THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE MAMMALS OF GREAT BRITAIN 
 AND IRELAND. 3 vols. 4to. 18 i8s. 
 net. 
 
 THE WILDFOWLER IN SCOTLAND. 
 4to. 3U. 6d. net. 
 
 THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE 
 BRITISH SURFACE-FEEDING 
 DUCKS. 4to. 6 6s. net. 
 
 BRITISH DIVING DUCKS. 2 vols. 4 to. 
 ,12 i2s. net. 
 
 NEWFOUNDLAND AND ITS UNTROD- 
 DEN WAYS. 8vo. 22s. 6d. net. 
 
 RHODODENDRONS. 4to. 8 8s. net. 
 
 LIFE OF FREDERICK COURTENAY 
 SELOUS, D.S.O. 8vo. 2U. net. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN & CO. 
 LONDON, NBW YORK, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, & MADRAS.
 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
 
 WANDERINGS AND 
 MEMORIES 
 
 BY 
 
 J. G. MILLAIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'A BREATH FROM THE VELDT," "BRITISH DIVING DUCKS," "THE MAMMALS OF 
 GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND," "NEWFOUNDLAND AND ITS UNTRODDEN 
 
 WAYS," "THE.LIFE OF F. c. SELOUS, D.S.O.," ETC. 
 
 WITH 4 COLLOTYPE PLATES AND n OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 
 FROM AUTHOR'S DRAWINGS AND PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN AND GO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 
 FOURTH AVENUE & 30rH STREET, NEW YORK 
 BOMBAY, CALCUTTA, AND MADBAS 
 
 1919
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 THIS book describes incidents of my own life 
 and in the lives of others I have known; travels 
 in search of big game and Natural History; 
 letters of strange interest by all kinds of men 
 living in many lands; sidelights on the Great 
 War, in fact a conglomeration of anything in life 
 that might prove of interest to men and women who 
 move about and do things a little out of the ordinary 
 ruck. They have been set down rather as the 
 spirit moved me to write, and if somewhat disjointed, 
 I trust they will appeal to other rovers like myself. 
 If variety is the spice of life, perhaps even such 
 tales as these may find their readers amongst those 
 who have followed the open road. 
 
 J. G. MILLAIS. 
 
 Comptori's Brow, Horsham. 
 July 1919. 
 
 863815
 
 CONTENTS 
 CHAPTER I PAQS 
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG ....... 1 
 
 My first shot Disastrous results The catapult A weapon 
 of precision Early experiences Begin my ornithological 
 collection Marlborough days Always in trouble 
 Misunderstood "Dicky" Richardson's generosity The 
 " Viper " Clark incident My House Master's unfair- 
 ness Pat Drury How I outwitted him School and 
 town boys' enmity A duel with Dixon A battle royal 
 Temporary success A disastrous ending A final shot 
 Reginald Cholmondely Hia collections Happy days at 
 Condover The " tame " roebuck John Gould The 
 six-wired Bird of Paradise Gould's bad temper His 
 magnanimity Mark Twain Sharp the gamekeeper The 
 death of the greyhounds Methods of poaching hares 
 Early bicycles My first gun Wanderings by the sea 
 Three times round the Scottish coasts " Jet," my dog 
 A rough life Methods of hunting Loch Leven Shooting 
 and fishing there First visit to the Orkneys George 
 Jeffery The great snowstorm of January 1886 Snow- 
 bound in Thurso Capture of rare gulls How England 
 won the Rugby football match of 1886 Days in Orkney 
 Trout fishing Johnny Lyon's wonderful trout Stalking 
 Grey Mullet Sir William Harcourt His caution The 
 incident of the Black-throated Diver Bird-collecting and 
 its difficulties The Curlew Sandpiper Bad luck. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES IN SHOOTING ... 31 
 
 The first ejector guns The three roebucks The de- 
 struction of New Mill My guns destroyed John White- 
 ford's plucky act My father's common-sense Shooting 
 in the Tay Estuary A dangerous place The risks of 
 punt-shooting Six seasons on the Northern Firths 
 Nearly drowned in the Eden Estuary A wonderful 
 escape The big gun bursts Hugh Smith Woodcock 
 hunting in August Five Woodcock killed from one spot 
 Unusual right and left shots Curious shots A big day at 
 Woodcock Do Woodcock carry their young? P. D. 
 Malloch His skill as a fisherman My first commission 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Henry Seebohm gives me work Visit to Western America 
 Cramming at "James's " Join the Seaforth Highlanders 
 Colonel Cumberland Visit to the Pamirs prohibited 
 Game Birds and Shooting Sketches a success Leave the 
 Army and go to South Africa Variety the spice of life 
 The profits of scientific literature. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 TRAVELS IN ICELAND, 1889 50 
 
 The Dock Strike Captain Brown A curious voyage 
 Reach Iceland Voyage round the North coast 
 Thorgrimmer Gudmansen Emigrants Fine scenery 
 A foreign " sportsman " Reach Akuyreri Bird life 
 Iceland ponies Their endurance Start for Myvatn 
 Godafoss The Whimbrel The big trout of the Skalfandi 
 Laxa A plague of flies Wonderful fishing The Harle- 
 quin Duck Abundance of ducks Reach Myvatn. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 TRAVELS IN ICELAND, 1889 ...... 70 
 
 The Icelanders A well-educated people Early history 
 Now deserting the island for America Love of the 
 ancient sagas Difficulties with the owners of the farm 
 Tent life Flies attack the ponies An ornithologist's 
 paradise Predatory habits of Skuas Falcon and Sea- 
 Eagle Wild Reindeer Two fine bucks seen Dettifoss 
 the magnificent Children eating flies Tameness of the 
 Red-necked Phalarope The ponies run away The dan- 
 gers of river-crossing The Fiskivatn Fine sport Kill 
 a ten-pounder on the fly Stalk two Wild Swans The 
 caves of Kalmanstunga Get amongst quicksands A bad 
 crossing Shoot two Black-Tailed Godwits The Sorg and 
 its fish A fine basket of char Snowy Owl hunting fish 
 by day Travel in Iceland Leave for the Faroes The 
 Faroese and their mode of life Herr Muller No roads 
 The national dance Return to Scotland. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN .... 104 
 
 My father and his tastes Hia love of music and bright 
 people Gladstone Ignorance of Nature amongst poets 
 Kipling an exception Theodore Roosevelt His early 
 life and ambitions Hia wonderful memory First meeting 
 with Roosevelt As a naturalist Sometimes dogmatic 
 Hia versatility Efforts to raise a Volunteer Corps in the 
 Great War President Wilson's inconsistency An un- 
 lucky thirteen dinner Psychic Force Visit to a medium
 
 CONTENTS ix 
 
 1MB 
 
 A strange but true prophecy Philip Ryan A bad night 
 at Long Harbour The woman's presence The story of 
 Ryan's wife Death of Philip Ryan Letter from a 
 Micmac Indian Strange letter from a Russian girl 
 The Ducks of the World The difficulties of the under- 
 taking Gerald Legge Letter from the Kalahari desert 
 Lord William Percy on American ducks. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN, PIONEER AND ELEPHANT HUNTER . 138 
 
 Residence in Natal Settles in Swaziland The Zulu War 
 Ubandeni thinks the Zulus impregnable Macleod's 
 courage Ubandeni's common-sense Neumann returns to 
 Natal Hunting on the Sabi and Limpopo Rivers Goes 
 to Mombasa Expedition to establish route to the Victoria 
 Nyanza Nearly speared by a Masai Railway route dis- 
 covered Becomes a magistrate in Zululand Returns to 
 Mombasa First big expedition into the interior after 
 elephants Reaches Mount Kenia Shoots a wonderful 
 rhinoceros Kills eleven elephants in one day Makes 
 head camp at El Bogoi Visits Lake Rudolph Some 
 great tuskers Shebane eaten by a crocodile Neumann 
 nearly killed by a cow elephant Shoots three elephants 
 with exceptional tusks Returns to Mombasa Neumann's 
 shy disposition but lovable nature Goes to South Africa 
 to take part in the second Boer War Joins Bethune's 
 mounted infantry Nearly killed at Spion Kop Life in 
 camp at Mount Kenia Journey up the Tana Elephant 
 hunting and its dangers The wonderful Rigby rifle 
 Kills a lion Returns to Mombasa Expedition of 1903 
 Neumann on certain types of big-game hunters and big- 
 game photography Elephant tusks taken in 1904 
 Some adventuresCondition of the ivory trade A bar to 
 his future hunting A dismal outlook Arrival in England 
 in 1906 His death Influence with the natives One of 
 England's best pioneers Ignored as usual TTia friends the 
 Jacksons Noomi Jackson The strange appearance of 
 Neumann after death Letter of Mrs. Jackson Selous 
 on reappearance after death Visit of the author and 
 Macleod to the Jacksons Opinion of the Society of 
 Psychical Research. 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 169 
 
 Fishermen and their yarns Stories true and fictitious 
 Andrew Lang on fishing The personal note in sport 
 Luck The advantages of local experience The tyro's 
 chance Big days Skill with prawn and minnow Captain 
 Campbell Big fish very rare My father's early experi-
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 MM 
 
 ences Murthly Stobhall He kills a forty-four-pounder 
 Loses a sixty-pounder The Thistlebrig stream A 
 difficult cast Eels-brig stream A gallant fish of 36 Ibs. 
 A great day Capture a forty-six -pounder Lose a big 
 fish in the Beauly Kilbary fishingSweeny's dishonesty 
 and death A day at Murthly Hook a large fish Follow 
 him into the river Nearly broken A long struggle The 
 fish takes us to Meiklour A six hours' fight. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY, 1913 191 
 
