair-trigger, draw a long 
 breath, take the most careful aim I can, and fire. 
 
 I see him roll over, but as he goes struggling 
 over the edge he seems to be on his legs again. 
 
 Wechselberger runs over the rocks to higher 
 ground. " He's down ! " he shouts. 
 
 Those words are sweeter at that moment than the 
 sweetest music ! 
 
 The beaters are now within a couple of hundred 
 yards of us, so we go to look after the other two 
 chamois. We find them both stone dead, within 
 a few yards of the places where they were shot ! 
 
 It was a long way back to the hut, and almost 
 all steep downhill work, which is even more tiring 
 than going up, and infinitely more dangerous. But 
 to me it seemed as nothing, for were there not 
 three beaters before me each with a chamois of 
 mine on his back ? 
 
 Six chamois formed the strecke that evening, the 
 strecke being the day's bag all placed neatly on the 
 
 196
 
 STEEP DOWN-HILL WORK.
 
 ON THE EDGE OF THE SNOW 
 
 ground in rows an universal Austrian custom. 
 " The Sun " had shot a doe ; and the two keepers 
 had each shot a buck, one rather a good one. 
 
 But over my big buck " the Sun " grew eloquent. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he said, " if you shoot here for 
 twenty years, you will never shoot a better one ! 
 Look at his horns ! Look at his head ! Look at 
 the whole beast ! He is one of the very best bucks 
 in the whole Zillerthal ! " 
 
 And, personally, I had not the slightest wish to 
 contradict him. 
 
 199
 
 XIII 
 BAD LUCK 
 
 201
 
 XIII 
 
 Bad Luck 
 
 " This way the chamois leapt : her nimble feet 
 Have baffled me ; my gains to-day will scarce 
 Repay my break-neck travail." 
 
 Byron, 
 
 ONE often hears it said that a writer on Sport 
 only speaks of successful days ; in fact, 
 never seems to fall into the same misfortunes 
 as ordinary folk, and by no chance ever misses ! 
 
 Whilst admitting, to some extent, the truth of 
 these charges, it may be urged in extenuation that 
 success is always more pleasant to look back upon 
 than disappointment. 
 
 We have all failures enough in any and every 
 
 walk in life ; with some of us, life itself is a failure ! 
 
 We do not care to speak of the failures, though. 
 
 Rather let us hide them, bury them, forget them 
 
 if we can ! Memory is a good friend to us in this. 
 
 It is the pleasant remembrances that remain the 
 
 freshest and last the longest the disagreeable ones 
 
 that are the soonest blurred over by the lapse of time. 
 
 It is not my intention to skip the bad days, how- 
 
 203
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 ever. To do so would give quite a wrong im- 
 pression of chamois-driving. 
 
 It is not always sunshine, even in the Alps ; and 
 the weather has a great part to play. To say 
 nothing of the terrors of mist, there is the wind 
 to be taken into account. The best managed drive 
 in the world may be spoilt at the last moment by 
 the wind chopping round, for nothing on earth will 
 make chamois face a danger-tainted breeze. Ac- 
 cidents will occur, too : a poacher may have passed 
 through the drive, and hopelessly disturbed the 
 game ; or a beater may mistake an order, and 
 arrive at an appointed place too soon such things 
 often utterly ruin what might otherwise have been 
 a most successful day. 
 
 We had more than our share of bad luck during 
 our week in the Tyrol. Out of seven days' driving, 
 one was spoilt by the wind, one by a shot fired by a 
 poacher before the drive commenced, and three 
 days were not as good as they should have been, 
 but for no apparent reason. 
 
 Friday, the thirteenth of November (could one 
 find a more unlucky date ?), broke bright and frosty. 
 It was a lovely morning. The sun shone down 
 upon the whitened ground, and every grass-stem 
 sparkled in his golden rays as if studded with a 
 score of diamonds. On such a day mere existence 
 was a pleasure ! 
 
 204
 
 BAD LUCK 
 
 There was no hurry either that morning. The 
 beaters, indeed, had an early start and a long round 
 to make ; but our posts were quite close to the 
 hut the farthest, not more than three-quarters 
 of an hour's walk from it. We had plenty of time, 
 therefore, to read our letters and papers, that were 
 brought each day as regularly as if we were in the 
 height of civilization. The newspapers were pretty 
 old, certainly my Standard dated six days back 
 but what matter ? They were fresh to us. 
 
 A woman used to act as our postman. Each 
 morning at four o'clock she left Mayrhofen, with her 
 letter- bag and a little lantern ; and each morning at 
 eight (almost to the second) she reached the hut. 
 An hour's rest, and then she set out on her return 
 journey, with one or two defunct chamois on her 
 strong shoulders. A wonderful sturdy race men 
 and women alike are these mountain people ! 
 
 It was eleven o'clock before there was any oc- 
 casion for me to start for my post, and even then 
 we had some time to wait for the signal shot. 
 Wechselberger filled up the interval by telling me 
 in whispers of the famous bucks that he had seen 
 shot from our stand. It was a very curious one a 
 piece of rock had partially detached itself from the 
 parent cliff, and, by so doing, formed a sort of 
 natural pulpit, in which we sat. 
 
 The signal shot reduced us to silence and im- 
 
 205 L
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 movability, and myself to building castles in the 
 air. It must have been the fineness of the day, 
 combined with the stories of my trusty trager, that 
 made me feel so particularly hopeful that morning. 
 A thick pine-wood clothed the steep slope of the 
 hill on our left, and it was from its shelter that the 
 record buck I was dreaming of would, I felt sure, 
 come. I had even determined in my own mind 
 the exact place where he would stand, and I dis- 
 posed my rifle so that I could bring it up quickly 
 and easily to my shoulder when he made his ap- 
 pearance. Thus I waited. 
 
 Below, in the valley, I could see fat Anton, the 
 Prince's servant, pacing backwards and forwards, 
 alpine-stock in hand, and stopping from time to 
 time to gaze through a pair of glasses towards 
 where we sat. He had never seen a living chamois, 
 and was waiting too to see one. 
 
 But it was all in vain ! The minutes dragged 
 along, and as every quarter of an hour passed a 
 little of my hopefulness ebbed away. The shots 
 from the beaters grew nearer and nearer. Our 
 position, cramped from the first, grew more and 
 more uncomfortable, and even Wechselberger be- 
 gan to fidget. To the very end I hoped, however. 
 Might not some old buck, which had seen the game 
 before, lie close in the fir-wood till the very last 
 minute ? 
 
 206
 
 BAD LUCK 
 
 No such luck ! The appearance of a beater at 
 the edge of the wood, and that of the other "guns" 
 in the far distance, followed by more beaters carry- 
 ing what were evidently chamois, told us that the 
 drive was over, and our last hope fled. We had 
 waited indeed ; but for what never came ! 
 
 The Prince had had the luck that day, and killed 
 three chamois. 
 
 But it is not often (in a good preserve, at least) 
 that one sees absolutely nothing. Unless the wind 
 plays some trick, one almost always has a sight of 
 game though perhaps too far to shoot at and 
 generally one may count on getting a shot. On the 
 occasion I was speaking of, however, the wind ' was 
 excellent, and there were plenty of chamois in the 
 drive. It was sheer bad luck ! Perhaps that fatal 
 date caused it ! 
 
 The weather had, on the whole, smiled on us 
 during our stay in the Zillergrund, but on the last 
 day we saw the other side of the picture. The 
 wind blew fitfully and gustily and, seemingly, from 
 every point of the compass. Blinding snow- 
 showers came on continually, the white feathery 
 flakes drifting round us as we sat shivering in 
 the biting wind, that blew through and through 
 one. 
 
 My post was, of course, the most exposed I had 
 had during the whole time we were in the Tyrol luck 
 
 207
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 again ! I sat on a point of rock that rose up in a 
 lonely sort of way from a steep stone-clad descent 
 a perfect playground of avalanches whilst the hail- 
 stones spattered on my face, and the cold numbed 
 my fingers till I could hardly feel the rifle. It was 
 the sort of day that makes one doubt, perhaps just 
 for one second, if in such weather chamois-shooting 
 is enjoyable ! 
 
 Wechselberger was utterly despondent from the 
 first ; we should see nothing, he said ; the wind was 
 too bad for words. I was, as usual, hopeful. Some- 
 thing might come forward, get the wind of the 
 other guns, break away on the flank, and, as I was 
 on the extreme right, give me a chance. So I sat 
 and hoped, and restored some feeling to my trigger- 
 finger by keeping my hand inside my shirt. 
 
 The luck was dead against us, however, as well 
 as the wind ! 
 
 For hours we sat in a semi-frozen state and waited, 
 and then, two hundred yards below us, two chamois 
 appeared round a corner of rock. In any case, 
 foreshortened as they were owing to our being far 
 above them, it would have been a doubtful sort of 
 shot and the fact that some stunted bushes grew 
 between us and them, so that my bullet would have 
 had to find its way through the straggling branches, 
 made it quite useless to fire. I tried standing up, 
 but still they were safely "wood-bound," and to 
 
 208
 
 BAD LUCK 
 
 move my position on the precipitous crag was im- 
 possible. The only thing was to hope for a clear 
 shot when they continued their course. 
 
 They passed on, the cliff, on which we were 
 perched, hiding them from view. It was some time 
 before they reappeared, and, when they did so, 
 they were on the top of a ridge fully four hundred 
 yards away. A few seconds would take them out 
 of sight for good ; so when the last one stopped for 
 a moment on the summit of the ridge, I fired. 
 
 It was a forlorn hope ! The chamois neither 
 flinched nor fell, and disappeared evidently un- 
 touched. 
 