 Long trek to the Amala River Some sport on the way An 
 old trouble William Judd Quantities of game Mabruki 
 Abundance of antelopes A hunter's paradise Nine 
 thousand head of game counted Shoot a bull wildebeest 
 A wonderful head seen Night in camp Lions now 
 nocturnal The African dawn Early risers Bird life 
 in forest plain and river edges Record heads Find 
 three lionesses Bring two to bay My companions 
 arrive A lively battle Death of the lions Good 
 behaviour of gun-bearers Mabruki's hopes of better 
 vision Shoot a topi and a zebra Attacked by driver 
 ants The Masai The best of game preservers Their 
 method of killing lions Mode of life The Masai reserves 
 The bad faith of Governments Masai Kraals The 
 Ndorobo Fine pallah Their abundance Pallah 
 hunting Shoot a good ram Kill a Sing-Sing bull 
 Stalking game Kill another wildebeest bull Pullar's 
 adventure with the lions Africa's Wonderland A happy 
 life The advantage of physical and mental activity. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS, 1915 221 
 
 The Lofodens The sinking of the India German and 
 Norwegian spies Arrival at Solvaer The Raftsund 
 The life of the native Emil Ericksen The island of 
 Lango Bird-life Hunting Golden-eyes The Goosander 
 in eclipse plumage Its rarity and shyness Success at 
 last Shoot two more specimens Ripa shooting Sea- 
 trout fishing The German spy system Their errors 
 Norwegian fears of Germany The feebleness of the Govern- 
 ment Shipping disasters that were avoidable We are 
 followed by spies Subsequent action of German spies 
 Clever up to a certain point Their stupidity We avoid 
 a trap Impudent action of a German U-boat commander 
 He gets the wrong man.
 
 CONTENTS xi 
 
 CHAPTER X P AOT 
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE, 1916 238 
 
 Hammerfest Its isolated situation A great fishing port 
 German interests Our blockade ineffectual The 
 attitude of Norway in the Great War Mainly pro- 
 German Pre-war German push and activity Our feeble 
 Foreign Office policy A vile climate The fishermen 
 and their work -Seal and walrus hunters Some habits of 
 the walrus The Arctic spring and coming of the birds 
 Sea-eagles and their habits Ravens and magpies Hard 
 work and no friends The difficulties of sending messages 
 The Norwegians Their good points The selfishness of 
 the North A changing race Life in a fishing village The 
 Norseman's love of explosions A narrow escape The 
 triumph of summer Spring floral beauty Dazzling sun- 
 sets My friend E. The Lapps Their nomadic life 
 Visit to a reindeer camp The Finns The Prince of 
 Monaco Goes flea-hunting Visit to the island of Rolfso 
 Search the mountains for reindeer A long walk Kill 
 two fine stags Return to fetch the carcases Reindeer 
 poachers The arrival of the U-boats My information 
 disbelieved Torpedoing of ships begins Activities of the 
 German submarines A rough seaman Our little dis- 
 agreement The Captain goes down the stairs German 
 agent's anxiety as to my future movements A Bergen 
 spy The last voyage of the Venus The adventures of 
 the Scottish lady A bad night Arrival in Newcastle. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FEALAR, 1918 HIGHLAND DEER-STALKING . . . 277 
 
 The forest of Fealar Stalking in war time The charm 
 of hunting alone A difficult stalk and a long shot Unsuc- 
 cessful stalk in the Tarf valley Glen Mohr Foiled by 
 mist Kill a good ten-pointer Shoot a fine eleven -pointer 
 A lucky shot at a royal Bad weather A difficult stalk 
 in the mist Kill two fine stags Varying luck on the 
 Mar March Two successful stalks Lose a good stag in the 
 mist An abundance of deer Kill a big eleven-pointer 
 An interesting crawl The end of the season.
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 COLLOTYPE PLATES 
 
 FROM DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Facing pagt 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING (see p. 142) . . Fr<mtitpiece 
 
 TWO ANGEY LIONESSES: AMALA RIVER .... 192 
 
 THE MOST NORTHERLY POINT IN EUROPE . . . 272 
 
 THE BEST-HORNED STAG SELDOM GETS THE HINDS . 288 
 
 OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 FROM DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR AND FROM 
 PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 STUDY OF A WAPITI 16 
 
 BREAKING IN AND BRANDING A WILD BRONCHO . . 32 
 
 A GROUSE DRIVE IN SCOTLAND 48 
 
 BIRD LIFE ON THE COAST OF ICELAND .... 54 
 
 CROSSING THE FJORD AT AKUYRERI .... 58 
 
 THIRTY TROUT CAUGHT IN THE SKALFANDI LAXA, 175 LBS. 64 
 
 ICELAND PONIES 80 
 
 A DAY'S SPORT AT FISKIVATN (THE LARGEST TROUT 
 
 WEIGHED 10 LBS.) . . . ... .86 
 
 A FAROE ISLANDER IN NATIONAL COSTUME . . . 102 
 
 A GOOD DAY'S SALMON-FISHING ON THE MURTHLY WATER, 
 RIVER TAY (15 FISH, 2 RODS, OCT. 9, 1889. AVERAGE 
 WEIGHT, 21 LBS.) 176 
 
 ALASKAN MOOSE-HEAD ORNAMENTED WITH HUNTING 
 
 SCENES . 224
 
 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 
 
 ONE autumn day in 1871 a little boy of six stood 
 in a garden in Scotland, lost in contemplation of 
 an old muzzle-loading gun leaning against a hedge. 
 Duncan the gardener had left it there loaded, of 
 course, and at full cock and gone to his dinner. 
 The small man was torn with doubts and fears. 
 Being convinced of the inefficiency of a crude 
 catapult he had purchased at old Thomas Lee's 
 shop in George Street, Perth; now he saw before 
 him visions of real slaughter amongst the sparrows 
 sitting amongst the pea-sticks, for he was a hunter 
 by instinct. Had he not seen Duncan fire off that 
 terrible weapon without suffering personal damage ? 
 He wanted to handle real dead game shot by him- 
 self, and the temptation proved irresistible, although 
 he knew sore limbs and a possible thrashing for 
 touching loaded firearms might ensue. 
 
 After balancing the gun on a spade-handle and 
 pulling both triggers at once, he knew of nothing 
 but stars for a moment, and then found himself 
 lying on his back with a damaged arm and singing 
 head. He made certain, too, his jaw was broken. 
 Worst of all, there was no game to retrieve. Where-
 
 2 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 fore then and there he made a vow that all the 
 blandishments and temptations in the world could 
 not induce him to fire a gun again in his lifetime. 
 The consequences were too fearful, and how Duncan 
 had the strength and courage to do it he could not 
 understand. Duncan, indeed, must be a Hercules 
 at least, and therefore entitled to intense respect. 
 
 After this unfortunate episode, the desire to 
 possess specimens of birds being undiminished, I 
 resolved to study and achieve some skill with that 
 much misunderstood little weapon, the catapult, 
 as it seemed to offer certain possibilities of being 
 made fairly accurate, and could not, at any rate, 
 mangle its user in the same way as firearms. I 
 practised assiduously, but it was not until I wenf 
 to Marlborough, at the age of eleven, that another 
 boy, named " Viper " Clark, who was a splendid 
 shot, initiated me into the mysteries of the small, 
 square " tweaker " elastic how to put on the bag 
 and make a hard fork from privet, properly burnt 
 in the flame of a candle. He also instructed me in 
 several important items, such as weight of shot 
 according to size of elastic, shape and use of chamois- 
 leather bag, how to adjust rubber to fork and bag 
 to avoid fraying in use, and, most important of 
 all, how to keep elastic at the right temperature. 
 All these and other details are essential to the boy 
 who would achieve success with the insignificant 
 little " tweaker," and I worked so hard to improve 
 my shooting being then perfectly absorbed both 
 in the hunting and preservation of my specimens 
 that I soon surpassed my master, and became the 
 leader of a gang of what my tutors described as 
 " undisciplined young reprobates, who spent their
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 3 
 
 time fighting with town boys or wandering aimlessly 
 in the forest." 
 
 In consequence, although my ornithological col- 
 lection benefited by over two hundred species of 
 British birds, the four years spent at Marlborough 
 were marked by constant trouble and disgrace, 
 although personally I never felt I was doing any- 
 thing to be ashamed of. I was the only boy who 
 ever went through Marlborough and was birched 
 by the Head Master four times (all for catapulting) 
 without being expeUed. Boys were warned by 
 their parents against me as being a bad character, 
 and at that time my very harmless offence was 
 bracketed in the category of the worst crimes. At 
 Eton and other schools no one thinks much of a 
 " swishing," but at Marlborough, between the years 
 1878-1881, a boy swished by the Head Master was 
 considered to be quite beyond the pale, and if the 
 punishment was repeated he was usually expelled 
 with ignominy. No master at that time seemed to 
 have the faintest notion that a boy could be so 
 absorbed in the collection of specimens of natural 
 history that he would take all risks, both of corporal 
 punishment and lines (which were worse), as well 
 as being held up to disgrace, for the sake of his 
 hobby. With me the obsession was like that of a 
 dog who has killed a sheep, there was no cure, so 
 I went through some of the happiest as well as the 
 bitterest times of my life under a cloud of universal 
 reprobation. 
 
 Only " Dicky " Richardson, the master of the 
 lower school, used to be interested in the sketches 
 I did in the forest. When he left Marlborough as 
 an old man a few years ago, his pupils subscribed
 
 4 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 a gift of 100 so that he might buy any present he 
 fancied, and thus he wrote to me : " The boys 
 have given me 100 to do with as I like, and the 
 first thing I shall do with it is to buy all your books 
 and present them to the school library. I always 
 believed in you, and knew you would make good." 
 That was very nice of him, but somehow I wish he 
 had said that to me when I was young and wanted 
 some encouragement and help. It would have 
 meant so much. 
 