 And then the climax to our bad luck occurred ! 
 
 I was in the act of slipping a fresh cartridge into 
 the right barrel when some inner feeling warned me 
 to turn my head to the left. There, on a shoulder 
 of mountain not a hundred yards off, standing out 
 big and black through the falling snow, the long 
 hairs on his back waving in the wind, was a 
 magnificent buck chamois ! 
 
 To ram the cartridge home, close and cock the 
 rifle, and bring it to my shoulder, was the work 
 of no time. But too late ! With a whistle of 
 alarm, the old fellow had wheeled round and dashed 
 back out of our sight for ever ! 
 
 Bad luck indeed ! If I had only not fired that 
 long and useless shot at the other two, I should have 
 
 209
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 had a loaded rifle and a steady "pot" at the biggest 
 old buck " whatever was seen " for the proportions 
 of the animals we do not get always exceed the 
 others ! 
 
 These sentiments I sadly laid before the faithful 
 Wechselberger. But as he philosophically said : 
 " That is all very well, mein Herr, but we could not 
 know that the other chamois would come, and, with 
 
 hick, you might have got one of the first two." 
 
 * * * % * 
 
 There is luck in most things besides chamois- 
 shooting. 
 
 To the fortunate few, success comes quickly; to 
 the great majority, only after years of working and 
 waiting if it comes at all ! 
 
 " Everything comes to him who waits," says the 
 proverb. Possibly, but it often comes too late so 
 late, that one has almost ceased to care for what 
 one once so eagerly sought. When one has grown 
 tired of the longing and striving, when the power 
 of enjoyment of the heart's desire has well-nigh 
 gone then it comes ! 
 
 210
 
 XIV 
 THE VALLEY OF ETERNAL SLEEP 
 
 211
 
 XIV 
 
 The Valley of Eternal Sleep 
 
 "There was no motion in the dumb dead air." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 IT lies far away among the mountains that 
 lonely valley. 
 A patch of wood hides the entrance to it 
 a dim, dark fir wood, where huge moss-covered 
 boulders lie piled one upon another between the 
 great trees. Grey trailing lichen, like an old man's 
 beard, hangs from the branches lichen that spreads 
 gradually upwards, until the whole tree is enveloped 
 in its soft clinging grasp. In its grasp, but dead ; 
 for where it clings it kills ! 
 
 No birds are in that wood, no living creature ; 
 only silence lurks there. 
 
 And from the silent wood we entered the silent 
 valley. 
 
 It was the afternoon of a fine, clear day ; the 
 ground was hard and white with frost, and the 
 Zillergrund behind us was bathed in the glow of 
 the setting sun. 
 
 213
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 But there, in the lonely valley, no sunshine 
 came. 
 
 High, dark mountains rose on every side ; walls 
 of frowning crag, with hardly a fir-tree to break the 
 barrenness of the bare grey granite. Stones and 
 boulders, carried down by avalanches from the 
 heights above, lay scattered everywhere around us. 
 A rivulet flowed through the valley, but without 
 sound. The very air hung dumb and motionless ; 
 not a breath of wind disturbed the stillness. 
 
 There is a mighty power in silence a power to 
 lift the human mind from the vanities and emptiness 
 of life to something higher. 
 
 The hush of the twilight, the calm beauty of a 
 summer night, the stillness of a snow-clad landscape 
 what is it in them that stirs those better feelings 
 that lie hidden in every one ? Not the mere beauty 
 of the fading light, of the starry sky, of the dazzling 
 whiteness, but the vast speechless voice of silence 
 that speaks in them all, and raises our thoughts 
 to something loftier and nobler. 
 
 There are other places of worship besides the 
 churches and cathedrals of men. Go out into the 
 forests and mountains, by the river or sea-shore. 
 God still walks there, and speaks face to face with 
 man. 
 
 We wandered along the lonely valley to where 
 a great mountain shuts it in. The twilight lay 
 
 214
 
 THE VALLEY OF ETERNAL SLEEP 
 
 around us, intensifying the gloom and desolation ; 
 only on the summit of that lofty peak a ray from 
 the setting sun lingered and changed its snowy 
 mantle into pink. We stood and watched the 
 shadow creep up and up the snow, as the sun sank, 
 creeping upwards, slowly but surely, until at last 
 the sunlight had gone, and the whole was shadow. 
 
 It was like the last ray of hope slipping out of 
 one's life that sunbeam on the mountain top, slip- 
 ping gradually away, and leaving only the grey, 
 hard barrenness, the stern reality of life ! 
 
 We turned and walked homeward through the 
 gloaming. 
 
 "The moon is up, and yet it is not night." 
 
 The western sky was still golden, though the 
 stars twinkled in the pale blue vault overhead. 
 Over mountain and valley alike lay the calm of the 
 evening hour, when day and night merge into 
 one. 
 
 And as we came in sight of our little hut, with its 
 lighted windows gleaming bright and ruddy through 
 the gloom, we looked back and saw the mountain, 
 that had been so grey and cheerless, once more 
 flooded with rosy light, blushing in the last faint 
 pink of the after-glow, against the starry sky. 
 
 And so we left the lonely valley. 
 
 "It may be desolate and deserted now," said the 
 
 217
 
 Prince, "but how will it be when everything is 
 covered with snow ? It must look like Eternal 
 Sleep ! " 
 
 And thus we named it " The Valley of Eternal 
 Sleep." 
 
 218
 
 XV 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 219
 
 XV 
 
 Tyrol and the Tyrolese 
 
 " Sind die Tyroler, ein Volk von Shutzen, nicht das treuste 
 
 aller Volker ? " 
 
 W.V. Burgsdorff. 
 
 FROM the year 1363, when Margaretha 
 Maultasche (Pocket-mouthed Meg), the 
 last successor of the Counts of Tyrol, 
 granted Tyrol to Duke Rudolph IV. of Austria, 
 the country has always remained devoted to Austria 
 and the House of Hapsburg. 
 
 Mutterings of discontent might rise from other 
 parts of the Empire, Bohemia might struggle in 
 vain for freedom, and the standard of rebellion float 
 on the plains of Hungary, but the Tyrolese were 
 always loyal, always faithful to their Sovereign. 
 
 " We have no traitors in my country," the great 
 national hero, Andreas Hofer, once said. 
 
 It was on the eve of the rising of 1809 against 
 
 the French that he thus replied to those who 
 
 blamed his childlike trust in all who came to him. 
 
 And Hofer knew his countrymen. It was not 
 
 221
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 till when, at the head of 4,500 men, he had attacked 
 and routed the Bavarians, not till when, with his 
 peasant army, he had carried Innsbruck by storm, 
 that the secret of the conspiracy leaked out. 
 
 There is nothing that shows the devotion of the 
 Tyrolese to their Emperor more than the story 
 of that insurrection. Austria, utterly routed at the 
 battle of Austerlitz, lay at the feet of Napoleon, and 
 Tyrol had been handed over by him to Bavaria, the 
 vassal of France. 
 
 But the spirit of the mountaineers was uncon- 
 quered. For three years indeed they had groaned 
 under the Bavarian yoke. But during that time 
 the Austrian Emperor had never ceased encourag- 
 ing the idea of a rising ; and Andreas Hofer, a 
 plain, honest, God-fearing peasant, the landlord of 
 a village inn, had been summoned to Vienna to 
 consult with the Government on the best means of 
 carrying it out. The Emperor's own brother had 
 told the peasant leader that Austria would never 
 lay down her arms until Tyrol was once more freed 
 from the hated Bavarian rule; and the "good" 
 Kaiser Franz himself had assured his faithful 
 Tyrolese that he would never be a party to a peace 
 that did not restore their country as a part of the 
 Austrian Empire. Little wonder that the simple 
 peasants trusted such promises ! 
 
 Hofer had two trusty lieutenants in Haspinger, 
 
 222
 
 A ZILLERTHALER GIRL.
 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 the Capuchin monk, and a chamois- hunter of the 
 name of Speckbacher. With their help, he formed 
 the hardy, sport-loving mountaineers into a rough 
 army, eager and ready to fight to the death for their 
 beloved country and Emperor. 
 
 On the evening of April loth, 1809, vast beacon 
 fires flared from the snow-clad peaks ; and by the 
 end of the month Tyrol was free. 
 
 At this moment the Kaiser gave the command of 
 the troops to General Chasteler, and he quickly lost 
 all that Hofer had won. 
 
 Still the peasants did not despair. Again An- 
 dreas Hofer gathered an army, and, for the second 
 time, stormed Innsbruck, and cleared Tyrol of its 
 enemies. 
 
 But, though the simple landlord of a country inn 
 was victorious, the Austrian Field Marshals were 
 not. Beaten on the banks of the blue Danube, in 
 the battle of Wagram, the Emperor signed the 
 armistice of Znaim, and in that convention Tyrol 
 was ignored ! 
 
 Hofer would not believe it ; and, when he saw 
 the Austrian troops retire from Innsbruck before 
 Marshal Lefebvre and his 50,000 men, he swore that 
 he would once more conquer or die. 
 
 From a distant valley far up the mountains he 
 sent forth his call to arms. Not only every able- 
 bodied man who could carry a rifle obeyed the 
 
 225 M
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 summons, but even old men, women, and children, 
 who pushed down trunks of trees and rocks upon 
 the foe. Once more Hofer and his chamois-hunters' 
 swept the French before them ; and, for the third 
 time, the peasant hero entered Innsbruck in triumph. 
 
 The scene on his entry beggars description. The 
 people pressed around him to kiss his hand, his 
 boots, his horse ; they hailed him as their deliverer; 
 they named him their dictator. 
 