 Though it is probable that some of the punish- 
 ments were well deserved, it was not always the 
 case. The severest imposition I received was for 
 an act committed by another boy. One day, coming 
 off the playing-fields, I met my friend " Viper," 
 and he showed me a long-range catapult he had just 
 made, and to exhibit its accuracy he fired three shots 
 at a hen walking in Lynes' farmyard, about eighty 
 yards away. The aim of the third was so good that 
 it took the unfortunate bird in the head and rolled 
 it over in the throes of death. At this moment one 
 of Lynes' men appeared on the scene, and grasping 
 the situation, at once ran up the hill towards us. 
 The correct policy would have been to have stood 
 our ground, but " Viper," being seized with panic, 
 ran for the Porter's Lodge. I accompanied him. 
 At the very moment that my friend placed his 
 catapult and shot under some cushions, the Porter 
 came out, and Lynes' man arriving in hot haste 
 on the scene, we were fairly caught. 
 
 Next day, much to the disgust of my House 
 Master, F. E. Thompson, we were hailed before the 
 Head Master, the Rev. G. C. Bell, to whom " Viper " 
 honourably admitted the offence, and explained
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 5 
 
 that I had been merely a spectator, and in no way 
 connected with the death of the hen. After giving 
 me a lecture, the "Head" "swished" Viper and 
 acquitted me. Not so my House Master, who made 
 me come in every afternoon of the half-holidays 
 during the whole of the summer term and write out 
 Milton's " Paradise Lost " twice over. Seeing that 
 the Head Master had absolved me from blame, I 
 thought it was a most unfair and even inhuman 
 punishment, and ever afterwards I bore a grudge 
 against " Jick " and loathed Milton and all his 
 works. 
 
 I had many adventures in the course of my 
 wanderings in the forest of Savernake and " out of 
 bounds " up and down the River Kennet. The 
 following incident is one that always remains in my 
 mind, as it afforded myself and many other boys 
 much amusement. 
 
 At all public schools there is always a master 
 who does not play games, and is chiefly concerned 
 in doing police work in the neighbouring country, 
 accompanied by boys who act as his toadies and 
 spies. His object is to arrest marauders like myself, 
 who are ever breaking out of bounds and perform- 
 ing illegal acts contrary to school discipline. Though 
 all my time was spent within his sphere of influence, 
 I had always managed to outwit " Pat " Drury 
 and his satellites, and, though arrested by others, 
 he had so far failed to catch me flagrante delicto. 
 
 One summer afternoon I was busily pursuing a 
 flock of Longtailed Tits in the forest of Savernake, 
 being then about two hundred yards from the edge 
 of the forest, and was in the act of shooting, when, 
 happening to glance around, I saw " Pat " ad vane-
 
 6 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 ing towards me with rapid strides. It was the work 
 of a moment to put my cap over my face and run 
 for the forest edge, where there was a high beech- 
 tree, which I had once been up for a Stock Dove's 
 nest. I had a good start, and reached this tree 
 some two hundred yards ahead of my pursuer. 
 Being then a good climber, and guessing that Pat 
 was a poor one, it was not long before I was sixty 
 feet up, and well concealed amidst the leafy branches. 
 " Pat " paused at the foot of the tree and called 
 out 
 
 " Come down at once, boy, I know who you are." 
 
 For a moment I hesitated, and then, as he had 
 not mentioned my name, I remained perdu. 
 
 After a time he tried blandishments and then 
 threats, even giving my name, but in such a doubt- 
 ful manner that I knew he was not certain. 
 Accordingly I remained perfectly quiet. Pat sat at 
 the foot of the tree for an hour, and then got up 
 and marched off down the hill to where a stile 
 intercepted some fields leading to the railway line, 
 which he would have to cross in going to the 
 school. 
 
 Now from my elevated perch I had a very clear 
 view of the line, and as I did not see him cross it, I 
 concluded he had hidden himself somewhere near 
 the stile and was waiting for me to fall into his 
 clutches. Another half an hour went by, when 
 suddenly I saw his figure outlined against the sky 
 crossing the railway between two trucks. 
 
 A brilliant idea then seized me. Supposing I 
 could reach the school ahead of " Pat," I could 
 prove an alibi. It was possible but not probable, 
 but I resolved to try it by a way I knew.
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 7 
 
 About a quarter of a mile above the Kennet 
 Bridge, the main road to the school, and above 
 " Treacle Bolly " (a long line of trees), was a narrow 
 part of the river which it was possible to ford in 
 summer. This point lay amidst water meadows 
 almost opposite the school chapel, whose gates 
 were kept locked. The great obstacle to entering 
 the school by this route was the high and spiked 
 palings, about eleven feet high, round the school 
 quadrangle. I had never been over them, and 
 doubted my ability to climb them, but resolved to 
 try as my only chance. 
 
 Rapidly descending the beech, I ran all the way 
 down the chalk hills, avoided the Kennet Bridge, 
 where Pat might still be waiting, raced through 
 " Treacle Bolly," and pulling off my trousers, socks 
 and boots, waded the river, which took me to the 
 armpits. Once on the other side, I redressed and 
 stuffed my shirt, which had, of course, become 
 soaked, into my trousers, and then ran across the 
 meadows till I reached the high palings of the school 
 quadrangle. Their height and formidable appear- 
 ance at first appalled me, but it had to be done. 
 
 These iron palings, with long spikes on the top, 
 were more or less hidden from view from the school 
 side by a row of lime-trees, so, although the court- 
 yard was crowded it was " call " time only a few 
 boys saw my ineffectual efforts to climb the rail- 
 ings. I got to the top, and managed to get one leg 
 over, when, slipping on the spikes, one of them went 
 clean through my coat and held me fast. Had it 
 not been for the help of two good Samaritans, who 
 came to the rescue and released first the coat and 
 then myself, I should have been forced to call for
 
 8 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 help, and that would have made a scene, and 
 possibly called the attention of some meddlesome 
 Sixth Form boy or a master. 
 
 Once in safety I found one of my friends, and 
 instructed him to watch the main road approach 
 to the Porter's Lodge and to tell of the advent of 
 " Pat " Drury. Scarce a minute elapsed when he 
 announced the coming of the master, so, taking my 
 friend's arm, we strolled out, and as we passed him 
 took off our caps in the approved fashion. 
 
 " Pat " stood perfectly still in the middle of the 
 road staring at me. He was too much astonished 
 even to say a word. I had proved an alibi. 
 
 The result of this little adventure, of course, 
 became school gossip, and it was not long before 
 " Pat " heard how he had been outwitted. No 
 master likes being made fun of, and, though the boys 
 enjoyed the joke, the subject thereof swore he 
 would lay himself out to catch me, and how he 
 eventually succeeded is another story. 
 
 As all who have been at public schools know, 
 there is always a certain rivalry and even enmity 
 between the boys of the school and those of the 
 town. Marlborough was not different from other 
 places. There were groups of rough boys who 
 liked to get up a fight on some pretext, and take 
 what they considered some of the conceit out of 
 the boys of the college. Fights of any magnitude 
 were rare, but there was one small gang, led by a 
 big red-haired boy named Dixon, who used stones 
 and catapults, and who never failed to attack my 
 little band whenever opportunity offered. 
 
 Dixon was my arch-enemy, and was a good shot. 
 I had had two single-handed duels with him. In
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 9 
 
 the first I got the worst of it, having run out of 
 ammunition. He then caught me, and being a 
 much bigger and stronger boy, gave me a good 
 thrashing. Some months afterwards we met again 
 one day in " Treacle Bolly " and had a battle royal, 
 each from behind a tree at a distance of about 
 twenty-five yards. He hit me twice, and then, as 
 he raised his right hand to shoot, I got him exactly 
 right on the knuckles, when he dropped his catapult 
 and fairly howled. Then he ran, and I got him 
 twice more before he was out of shot. His catapult 
 I still have as a trophy of the chase. 
 
 The end of my days at Marlborough had arrived, 
 and I was to leave the school, and was not sorry. 
 Having escaped detection for a whole year, my 
 supposititious virtue resulted in an invitation to 
 breakfast with the Head Master, " Ullage," 1 a great 
 honour. He was very kind, and hoped I would now 
 lead a "new" life, and had given up catapulting; 
 and I remember his Wiltshire sausages were of the 
 best. That afternoon my chosen band, Miller, 2 
 Mangles, Cayley, 3 and two others, whose names I 
 forget, went for a grand final foray in the forest. 
 We were all well armed and had plenty of shot. It 
 had been a great day, and we had each killed several 
 birds and were in high spirits as we descended the 
 last hill of the downs near Kennet Bridge. At this 
 
 1 " Ullage " was the school nickname for the Very Reverend 
 Canon Bell. One day he asked the Sixth Form the meaning 
 of the word " ullage," and no one could answer him. So he 
 took down a dictionary and read out with solemnity, " Ullage 
 all filth." That name stuck to him all his years at Marl- 
 borough. He was a good, kind man, and we all respected 
 him. 
 
 2 Captain Miller, the famous polo player. 
 
 3 Arthur Cayley, a well-known angler and sportsman.
 
 10 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 moment a band of town boys emerged from the foot 
 of the hill and advanced towards us. We were in 
 no mood for fighting. Each group passed the other 
 eyeing one another like two dogs that remember 
 former battles. 
 
 Dixon made some sneering remark, but, as all 
 our weapons were ready and loaded, he passed on. 
 It was, however, only the lull before the storm. 
 
 The critical moment seemed to have passed, 
 when a severe blow and a stinging sensation on the 
 inside of my right leg made me almost drop to 
 the ground. One of the town boys had hit me with 
 a small stone, and I still carry the mark of the cut. 
 Arthur Cayley whipped round and got to work at 
 once, and in less than a minute we were all in the 
 thick of as fierce a fight with shot and stones as I 
 ever remember. Our opponents mustered about 
 twenty. They had Dixon, who was a good shot, 
 and about seven others with large catapults, the 
 rest using stones, whilst our five were all picked 
 shots using small " tweakers," which up to thirty 
 yards have a considerable accuracy. Singling out 
 Dixon, whom I knew was the leader and the most 
 dangerous man, in the first minute I hit him 
 in the face. Owing to this success we advanced, 
 and the faint-hearted ones soon broke and ran, 
 shortly afterwards followed by the rest. 
 
 Perhaps we ought to have been satisfied at this 
 success, but our blood was up, and we chased the 
 enemy right up over the hill and across the line, 
 where they took up a formidable position on a long 
 stone-heap lying parallel with the railway, whilst 
 we in turn got cover from some trucks. An 
 indecisive engagement then ensued for some ten
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 11 
 
 minutes, when, on the advent of a small urchin from 
 the town, we retired into a " loose box," and gave 
 the boy sixpence to go across the no man's land 
 and say we had retired. 
 
 A great surprise attack must be the coup de grace, 
 and how eagerly we watched the " Townees " leave 
 their fortifications and come across to our lately 
 occupied trenches ! As they stooped to pass through 
 the trucks we leaped out upon them, and then the 
 squeals of pain, the result of shots at close range, 
 were only broken by a rush of newcomers in the 
 shape of " Pat " Drury and his satellites. We were 
 fairly caught. A sad ending indeed to a great 
 day. 
 
 Next morning we stood in a line before the 
 " Head," and I could not help thinking how different 
 were the circumstances of the moment to those of 
 the previous day. 
 
 The Rev. G. C. Bell gave us the usual homily on 
 the dastardly nature of our offence, adding 
 
 " As for you, Millais, I fear you are quite incor- 
 rigible and will come to a bad end. What on earth 
 do you do it for ? " 
 
 I could only hang my head, but blurted out 
 
 " For scientific purposes, sir." 
 
 "Good Heavens, boy!" he gasped; "do you 
 mean to say that catapulting small (sic) boys in the 
 region of the er er posterior can be done for the 
 sake of science ? " 
 
 Then followed the usual harrowing scene, in 
 which the Head Master, two strong Sixth Form 
 boys, a birch and a struggling victim played their 
 parts. " Ullage " was always supposed to be very 
 " slack " and half asleep, but I know, having tested
 
 12 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 them four times, that there was nothing the matter 
 with his muscles. 
 
 A few minutes later Arthur Cayley and I strolled 
 slowly through the peaceful grounds that surround 
 the semi-sacred precincts of the Head Master's house 
 at the back of the college. Although sore we were 
 young and cheerful, and the prospect of leaving the 
 birch at a remote distance in the future was very 
 pleasant. By this time I knew the call of nearly 
 every small British land bird, and could stand in 
 a wood or marsh and recognise all the different 
 species. It was not surprising, therefore, that as 
 we walked slowly along I was suddenly brought to a 
 standstill by the cry of a bird I had never heard 
 before. What was it? That I must discover at 
 once. The cry was frequently repeated, and passing 
 through the shrubbery, there was the bird sitting 
 on a willow- tree. 
 
 I had a " secret " pocket on the inside of my 
 waistcoat in which reposed my favourite " catty " 
 and a few shot. It was soon out, and at the first 
 shot there was a welcome " plunk," and the rarity 
 a female Cirl Bunting fell dead. With my 
 treasure in my pocket I made my way back to 
 Arthur Cayley, who had kept watch, and met the 
 other delinquents fresh from their chastisement. 
 They were all much interested in the " new " bird, 
 which I still treasure owing to the curious circum- 
 stances under which it was obtained. 
 
 During one of my holidays I went with my parents 
 to stay at Condover Hall in Shropshire. The owner 
 of this superb Elizabethan mansion, crowded with 
 ancient treasures, was Mr. Reginald Cholmondely. 
 He was a very brilliant and handsome man, a good
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 13 
 
 artist and sculptor and a fine shot and billiard 
 player. After the death of his wife, to whom he 
 was greatly attached, he travelled much in various 
 parts of the world, and devoted himself entirely 
 to Natural History. Condover was turned into a 
 private Zoo, and when in England all his time was 
 occupied in making collections of birds and insects. 
 His collection of exotic Lepidoptera was one of the 
 best in Europe, whilst at the time his Birds of 
 Paradise (afterwards purchased by the Duke of 
 Westminster) were unique. Owing to my interest 
 in birds he took a fancy to me, and asked my 
 parents to allow me to spend all my holidays at 
 Condover, and so, except in the autumn, when we 
 always went to Scotland, my vacations were for 
 several years passed in Shropshire. He gave me a 
 pony to ride, and allowed me to shoot whenever I 
 liked on the great estate and fish in the beautiful 
 lake of Beaumer, where the Great Crested Grebes 
 used to breed. It was a very happy time for me, 
 and Mr. Cholmondely taught me many things, 
 always treating me as if I were a man as old as 
 himself. Daily I attended to the aviary of Eastern 
 Pheasants, where there was a so-called " tame " 
 roebuck, of which I was terribly afraid, as he always 
 charged if you turned your back on him. One day 
 this vicious little animal sent me flying against the 
 fence of the enclosure, and attacked so vigorously, 
 although his horns were absent, that I had to call 
 for help. The strength of even so small an animal 
 as the roebuck is very great. 1 
 
 1 Lady MacPherson Grant of Ballindalloch was attacked 
 one day, some years ago, by a tame roebuck and very seriously 
 injured.
 
 14 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 There were Skuas, Eagle Owls, various raptorials, 
 and other creatures to feed, as well as putting fresh 
 labels with correct Latin names on all the collections 
 of Humming-Birds, Birds of Paradise and American 
 species. All this was excellent training for a young 
 naturalist. Moreover, when in London I always 
 accompanied Mr. Cholmondely when he went to 
 purchase specimens of shells, birds and insects of 
 the principal naturalists of the day, and this gave 
 me a considerable insight into the values and 
 proper methods of housing collections. 
 
 One day we went to see John Gould, the famous 
 naturalist, from whom Mr. Cholmondely had bought 
 many Humming-Birds and Birds of Paradise. He 
 had just received two specimens of the then new 
 Parrotia sexpennis, the six-wired Bird of Paradise. 
 It was a gorgeous creature, and my friend at once 
 fell in love with the specimen offered to him at 
 the stiff price of 40. I was examining the bird, 
 and the bargain was practically concluded, when I 
 innocently remarked 
 
 " Why, then, Mr. Gould, is this bird called 
 Parrotia sexpennis ? I see it has only four wires." 
 
 If a bomb had burst in the room it would scarcely 
 have created a greater sensation. Gould was lying 
 on a sofa, being a martyr to gout, but he rolled off 
 the couch and pulled the bird out of my hands and 
 threw it into the box, at the same time using 
 terrible language to his daughter to take all the 
 specimens away. The old naturalist was a man of 
 violent temper, and I had spoilt his little game, so 
 when Mr. Cholmondely told me to come away, 
 being himself convulsed with laughter, I thought I 
 had made an enemy for life. But I was quite wrong.
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 15 
 
 Next day I had a most charming letter from Gould, 
 saying that he had been much struck by my powers 
 of observation rare in one so young and hoped I 
 would call and discuss Natural History with him 
 whenever I liked. After this I went many times to 
 see him, and he always treated me as if I were an 
 equal in knowledge. 
 
 Reginald Cholmondely was a peculiar man. He 
 used to have his fits of depression, and would not 
 speak a word for days, but I was so happy hunting 
 for birds and attending to the menagerie that it did 
 not affect me. At other times he would cram his 
 house with visitors, and had a taste for brilliant 
 and interesting people. On one occasion Samuel 
 Clemens (Mark Twain) and his family came and 
 stayed for a month, and we had great times. 
 
 Mark Twain was one of the most charming men 
 who ever lived, and had a fascination for young 
 as well as older people. My sister Carrie (Lady 
 Stuart of Wortley) and I used to hang on to his arm, 
 and he would tell us funny stories about Western 
 days, as we strolled about the gardens, till we felt 
 we could never let him go. He was a brilliant con- 
 versationalist, and knew how to interest an audience 
 as few other men. With no hat on his shock head, 
 and a corn-cob pipe in his mouth, he would discourse 
 for hours on any subject, bringing into his narratives 
 that essence of kindly feeling and abundant humour 
 which characterised all his thoughts. In the even- 
 ing he would read to us chapters of The Tramp 
 Abroad, which he had just completed, and a happier 
 party than that at Condover in the autumn of 1879 
 was not to be found in England. 
 
 My principal ally at Condover was the head
 
 16 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 keeper, one Sharp, who was a good observer and a 
 most determined man. At that time poaching was 
 more in vogue than it is to-day in Shropshire, 
 Cheshire, Lancashire and Derbyshire, where huge 
 stocks of game were raised. Gangs of rough 
 fellows used to come and raid the fields and 
 woods, and fierce affrays between the keepers and 
 law-breakers were not uncommon. Sharp himself 
 was permanently lame as the result of one of these 
 battles, when a poacher had fired at him from close 
 range. 
 