 Yet Andreas Hofer never forgot that he was but 
 the simple peasant landlord. Their thanks were 
 due to God, and not to him ; it was God who had 
 helped them, so he told the people. And with rare 
 sagacity and wisdom he set himself to rule in Inns- 
 bruck for his master, the Emperor. 
 
 Meanwhile that master had signed the Peace of 
 Vienna, by which the Tyrol was given up to Na- 
 poleon's vengeance. French troops poured into 
 the lovely valleys ; the Archduke John himself 
 wrote to Hofer to bid him lay down his arms. 
 
 There is something tragically touching in the 
 blind devotion of the patriot at this time. He could 
 not believe that the Emperor the dear "good" 
 Kaiser Franz would abandon him and his country- 
 men thus ! It was a mistake, a lie ! He would 
 fight on. 
 
 But Hofer's day was done. The peasants had 
 lost heavily in the former fighting ; they were de- 
 
 226
 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 feated in a desperate battle ; and the next call to 
 arms was in vain, for all who could do so had 
 already come. Speckbacher had but thirteen 
 followers left. Nothing remained but flight. 
 
 And this Andreas Hofer scorned. He would 
 never leave his beloved Tyrol. He retired to a 
 deserted hut high up the mountains, whilst for two 
 months the French soldiers sought the "brigand," 
 as they called him. 
 
 Then the traitor appeared Donay the priest, 
 Hofer's intimate friend. One morning he led a 
 body of troops to the little hiding-place where the 
 hero lay. 
 
 They brought Andreas Hofer down from the 
 mountains, bound and a prisoner past the inn 
 where he had lived, through the village where he 
 was born, through the snow-clad valleys to 
 Mantua. 
 
 The peasants, who had known and loved him 
 from his boyhood, knelt as he passed, weeping, 
 praying, beseeching him to bless them. 
 
 One day's pretence of a trial, and then came the 
 order he was to be shot within twenty-four hours. 
 
 It was a misty morning when they led him out. 
 He refused to kneel, refused to have his eyes ban- 
 daged. His last piece of money he gave to the 
 corporal. " Shoot straight ! " he said. And then 
 facing the platoon, he gave the order, " Fire ! " 
 
 227
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 Thus Andreas Hofer died. 
 
 And, whilst his most faithful subject was being 
 done to death, the "good" Kaiser Franz was pur- 
 chasing the patronage of the Corsican conqueror 
 with the hand of his daughter ! 
 
 The characteristics of the Tyrolese of to-day are 
 the same as in Hofer's time. Devotion to his 
 country, to his Emperor, to his God such are the 
 features of the simple mountaineer. He will never 
 cringe, however. The Emperor himself he will 
 address with the familiar du the "thou " of equality 
 and brotherhood. One's trdger will raise his hat 
 indeed, but then he will offer his hand. 
 
 Roman Catholicism is the religion of the Tyrol. 
 The countless shrines that one meets with by every 
 road and footpath, and the uncovered head with 
 which every peasant passes them, testify to the 
 religious feelings of the people. 
 
 And yet, as in most mountainous countries, im- 
 morality, according to our notions, is rife. Perhaps 
 they are a superstitious, rather than a religious, 
 people ; but the common virtues of truth, honesty, 
 and courage are nowhere found more generally 
 than among them. 
 
 Romedius is one of the most popular Tyrolese 
 saints. Riding one day into Taur, a village of the 
 Inn valley, blessed with what is by no means rare 
 in the mountains a healthy appetite, he did such 
 
 228
 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 justice to the food placed before him, that the feel- 
 ings of a hungry bear were roused by the perform- 
 ance. For want of anything else, the bear ate up 
 Romedius' horse. Whereupon the saint preached 
 to him with such eloquence and power, that Bruin, 
 filled with remorse and the desire to recompense the 
 holy man for his loss, offered his own shaggy back 
 as a means of conveyance. The friendship, thus 
 begun, happily continued ; and Romedius and the 
 bear took up their abode in a cave, in the mountains 
 north of Taur. But one day the saint, wishful to 
 take a nap after dinner, was troubled by a fly, that 
 insisted on settling on his nose. In vain St. Rome- 
 dius struck repeatedly at his tormentor ; the fly 
 escaped each time, only to alight again upon the 
 saintly organ of smell. The now thoroughly re- 
 formed bear, anxious to do his master a service, 
 then approached, and aimed such a terrific blow at 
 the small invader, that he struck, not only the fly, 
 but St. Romedius himself, dead on the spot ! The 
 faithful animal, completely overcome by grief, then 
 starved himself to death. So runs the legend ; and 
 thus the poor bear (and herein lies the most melan- 
 choly part of the story) died of hunger after all ! 
 
 The Tyrolese are nothing if not musical. There 
 is something in their music, too, that seems to fit in 
 exactly with the wild beauty of the land. The 
 sweet strains from the trembling strings of the 
 
 229
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 zither, floating up on the evening air from some 
 silent valley, the mellow voices of the peasants, as 
 they jodel some part-song, every note in perfect 
 harmony, in the moonlight, blend with the murmur 
 of the mountain streamlet, with the swirl and roar of 
 the rushing torrent, with the gentle whispering of 
 the pine-branches, in a strange accord. 
 
 Perhaps the most striking feature of the Tyrolese 
 is their innate love of sport. There has always 
 been a tinge of romance, a kind of glamour, about 
 the chamois-hunter. And the chamois-poacher, too, 
 is a fine fellow. The man who will walk for eight 
 or ten hours to the mountain he has selected for his 
 stalking expedition, who will risk his life for the 
 sake of an animal that, when killed, is probably not 
 worth half a sovereign, is not the same sort of being 
 as the lazy, drunken, good-for-nothing that we 
 associate with the name of " poacher." 
 
 There is no doubt that it is the sheer love of 
 sport that moves the Tyrolese poacher ; and yet 
 there is, occasionally, money to be made by his 
 successes. The actual value of a dead chamois, 
 without either horns or " beard," is only about four 
 and a half gulden (js. 6d.). But a good pair of 
 buck's horns will sell for from ten to twenty gulden, 
 and a fine gemsbart will fetch just as much ; though 
 such trophies as these do not fall to the lot of even 
 a poacher any too often. Formerly, a regular war- 
 
 230
 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 fare was waged between keepers and poachers, and 
 many a stalwart fellow has lost his life for the sake 
 of the nimble mountain antelope. Nowadays, 
 though here and there a man is shot, poaching is 
 restrained, and carried on, in a less sanguinary 
 manner ; and if it comes to a struggle, the rifles are 
 generally laid aside, and the contending parties 
 fight the matter out with their bergstocks. 
 
 The ibex, or Steinbock, to give it its German 
 name, is now but a memory of the past, as far as 
 the Tyrol is concerned. Two hundred years ago, 
 however, the mountains that overlook Mayrhofen 
 sheltered almost as many ibex as chamois on their 
 steep slopes. This district was then the property 
 of the Archbishop of Salzburg. It was on account 
 of the number of lives lost in the fights between 
 keepers and poachers that led John Ernest, an 
 Archbishop of a more peaceable but less sport- 
 loving disposition than his predecessors, to give 
 orders, in the early part of the eighteenth century, 
 that the ibex were to be no longer preserved. 
 
 Most of our beaters were, I believe, guilty of an 
 occasional little sporting expedition on their own 
 account. Even Wechselberger, who, in his native 
 village of Mayrhofen, combined the peaceful and 
 law-abiding professions of tailor, hair-dresser, and 
 guide, told me, with a knowing wink, that the 
 gemsbart on his hat had once adorned the back of a 
 
 231
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 chamois, shot by himself on the Rach-Kaar the 
 best drive, by the way, in our preserve ! 
 
 The women of the Tyrol are justly celebrated for 
 their good looks ; and the Zillerthaler girls, in 
 particular, famous for their beauty. Large bright 
 eyes; a laughing merry face, and an exquisite wild- 
 rose complexion such are their striking features. 
 Their figures may not be as "pinched in" as the 
 dictates of fashionable beauty require, and their 
 faces may be more round than oval ; but they are 
 very pretty, for all that. The men, too, are well 
 set-up, sturdy, handsome fellows. It must strike a 
 stranger to the Tyrol how very seldom he sees an 
 absolutely plain man or woman. 
 
 The Tyrolese dress is charmingly picturesque, 
 though it is too well known to need much descrip- 
 tion. Green is the national colour. The colour of 
 the men's short frieze jackets varies in each valley : 
 in one, it will be black ; in another, red ; in the Zil- 
 lerthal, it is a light grey. The shape and decora- 
 tions of a woman's hat, too, show the district from 
 which she comes. The Zillerthaler hat is black, 
 shaped like an inverted saucer, and is adorned with 
 a golden cord, and two golden tassels that hang 
 over the brim in front. 
 
 Men and women alike wear the heavy mountain- 
 eering boots the edges of the soles and heels 
 surrounded with a formidable row of gigantic flange- 
 
 232
 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 nails. Crampons, or steigeisen, are worn in the 
 winter, and in that season they are an absolute 
 necessity to the chamois-hunter. One must grow 
 accustomed to them, however ; till one has done so, 
 they are even a source of danger, the sharp spikes 
 being apt to trip up the beginner. 
 
 The bergstock is one of the most important 
 points of the equipment of the mountaineer. It 
 should be of hazel (for the sake of lightness), strong 
 enough to bear one's whole weight without bending, 
 and a foot higher than the person who uses it. 
 