 As an instance of Sharp's quick practice with 
 these gentry, I may give the following example, of 
 which I was an eye-witness. One day Sharp and 
 I with another under- keeper were ferreting and 
 shooting rabbits on the side of a sandy bank close 
 to the lake of Beaumer. A big excavation had been 
 made in the sand to recover a sulky ferret that had 
 " laid up," when Sharp suddenly raised his head 
 and uttered a quick exclamation. We looked over 
 the hedge, and there was to be seen a couple of 
 greyhounds closely pursuing a hare in the direc- 
 tion of our present position. Sharp in a low voice 
 enjoined us to keep still, and in another moment 
 the hare passed through a gap about ten yards 
 away closely followed by the two dogs. The 
 keeper raised his gun and killed both dogs dead 
 on the spot with a clean right and left. He then 
 dropped his gun, and seizing both the bodies, threw 
 them into the hole we had dug, and in a moment 
 they were covered. 
 
 I confess I was a bit horrified at the suddenness 
 of it all, but when the two owners of the dogs came 
 strolling up and asked if we had seen two grey-
 
 STUDY OF A WAPITI 
 
 From a Drawing by the Author
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 17 
 
 hounds, " which had got away from them " in 
 pursuit of a hare, Sharp, with an innocent smile, at 
 once denied any knowledge of the missing animals, 
 and even rated the men, whom he knew to be well- 
 known poachers, for allowing their dogs to stray on 
 to the squire's land. 
 
 Speaking of hare poaching, the neatest trick I 
 ever saw was the method employed by men accom- 
 panied by trained lurchers in the Eastern counties. 
 One day, cycling near Wangford, in Suffolk, I passed 
 two men on an ordinary butcher's cart. There was 
 nothing externally to show that they were not 
 butchers going their round with the usual well- 
 cart and advertising signs. We passed one another 
 at cross roads at the corner of a stubble field, when 
 something went wrong with my machine, and I 
 dismounted to adjust it. Through the quickset 
 hedge I noticed that the butchers had also halted, 
 and their movements being suspicious, I crawled 
 into the ditch and watched them unobserved. 
 
 The cart was stopped within twenty yards of a 
 large field gate, and one of the men was standing 
 up in the cart carefully surveying the landscape 
 with a pair of field-glasses. Being satisfied with 
 the outlook, he then descended to the road, and 
 with a key opened the well of the cart, from which 
 two clean-looking lurchers at once leapt to the 
 ground. The poacher, for such he was, then 
 advanced to the gate with the two dogs, leaving 
 the second man standing in the cart surveying the 
 field, where he had doubtless observed a hare in its 
 " form." 
 
 Number one then placed one dog close to the gate, 
 which was slightly opened to give easy egress on the
 
 18 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 part of the hare when it sought to escape. The 
 second dog was given an order, and galloped off 
 along the hedgerow to the far end of the field, 
 which it proceeded to quarter, until a hare was 
 started. This dog chased its quarry until it was 
 within thirty yards of the gate, and as the latter 
 " jinked " through the opening, the second dog 
 sprang out and killed it instantly. The first dog 
 then again ranged the field and moved another 
 hare to the gate. This victim was also killed in the 
 same manner. 
 
 Immediately on the death of the second hare the 
 poacher who had first released the dogs called them, 
 and they at once jumped up into the well, whilst 
 the dead hares were locked in another small box 
 fitted under the cart. 
 
 The whole operation took less than five minutes, 
 and was so cleanly and skilfully done that detec- 
 tion was scarcely possible. Even if a keeper had 
 appeared on the scene the men would doubtless 
 have whistled to the dogs and driven off at full 
 speed. 
 
 One day in 1878, when walking along the 
 Brompton Road, I noticed a sign " Bicycling taught 
 here." The prospect was alluring, so I went in, 
 and found myself in a large enclosure where 
 aspirants were pursuing their wobbly way on the 
 old wooden bone-shakers. I took four lessons, 
 and used to ride round the squares on one of these 
 hireling's monstrosities. Soon after I had learned 
 to ride two boys bet me a sovereign I could not ride 
 from Cromwell Place to Piccadilly Circus and back, 
 and of course I took the wager. One boy went to 
 the Circus to see that I got there. Bicycling on a
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 19 
 
 bone-shaker in Piccadilly in 1878 was not quite 
 so simple a matter as on an ordinary safety of 
 to-day, and I know that when I reached the massed 
 traffic opposite Bond Street I would gladly have 
 given a sovereign to have been safely home again. 
 In those days bicyclists were called " Cads on 
 Castors," and other opprobrious terms, and small 
 boys, pedestrians and cab-drivers jeered at one 
 and made rude remarks. However, everything 
 comes to an end, and not without several falls and 
 much getting off and on in the midst of traffic, I 
 did the round and got my sovereign. I soon had 
 a good high steel bicycle, and was the first boy 
 allowed to possess one at Marlborough, and so 
 started the fashion, even teaching the masters, 
 who used to let me off extra lessons in consequence. 
 
 Though never a good bicyclist, I once did the 
 Perth to Inverness ride in two days, somewhat of a 
 feat at that time, but my brother Geoff was an 
 expert, and was one of the first to undertake long 
 continental tours. He was, I believe, the first man 
 to enter Italy from France, walking his machine 
 up the St. Gothard Pass until the road ended, 
 and then with the help of a shepherd he carried it 
 fifteen miles over the snow. On reaching the first 
 village in Italy he was arrested " for disturbing the 
 public peace, and bringing into the country a 
 vehicle calculated to be a danger to pedestrians and 
 a danger to horses." After paying a fine he was 
 released. 
 
 In spite of the sad experience with Duncan's gun, 
 before mentioned, I began shooting seriously in 
 1875, and until 1879 had to rely on any old weapon 
 I could borrow or hire, until one day, firing at an
 
 20 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Oyster-Catcher on the River Tay at Dalguise, the 
 nipple of the old muzzle-loading 12-bore I had 
 hired blew out and cut my cheek rather badly. 
 My father, being a man of common sense, knew 
 well I would get a gun somehow or other, and so 
 gave me a beautiful little 20-bore, which, being 
 a full choke, was a fine killing weapon, and with it 
 I shot the greater part of my collection. By the 
 time I was thirteen I was a fairly experienced shot, 
 and commenced my long wanderings on the sea- 
 coasts of Scotland, roaming from Dunbar in the 
 south to Loch Erreboll in Sutherland. Three times 
 I walked the whole length of the east and north- 
 east coasts, often being forced, in getting from high- 
 water mark to the next public ground, to cross 
 moorlands where grouse and rabbits were abun- 
 dant. Often was I stopped by infuriated game- 
 keepers, but on learning my errand, that of the 
 pursuit of wild birds, and finding no game in my bag, 
 they were convinced of my innocence. They were 
 nearly always kind, and often walked for miles to 
 show me the nearest route to the next area of sands. 
 Scottish gamekeepers, as a rule, have some love for 
 Nature, and being interested in such a little chap 
 on his travels, took me to their houses and gave me 
 tea. Sometimes I slept on the floor or sofa, and 
 they never refused hospitality at night. I knew 
 in time every fisherman and longshoreman between 
 St. Andrews and Arbroath, which was my favourite 
 beat in autumn and winter, and was known to 
 them as " Johnny with the long gun." In 1880 I 
 purchased from an innkeeper in Perth a pup collie- 
 and-smooth-coated retriever mongrel, which was the 
 best and most courageous dog I have ever seen.
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 21 
 
 She accompanied me wherever I went for fifteen 
 years, and many a time in autumn we spent the 
 night together lying in sandhills, sleeping where we 
 could find a sheltered bank, or wakeful and watching 
 for the dawn when it was too cold to sleep. There 
 was never a sea too thunderous to enter or a bird 
 fallen at a distance that was beyond Jet's powers, 
 and being always with me, I brought her education 
 to a pitch of intelligence I do not see exhibited in 
 Field trial dogs of to-day, whose training is often 
 calculated to destroy initiative and turn them into 
 machines. 1 
 
 My father and mother were always opposed to 
 these constant absences on my part, but being 
 good-natured and broad-minded people, and having 
 regard to the fact that I always returned at some 
 time or another, they had got accustomed to my 
 perpetual wanderings, and ceased to wonder. 
 
 My usual plan was to go by train to some point 
 on the coast and send my bag forward some thirty 
 miles (since the line travels along nearly the whole 
 coast-line from Berwick to Helmsdale), and then 
 work towards it. Many a day I never reached my 
 dry clothes and extra cartridges, because I had seen 
 some rare visitor at which a shot could not be 
 obtained. Then it meant a night, and sometimes 
 two, out in the open, until the specimen was bagged 
 or lost. It was rough work for one so young, but 
 I loved the life as only a young naturalist can do, 
 and when I shot a Knot or a Turnstone in summer 
 plumage I did not envy any man in the world. 
 Another good hunting- and fishing-ground was Loch 
 
 1 I can speak from experience, as I have judged at many 
 " Field " trials.
 
 22 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Leven, where Sir Graham Montgomery used to let 
 me have his private boat once or twice in the 
 season every year, and here I got a fine series of 
 ducks and other birds. P. D. Malloch of Perth 
 generally used to go with me, and we had great 
 times on this famous loch for many years. Once 
 during a storm I shot 107 mallard and teal in one 
 day, and one August day killed over fifty duck 
 and snipe walking round the lake, when, on arriving 
 at Duncan's Corner, a breeze from the east sprang 
 up, and we took to the boat and fished. Never 
 before or since had I seen trout rise on Loch Leven 
 as they did that day. We killed forty, with four 
 over 3 Ibs., in two drifts. 
 
 In 1880 my brother Geoff and I made our first 
 journey to the Orkneys, and this was the commence- 
 ment of some twenty-two visits in summer, winter or 
 spring which I spent there wild-fowling and collecting 
 birds between the years 1880-1892. With my 
 regular boatmen, James Sutherland and John 
 Sinclair on the sea, and John Omand on the Lakes 
 of Stenness and Harray, I had grand sport for many 
 years, as at that time few visitors ever came to the 
 islands or understood their facilities for wild sport. 
 