 The number of tourists who lose their lives each 
 year in the mountains is extraordinary, generally 
 either through being unprovided with the necessities 
 for climbing, or in venturing on dangerous places 
 without guides. The summer of 1896 was par- 
 ticularly remarkable for the number of fatal acci- 
 dents in the Tyrol. 
 
 The Tyrolese are excellent guides. Absolutely 
 reliable and sure-footed themselves, they take the 
 greatest care of their Herrn, and never lose their 
 heads in a moment of danger. 
 
 An elderly trager, who always went with the 
 Prince during our time in the Tyrol, had a remark- 
 able adventure a year or two back. I give the 
 story, as I know it to be perfectly true, and it shows 
 the courage and resource of the old fellow. 
 
 He was guiding a tourist over a dangerous bit of 
 
 233
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 mountain in the neighbourhood of Mayrhofen. 
 The tourist avowed himself to be an experienced 
 mountaineer, who knew neither fear nor giddiness ; 
 but on coming to a ledge of rock, only some few 
 inches wide, that had to be crossed, old Jorgei 
 insisted on attaching a rope to his waist. Well it 
 was that he did so! 
 
 On one side of the ledge yawned a precipice, 
 hundreds of feet deep ; and on the other, the moun- 
 tain rose straight up in a solid wall of rock. 
 
 The tourist went bravely forward for the first few 
 steps, whilst the guide followed him, rope in hand. 
 After some five yards, however, the tourist turned 
 giddy. Pale and trembling, he leant against the 
 mountain for support, unable to move backwards or 
 forwards. Jorgei vainly urged him either to go on 
 or to turn round ; but the man was perfectly help- 
 less, and seemed to be losing consciousness. 
 
 Planting his foot firmly on the edge of the narrow 
 ledge, and leaning back with all his force against 
 the rock, the guide quietly pushed his charge over 
 the precipice ; then, with one great effort, he swung 
 him back to the safer place they had just left ! 
 
 Jorgei told me this story as if it were a mere 
 everyday occurrence. 
 
 Is there any one who leaves the Tyrol without 
 regret who does not long to return to breathe 
 again its pure clear air to see its snow-clad peaks 
 
 234
 
 OLD JORGEI.
 
 TYROL AND THE TYROLESE 
 
 rise white against the blue of the cloudless sky, the 
 first beams of the rising sun gleam golden through 
 the mists of morning, the last rays of the departing 
 day linger in the rosy west to hear again the salu- 
 tation of the mountaineer, the sweet " God greet 
 thee ! " to feel once more the friendly clasp of his 
 firm strong hand? 
 I think not ! 
 
 237
 
 XVI 
 INNSBRUCK 
 
 239
 
 XVI 
 
 Innsbruck 
 
 ANY sketch of the Tyrol, however slight, 
 that did not contain some few words with 
 regard to its capital, would be imperfect. 
 
 Probably nowhere throughout the world can a 
 town of equal importance be found amid surround- 
 ings of such majestic grandeur. It seems as if 
 Nature herself had striven to form an idyllic spot 
 upon which to build it ! 
 
 Resting in a green valley, on the banks of the 
 tumbling Inn, and hemmed in on every hand by 
 majestic mountains, Innsbruck stands unique. 
 From the very streets superb views of snow-clad 
 mountain ranges open out at every turn. 
 
 Easily accessible as it is, being on the two main 
 lines of railway the Brenner and the Arlberg 
 it is, of course, over-run with tourists. But here, 
 at least, one can forget "the madding crowd" in 
 the beauty of the scenery. In Innsbruck Nature 
 reigns supreme : there is no getting away from her 
 one cannot ignore her. Maria Theresienstrasse 
 itself, the Bond Street of the Tyrolean metropolis, 
 
 243
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 appears blocked at its northern end by a vast wall 
 of mountain. One has but to raise one's eyes, as 
 one walks along its thronged pavement, to roam in 
 spirit on the snowy steeps, to hear the whistle of 
 the startled chamois, to pluck the star-like edelweiss 
 from its stem. 
 
 The town, with its many relics of mediaeval times, 
 is a happy hunting-ground for the antiquary and 
 the disciple of Art. Among its numerous interest- 
 ing features, none surpasses the old Franciscan 
 church, or Hofkirche built between the years 
 1553-63, by the then Romischer Konig (who was 
 afterwards the Emperor Ferdinand I.), in memory 
 of his grandfather, the Emperor Maximilian I. 
 The world-famed tomb of Maximilian, with a statue 
 of the Emperor and the figures of the four cardinal 
 virtues on its summit, and the beautiful marble 
 panels that adorn its sides, stands in the centre of 
 the church. On each side of the nave is a row of 
 colossal bronze statues, twenty-eight in all, origin- 
 ally designed as torch-bearers. These all represent 
 historical characters the heroes of the world of 
 Knighthood a fitting tribute to the memory of 
 "the last Knight," as the great Emperor Maximilian 
 was called. Among the statues, two Arthur of 
 England and Theoderic of Goth stand out pro- 
 minently for their beauty of design and delicacy of 
 finish. 
 