 Good or evil fortune often turns on trifles, and 
 how England won the great Rugby match at 
 Edinburgh in January 1886 by the veriest fluke in 
 the world I can relate. 
 
 My two greatest friends at Cambridge were the 
 brothers Jeffery. The elder brother, W. L., com- 
 monly known as " Long 'Un " (he was six feet 
 five inches), was a man of extremely amiable tem- 
 perament, and being fond of music and sport of 
 all kinds, was a general favourite. He has long
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 23 
 
 since passed into the shades, to the regret of all 
 who knew him. His brother, G. L., was certainly 
 one of the finest athletes of his day, and as a for- 
 ward at Rugby unequalled in quickness on the ball 
 and tackling. He also excelled in all other games, 
 besides being the most good-natured person in the 
 world. 
 
 George (who was in the Cambridge fifteen), 
 Willie and I went to Stromness in December 1886 
 for the usual month's " flighting " and tramping 
 the moors or hunting in the seas. The day we left 
 Stromness George received a telegram asking him 
 to play for England at Edinburgh on January 8, 
 1886. As we crossed the Pentland Firth a fearful 
 snowstorm and gale, the worst I have ever seen 
 in Scotland, fell upon us from the north, and we 
 had much difficulty in making the Scrabster harbour 
 at Thurso, where, on the morning of January 4th, 
 we found eight feet of snow. After struggling 
 through the drifts, we at last reached Henderson's 
 Hotel, where we received the unwelcome news that 
 the line was blocked for many miles to the south. 
 Now at any other time young fellows like ourselves 
 would have cared nothing for an enforced visit of 
 a few days, but for George to be debarred from 
 playing in the great game was more than a joke. 
 
 I went to the rocks, where I killed my first 
 Glaucous and Iceland Gulls, and a great rarity in 
 the shape of an adult Ivory Gull, the sixth British 
 example. George and Willie discussed with fisher- 
 men the possibility of getting a sailing-boat round 
 the coast to Aberdeen, an altogether hopeless 
 proposition in the gale then still raging. 
 
 To make a long story short, a train from the south
 
 24 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 charged through the snow to Georgemas Junction, 
 and we got away with two days to spare. The 
 discomforts of that journey, which occupied forty- 
 eight hours, till we reached Edinburgh, one and a half 
 hours before the match, need not be described. 
 George had had no sleep or breakfast, but he ran 
 to the Inverleith Ground, and, much to the disgust 
 of the substitute waiting to play in his stead, donned 
 his togs and took the field with the English team. 
 
 The great match of 1886 was perhaps the most 
 closely contested fight between England and Scot- 
 land ever witnessed at Edinburgh. Both sides 
 strove hard to score, but without success, till the 
 last five minutes, when an Englishman by a great 
 effort got over the line and scored a try for England. 
 It was George who had won the match. 
 
 Between the years 1880 and 1890 I used to visit 
 my favourite hunting-grounds in the Orkneys, and 
 during this time enjoyed magnificent sport in out- 
 of-the-way places, which at that time others had 
 not discovered. Until I threw a fly on Loch Sten- 
 ness I believe no one had fished this excellent loch 
 except poachers with the " otter." One morning 
 I saw good trout rising to the natural fly at the east 
 end of the lake, and calling Johnny Lyon, my 
 regular gillie, I took ten fish of 10 Ibs. weight in 
 an hour. Then the rise ceased. I found that this 
 occurred every day in early August, and that the 
 rise only lasted for one hour. Then we would 
 put on a No. 5 Brown's Phantom Minnow and 
 troll to the north end of the lake, a distance of 
 about three miles, and sometimes kill a big trout 
 or two on the way. In the course of these years I 
 captured yellow trout of 5, 6, 9 and 10 Ibs. weight,
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 25 
 
 and one day hooked a monster which, despite 
 Johnny's efforts to overtake him, ran me right 
 out, jumped and broke. He leaped three times 
 altogether, so we had a very clear view of his 
 proportions, which I placed at about 15 Ibs. 
 
 " Did you ever see a bigger trout in the lake than 
 that ? " I remarked regretfully to Johnny. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " I set night-lines with worms 
 in March, and have caught two fish of twenty 
 pounds." 
 
 Johnny was a reliable boy and not given to 
 exaggeration, so I said to him that if he ever caught 
 another twenty-pounder in March he must send it 
 addressed to me at Malloch's in Perth. Several 
 years went by, and then one day a box arrived at 
 Malloch's consigned to me. On being opened it 
 contained a monster yellow trout, the largest ever 
 captured in the British Islands. It weighed on 
 receipt 29J Ibs., and had been caught by Johnny 
 Lyon on a night-line. 
 
 The stuffed fish I presented to a hotel-keeper in 
 Stromness, who wished to have it as a lure for 
 possible anglers. 
 
 Another great sport at Stenness was stalking 
 Grey Mullet with a long trammel net. Some people 
 might think this a mere poaching dodge, but as a 
 matter of fact it was high-class sport. At a distance 
 of two hundred yards it was not safe to get nearer, 
 as these shy fish both see and hear wonderfully 
 John Oman and I would spot a shoal of big Grey 
 Mullet feeding in the shallows. We then anchored 
 the boat and slipped overboard up to our armpits. 
 John took one end of the net and I the other, and 
 we proceeded to get outside the fish and intercept
 
 26 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 them when in alarm they rushed for the deeper 
 water. It was very exciting, as one had to creep 
 at a snail's pace until the net completely encircled 
 the shoal of fish, which must not on any account 
 be alarmed until the net was close to them. We 
 could seldom approach nearer than twenty yards 
 without being detected, and then came the rush, 
 we running for the shore, the fish dashing at the 
 net, from which they immediately recoiled. Even 
 within the few moments occupied by our advance 
 the Grey Mullet often succeeded in beating us, 
 either by darting to the ends and then escaping 
 between our legs or by recoiling and leaping clean 
 over the net. 
 
 Nevertheless we had some good takes, once net- 
 ting twelve ranging from 4 to 12 Ibs. The stalking 
 advance was grand, and I often wonder if any other 
 sportsmen have tried it since. John Oman still 
 lives at Stenness, but tells me he is now too old 
 " for the watter." 
 
 Writing in 1907, when I had sent him a copy 
 of my Wildfowler in Scotland, John Oman says, 
 " There are some nice pictures in the book of our 
 old days together, but what I should like to have 
 seen was the picture of when you jumped overboard 
 in Voy Bay when the net was carried away by Grey 
 Mullet." On this occasion John was at one end of 
 the net in the shallows and working round the shoal 
 of fish, which was a much larger one than we had 
 expected. I was still in the boat, rowing gently 
 to encircle them, when the whole school became 
 alarmed and made a dash for the centre of the 
 net, tearing the cord out of my hand. Not a 
 moment was to be lost to prevent the escape of the
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 27 
 
 fish, so I simply tumbled overboard and swam 
 about till I recovered the rope, and made for the 
 shore, after many struggles. About half of the fish 
 did escape, but we had a good haul nevertheless, 
 containing one monster fish of over 13 Ibs. These 
 Grey Mullet have a greater strength and activity 
 than any other fish with which I am acquainted, 
 often throwing themselves right out of the boat 
 from the bottom. Moreover, they possess a back 
 fin armed with formidable spikes, similar to a perch, 
 so they are by no means easy to handle. Our usual 
 method for killing was to strike them as quickly as 
 possible with a wooden maUet. 
 
 I think it was in 1887, the first year of the Wild 
 Birds' Protection Act, that, on returning one sum- 
 mer's day from Orkney to Murthly, I found our old 
 friend Sir William Harcourt, the sponsor of the 
 Bill, a guest in the house. 
 
 " Where have you come from, Johnny ? " he 
 remarked. 
 
 " From Orkney," I answered, " where I have been 
 contravening the Wild Birds' Protection Act." 
 
 " You young scoundrel," he said with indigna- 
 tion, " you ought to be prosecuted." 
 
 Now, as a matter of fact, I do not think I had shot a 
 single bird on the prohibited schedule, but had been 
 engaged in filling up the long series of immature 
 gulls which it is necessary to have to make a com- 
 plete collection of British birds in all stages of life. 
 I explained all this to Sir William, and showed him 
 that to a professional naturalist these birds were 
 absolutely necessary for future scientific explana- 
 tion, and that up to date there was no work in 
 existence dealing with their life histories, and that
 
 28 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 in time I hoped to write one. I saw his face relax- 
 ing at this, and when I had completed my argument, 
 he said 
 
 " Well, I must say you have made out a good case 
 for the professional naturalist, who, if he can show 
 that he is genuinely devoting his specimens to 
 science, should have a Government pass permitting 
 him to collect such birds as are absolutely necessary." 
 
 This was great news, and it made me think; so, 
 going to my room, I drew up a document embodying 
 all we had discussed, and presented it to Sir William, 
 requesting his signature. But Sir William was 
 much too clever to be caught. 
 
 " Not on any account," he said, " will I sign that 
 paper. I don't know what kind of a naturalist you 
 are, Johnny, but I think you would make a pretty 
 good lawyer." 
 
 As I had already killed a pair or two of all the 
 birds that are resident in summer in the British 
 Islands, it was only on rare occasions that I found 
 it necessary to shoot a bird " out of season." At 
 any rate, I was never apprehended, although on 
 more than one occasion the minions of the law 
 both suspected and chased me. 
 
 One lovely still evening in the spring of 1889 I 
 came into the little bay where the picturesque town 
 of Stromness stands. Jimmy Sutherland, Tom 
 Sinclair and I had been away amongst the islands 
 hunting seals and looking for Slavonian Grebes, 
 which sometimes passed on their migration to 
 Iceland. Right in the harbour itself I saw a bird 
 that I have never seen before in Orkney, a Black- 
 throated Diver. I at once got my gun out from 
 the box where I kept it in concealment, and as the
 
 WHEN I WAS YOUNG 29 
 
 bird rose and flew right overhead I killed it dead. 
 Now on a windy day, and it is usually a windy day 
 in Orkney, the report might have passed unnoticed, 
 but on this occasion the noise echoed far and wide 
 throughout the town, and many people standing on 
 the quays witnessed the illegal act, and I feared that 
 some meddlesome body might make trouble. Not 
 that I expected any of the fishermen or people of the 
 town, who all knew me well, would say anything, 
 but a local policeman or magistrate would be forced 
 to take notice. 
 
 That night my old friend Sheriff Miller, who was 
 in Stromness for the day to try local cases, came 
 to dinner, and we had a pleasant meal. He was a 
 genial soul, and had even forgiven me on one occa- 
 sion when I had dropped a right and left at Red- 
 breasted Mergansers (at the Bridge of Waithe) on to 
 his head as he drove along the Kirkwall Road. 
 This had caused his horse to take fright and spill 
 him and his friends into a ditch. After a bottle of 
 port he became communicative, and looking at me 
 slyly he remarked 
 
 " A ken fine what ye' re here for, Muster Mullais, 
 but ye munna shoot in the harbour or I'll hae to 
 tak ye up." 
 
 It was nicely put, and I took the hint in future. 
 
 When I was quartered in Glasgow in 1888 I heard 
 that there were some flocks of Knots and Bar-tailed 
 Godwits on the Tay Estuary in June, and as I had 
 not specimens of my own shooting in summer 
 plumage, I spent a week there in their pursuit. 
 The Tay Estuary on both sides was carefully 
 watched by both coastguards and excisemen, so I 
 had a difficult time, and was chased on more than
 
 30 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 one occasion, but it would take too long to narrate 
 the shifts and expedients of concealment I had to 
 resort to to get my specimens. Some of these are 
 now in the Perth Museum, and others in my own 
 collection. In the course of twenty-five years I 
 killed every British bird that it is possible to obtain 
 in our islands, beyond rare visitors, with the excep- 
 tion of the Curlew Sandpiper in full breeding 
 plumage. That is a great rarity, and I only once 
 saw one. He accompanied a flock of Sanderlings on 
 the south side of Tresco, Scilly, in May 1904. By 
 permission of Mr. Dorrien-Smith I was hunting for 
 some new rarities for his collection when I saw the 
 bird in question. He was terribly shy, and after 
 waiting for two days I noted a sandspit where he, 
 with accompanying Sanderlings, rested at high 
 water. The place was just within a long shot of 
 some sand dunes, where I lay concealed for two hours. 
 At last the tide drove the birds towards me, and I 
 was just preparing to take my shot when an 
 abominable naval gun, recently mounted at St. 
 Mary's, went off, and put every bird to wing in the 
 whole of the islands. The Sanderlings only flew 
 along the coast, but my beautiful Curlew Sand- 
 piper, blood-red in colour, soared straight up into 
 the clouds, and headed for his home in Siberia. I 
 never saw him again.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES IN SHOOTING 
 
 ONE day in 1881 my old grandfather, George 
 Gray of Perth, must have had a stroke of luck, 
 for, much to my surprise, he asked me to name a 
 present he wished to give to me. " A first-class 
 pair of ejector guns," was my suggestion. With his 
 permission I consulted Messrs. Reilly, and bought a 
 magnificent pair of hammerless-ejector guns which 
 the firm had recently exhibited at the Paris 
 Exhibition. The subsequent bill rather startled the 
 old man, but he paid it with a good grace. 
 
 These were, perhaps, the first pair of good ejector 
 guns ever made, and cost 120 a large price at 
 that time but they were well worth it, and 
 improved my shooting considerably owing to the 
 quickness of fire. The first day I used them they 
 proved their value. I had been hunting a certain 
 fine roebuck at Murthly, and with the three keepers 
 had beaten all the neighbourhood of the Arch with- 
 out seeing any roe at all. In the evening I took up 
 a position on a pass leading from a long strip of 
 wood to the moor, and was surprised to see a whole 
 herd of roe, numbering about twenty, coming to- 
 wards me. As they passed I killed the two leading 
 bucks right and left, and had time to get in another 
 cartridge and fire at the big buck who brought up 
 the rear of the herd. This animal ran some fifty 
 
 31
 
 32 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 yards and also fell. Such a gathering of roe I 
 have never seen together before or since in Scot- 
 land, and it was great luck to have been able to 
 bag three adult bucks at one stand and at one 
 moment. 
 
 These excellent guns I only kept for a short 
 time, owing to an unfortunate accident. 
 
 One bitterly cold winter morning in 1887 I went 
 on leave from my regiment, the Seaforth High- 
 landers, then quartered in Glasgow, and journeyed 
 to Perth, from which I drove in a cab to New Mill, 
 a country estate rented by my father, who had 
 recently given up the Murthly shootings. We 
 were descending the last hill to the house at about 
 seven in the morning, when, on looking from the 
 window of the cab, I saw in the middle of a field a 
 red Irish water spaniel, belonging to one of my 
 brother officers, Malcolm Murray, 1 howling as if his 
 heart would break. At once I got out to ascertain 
 the cause of the trouble, when, looking in the direc- 
 tion of New Mill, I saw the whole place obscured in 
 volumes of smoke. The roof had fallen in and the 
 place was gutted. The sight gave me a shock, as 
 my parents and the servants were living there, and 
 I could only guess what had happened. 
 
 Running to the house with the utmost speed, I 
 found no one, only a large upturned grand piano 
 reposed on the lawn in the deep snow, but that 
 plainly showed that the inhabitants had not only 
 saved themselves, but had had time to eject some 
 of the more valuable contents of the house. A 
 gardener then came up and told me that all were 
 
 1 Now Colonel Sir Malcolm Murray, Controller to the Duke 
 of Connaught.
 
 <! S 
 
 n S 
 H e 
 
 g^ 
 < e
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 33 
 
 safe, and that my father and mother were both at 
 a neighbouring cottage. It appeared that my 
 soldier servant, John Whiteford, had lit a fire in 
 my room the night before to air it and had then 
 gone to bed. About 4 a.m. my mother's maid 
 heard a dog howling, and being nervous about 
 burglars, having formerly been frightened on one 
 occasion, she went to explore, and found the pas- 
 sages full of smoke and the back stairs on fire. She 
 at once raised the alarm, and all the residents got 
 out just as the whole of the lower part of the house 
 burst into flames. John Whiteford, who was a 
 plucky fellow, and knowing that I particularly 
 valued the guns and a certain case containing a 
 series of drawings I had done in Western America, 
 smashed the large window from the outside and 
 entered the blazing room. The smoke was so 
 dense and the heat so great that he was only able 
 to snatch the portfolio of drawings, and being by 
 that time in a fainting condition, was unable to 
 rescue the guns, which lay beneath the bed, so they 
 were irretrievably lost. My father was much 
 pleased at Whiteford's behaviour, and gave him a 
 new outfit and other things, and also presented me 
 with a new pair of guns by Reilly, which I have 
 used ever since. 
 
 My father was a man of great common sense, as well 
 as a sportsman of the best kind. He was generous in 
 the extreme towards anything he thought was cal- 
 culated to foster the true interests of any game or 
 outdoor pastime, but severe in his condemnation of 
 anything unsportsmanlike. I remember once in 
 1882, when, on my return from my first term at 
 Cambridge, he said one day
 
 34 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 " Hallo, young fellow, you seem unusually flush 
 of money; that is a bit unusual, is it not ? " 
 
 " Well," I answered with a certain amount of 
 youthful pride, " I won eighty pounds the other day 
 pigeon shooting, and I expect to make some more 
 by and by." x 
 
 This was true, as I had captured two sweepstakes 
 at Cambridge, killing fifteen birds in succession at 
 the second of these. 
 
 " Now look here, Johnny," said my irate parent, 
 " I will give you anything you like in reason for the 
 sake of sport or your Natural History, but I draw 
 the line at pigeon shooting. It is not a clean game, 
 and I won't have you mixed up with that crowd; 
 so give me your promise you will not shoot pigeons 
 again." 
 
 I did so, feeling somewhat resentful, but it did 
 not take long for me to find out the wisdom of 
 the old man's advice, and I have never fired at a 
 tame pigeon since. 
 
 I used to spend much time shooting and fishing 
 in those days from June till March, and usually 
 began the shooting season on August 1st on the 
 mud-flats and reed-beds of the Tay between Kin- 
 fauns, Errol, Inchture and Mugdrum Island. By 
 starting from Perth at midnight one could reach 
 the reed-beds at Errol before other gunners were 
 out, and I have killed as many as forty duck in one 
 day in this public place. The ground is dangerous and 
 requires local knowledge, which I possessed, and a 
 first-class retriever is essential, as the fallen birds 
 usually drop in thick places. On one occasion 
 
 1 Archibald Stuart-Wortley had invited me to come to 
 Hurlingham to compete against some of the great shots.
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 35 
 
 P. D. Malloch saved my life by pulling me out of 
 a drain into which I had fallen up to my neck. 
 When we had concluded our hunt we repaired to 
 Newburgh, where I borrowed a suit of evening 
 clothes from the landlord of the inn, and in this 
 choice outfit, many sizes too large, and a pair of 
 carpet slippers, I went to the local bootmaker to 
 buy a pair of shoes. In my hands I held my dis- 
 carded garments, a mass of congealed mud, which 
 provoked the question, " Are you working in the 
 drains about here ? " So nowadays, if I should 
 appear in my best clothes before him, Malloch 
 always says, " Are you working in the drains 
 about here ? " 
 
 Men as a rule, and sportsmen in particular, are 
 apt to gauge respective dangers in sport according 
 to their personal experience, and it is a commonly 
 accepted idea that big-game hunting, especially 
 the chase of the lion, the buffalo and the elephant, 
 is the most dangerous of all forms of the sport. 
 Personally I am inclined to doubt it, and should 
 say that wild-fowling in a punt in the northern 
 firths is almost equally, if not quite, as easy a 
 method of losing one's life. 1 English and Irish 
 waters are comparatively safe, but in the northern 
 firths the wild-fowler will often be caught in sudden 
 squalls when off poling ground, and then nothing 
 but skill and luck can save him. In the course of 
 
 1 In proof of this I may state that out of four professional 
 puntsmen on the Moray between the years 1880-1890, two 
 were drowned and one completely crippled with rheumatism. 
 During the same period on the Forth there were four possibly 
 more gunners above Blackness. Two of these also met their 
 death by drowning, one of them being swamped just below the 
 ramparts of Blackness Castle, where I was staying in 1887.
 