 244
 
 INNSBRUCK 
 
 There is something in that figure of Arthur that 
 brings a thrill of pride to the heart of every true 
 Englishman. A few bloodless individuals there 
 may be, in whose idea patriotism is a thing to be 
 scouted, and who seem to take a delight in attempt- 
 ing to belittle their native land ; but he who can 
 gaze unmoved on the bold, dauntless bearing of his 
 countryman, who can read the simple inscription, 
 " Arthur of England," beneath the noble figure, 
 without holding his head higher for the mere fact 
 that he too is an Englishman, is unworthy of the 
 name he bears ! 
 
 On the left-hand side of the great door of the 
 church is the tomb of Andreas Hofer, which the 
 Emperor Francis I. erected in 1834, after the body 
 of the patriot had been brought back from Mantua 
 to Innsbruck. On either side of the tomb Joachim 
 Haspinger and Joseph Speckbacher lie buried ; and 
 on the opposite wall is a plain tablet with this in- 
 scription : " From a grateful fatherland to the sons 
 who perished in the patriotic wars." 
 
 They form a great contrast, these two tombs : 
 the rich grandeur of that of the mighty mediaeval 
 Emperor, and the stern simplicity of that of the 
 peasant hero. And yet the two men are bound 
 together by eternal links of sympathy and similarity 
 of purpose. The same love of the mountain land 
 dominated both ; the chivalric dreams of Maxi- 
 
 249 N
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 milian, the ashes of the old feudal system, that, 
 to all intents and purposes, died with " the last 
 Knight," were revived in the person of the village 
 landlord in the rough man who was found ready 
 and willing to stake all for the sake of his country 
 and his master. 
 
 The memory of "Kaiser Max" will be always 
 dear to the sport-loving Tyrolese, and indeed to 
 sportsmen in general. The cross-bow and the 
 javelin were the weapons of this Nimrod of the 
 middle ages ; and with the former, we are told, he 
 could bring down a chamois at over 200 yards. 
 
 Every one who has visited the Tyrol has probably 
 had the Martinswand pointed out to them, that 
 frowning perpendicular wall of rock where Maxi- 
 milian almost lost his life. Advancing along a narrow 
 ledge, the Emperor at length found himself unable to 
 either proceed or retreat ; and the spikes of his stei- 
 geisen having broken one by one, death from starva- 
 tion stared him in the face. Popular legend relates 
 that an angel from heaven finally rescued the 
 " Kaiser Max " ; but " the angel " appears to have 
 existed in the person of a daring chamois-hunter, 
 Oswald Zips by name, with whom the Emperor at 
 length accomplished the almost miraculous descent, 
 and whose salutation, when he saw Maximilian's 
 position, of " Hollo ! What dost thou here ? " has 
 been handed down to posterity. 
 
 250
 
 ARTHUR OF ENGLAND.
 
 INNSBRUCK 
 
 Innsbruck possesses several excellent hotels ; and, 
 of these, the Hotel Europe, which boasts the 
 superior attractions of an " American Bar," where 
 a beautiful young lady, who speaks English, dis- 
 penses bad whisky and worse soda-water to the 
 thirsty Britisher, is perhaps the best. At this hotel 
 we dined on our last evening in the Tyrol a 
 dinner of many courses, with two white-tied, 
 swallow-tail-coated waiters to minister to our wants. 
 It is all very well to talk of the delights of civiliza- 
 tion, but I think we should all have preferred to 
 have been back again in the Zillergrund in our 
 little hut, with its cramped accommodation and 
 
 simple fare. I know I should ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Are there any two words that are harder to say 
 than "Good-bye"? Is anything harder than to 
 bid farewell to those we love, to tried and trusty 
 friends who have stood by us in sunshine and 
 shadow, in failure and success, in difficulties and 
 danger may be ? And this life of ours seems to 
 consist of nothing but an endless succession of 
 "Good-byes!" 
 
 " We are all travellers in what John Bunyan calls 
 the wilderness of this world . . . and the best 
 that we find in our travels is an honest friend. He 
 is a fortunate voyager who finds many. We travel 
 indeed to find them. They are the end and the 
 
 253
 
 
 
 ON PLAIN AND PEAK 
 
 reward of life. They keep us worthy of ourselves; 
 and when we are alone, we are only nearer to 
 the absent." 
 
 And with these words I end my little volume. 
 To you, my friends to you who have been the 
 companions of my wanderings I write these last 
 lines. You, at least, will take my meaning. 
 Perchance, in these sketches poor though they 
 be you may catch one ray of a Bohemian sunset 
 may breathe again a draught of pure, clear air from 
 the snow-clad mountains of Tyrol ! If so, I shall 
 be well content. 
 
 
 
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