 36 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 six seasons in which I worked a punt and the big 
 gun on Tay, Eden, Moray, Dornoch, Cromarty and 
 Little Ferry firths I was nearly drowned four 
 times, and once had a very narrow escape from 
 losing my eyesight, if not worse, owing to the 
 bursting of the punt gun. 
 
 The worst experience I had in which, in fact, 
 my life was only saved by a miracle was on 
 February 10th, 1888, in the Eden Estuary. My 
 puntsman, Jack Pinkney, and I paddled out to a 
 small bunch of Scaup. It was perfectly calm as 
 we lay down to run to the birds, but as we advanced 
 a sudden squall astern ought to have been a warn- 
 ing to us. We approached the birds, which, being 
 few in number here, were not worth a shot with the 
 big gun. Accordingly I took the 8-bore and knocked 
 down three, two dead and one a winger. We should 
 then have picked up the two dead birds and retreated, 
 but, being anxious to secure the cripple, I foolishly 
 went on, though a nasty sea was running astern 
 and increasing every minute. Jack suddenly 
 uttered an exclamation as several waves " pooped " 
 the small punt astern, causing us to bale for our 
 lives. But it was too late, for, after another wash 
 or two, the punt stopped and literally sank beneath 
 us. " We'll have to swim," said Jack, who was a 
 good swimmer, and threw himself into the sea. I 
 struggled a few yards in my heavy clothes and 
 boots, and then caught sight of one of the old posts 
 that used to mark the side of the channel, placed 
 there by musselmen. Almost exhausted, I reached 
 it, and, getting my legs wrapped round its uneven 
 surface, obtained a good grip, with my head above 
 water. Meanwhile Jack had reached the mud and
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 37 
 
 was running up the banks towards some boats 
 where, by a merciful Providence, two men were 
 engaged in gathering mussels. I clung to the 
 stake in desperation for what seemed ages, but 
 may not have been more than a quarter of an hour, 
 and was on the point of dropping off when I heard 
 voices. A moment later I was dragged into a 
 boat and my life was saved. 
 
 Some one had evidently seen us from the shore, 
 because two days later a garbled version of the 
 incident appeared in the Dundee Evening Telegraph, 
 and my poor mother, having read it, was nearly 
 demented. It was very rare for men to gather mus- 
 sels in winter, and the owners of the boat told me 
 they had not been on the river for three weeks, so 
 it was little short of a miracle that they were there 
 that day, so I may say it was a very narrow escape. 
 
 Twice Hugh Smith and I were swamped in 
 Campbelltown Bay, Moray Firth. Only good luck 
 too saved us once in Edderton Bay, Dornoch 
 Firth. We were driven to sea, and escaped by 
 coming over a shallow bank about four feet deep, 
 on to which we descended and held the punt by 
 main force until the squall abated and we could 
 again regain the coast. Our clothes were frozen 
 stiff upon us, and we had to walk three miles to 
 find a cottage where we could undress and " thaw " 
 out. 
 
 Most of the Scottish firths are dangerous, owing 
 to heavy tides and sudden squalls, and a man who 
 hunts duck there must be careful, but that is the 
 kind of advice no young fellow of spirit will ever 
 take. 
 
 One frosty morning in 1892 I saw from the ram-
 
 38 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 parts of Fort George a bunch of mallard drifting 
 down with the tide. There were three or four 
 hundred of them, and they were packed close and 
 fast asleep. It was a fine chance, so, calling the 
 puntsman, Hugh Smith, we soon ran out to them. 
 My own big gun being out of repair, I took one 
 belonging to Major Lang, which had, unknown to 
 me, been put aside as out of order. We got well 
 "in," and when I pulled the trigger cord I thought 
 that at least forty mallard would lie dead on the 
 surface. A terrific explosion followed, after which 
 I remembered nothing for a moment or two, and 
 then I heard Hugh swear as only he and a Western 
 cowboy could do. He was completely blinded by 
 the powder and fragments of brass cartridge. 
 When at last I could open one eye, Hugh's face, 
 perfectly black, and running in little streams of 
 blood, was the first thing I saw, and, serious as 
 the occasion was, I could hardly refrain from 
 laughing. After a bit I got a paddle out and 
 managed to get the punt back to the fort, but I 
 did not soon forget that unlucky morning or the 
 wonderful shot that would have been made had 
 all gone well. A fortnight passed before Smith was 
 able to work again. 
 
 After hunting the Tay mud-flats in early August 
 I used to go to Loch Leven or the coast-line on the 
 chance of stray and rare visitors, and then returned 
 to Murthly to hunt Woodcock in the great fern 
 banks. " Jet " was very good at this class of 
 work, and I have shot as many as twelve in a 
 day, hunting solely for the birds that had bred 
 on the estate. One day I had an extraordinary 
 piece of luck (August 6th, 1885). Jet " pointed "
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 39 
 
 in a thick mass of bracken, and up got a brace of 
 Woodcock, which I shot with a right and left. 
 Hardly had I reloaded when another pair rose and 
 likewise fell to my gun. I was again reloading 
 and remarking to the head keeper, Keay, upon 
 such a piece of luck, when a fifth bird rose, and 
 fell dead to a long shot. The first four birds were 
 all quick, but comparatively easy shots, but the 
 fifth was long and a smart dodger. Such an 
 unusual incident seldom falls to the lot of any 
 sportsman, for it is extremely rare to find five 
 full-grown Woodcock together and to bag them all. 
 It is by no means common, in England at any 
 rate, to secure a right and left at Woodcock. On 
 two occasions I think I could have performed the 
 double event but for certain reasons. At the back 
 of my house at Horsham there is a small strip of 
 forest which in some seasons is a favourite resort 
 of Woodcock in early winter. Shooting there one 
 day in 1904 with a young friend, I flushed three 
 Woodcocks in succession and killed them all, when 
 a fourth rose and presented an easy shot. In- 
 stead, however, of going forward, this bird turned 
 to the right towards a small open ride where my 
 companion was walking, and, as I knew he had 
 never killed a Woodcock, I left it to him. Alas, 
 he missed it. On another occasion (January 1919) 
 I was shooting with Mr. John Calder at West 
 Weeting, Norfolk, when at one stand I killed a 
 right and left at Woodcock, and then reloaded my 
 gun just in time to get a third that came forward, 
 saw me and " zoomed " upwards in an " Immel- 
 man turn " to my right. At the same moment as 
 I took my eye off this bird, a fourth was seen
 
 40 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 advancing straight towards me a perfectly easy 
 shot. Swinging the gun forward, I pressed the 
 trigger of the left barrel. There was no answering 
 discharge, for the spring of the lock had broken 
 a piece of bad luck, but perhaps fortunate for 
 the Woodcock. 
 
 In the sporting papers one often sees accounts 
 of unusual right and left shots, so I give the fol- 
 lowing curious doubles which have fallen to my 
 gun during the past thirty years 
 
 1884. Jan. 10th. Rock Pigeon and Golden Eagle. 
 
 (The only one I ever shot, a young bird 
 on migration.) 
 
 1885. A Velvet Scoter and an Eider. 
 1885. Aug. 9th. A Roebuck and a Snipe. 
 
 1885. Sept. 6th. A Partridge and a Blackcock. 
 
 1886. Jan. 4th. Glaucus Gull and Iceland Gull. 
 1886. Sept. 28th. Double right and left at 
 
 Blackcocks. 
 1886. Dec. 6th. Golden Eye and Red-breasted 
 
 Merganser. 
 1888. Oct. 20th. Two cock Capercailzie. 
 
 1888. Dec. 5th. Wigeon and Brent Goose. 
 
 1889. Nov. 1st. Capercailzie and Woodcock. 
 
 1889. Nov. 2nd. Wood-pigeon and Woodcock. 
 
 1890. Oct. 23rd. Hare and Golden Plover. 
 1890. Oct. 27th. Pheasant and Wild Duck. 
 1915. Sept. 3rd. Rough-legged Buzzard and Blue 
 
 Hare. 
 1915. Sept. 10th. Raven and Snipe. 
 
 At Murthly in December 1888 I shot seven Teal 
 with two barrels, and at Loch Leven on December
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 41 
 
 13th, 1885, eleven Teal in two shots, only one 
 escaping from the flock. 1 One morning in January 
 1891 I fired two barrels in a packed flock of Godwits 
 that passed the punt on the Dornoch Firth and 
 picked up eighteen. But perhaps the most pro- 
 lific shot I ever saw with a 12-bore was a double 
 fired by a military doctor at Fort George in 
 January 1891 at a big flock of Knots. He gathered 
 forty-one. 
 
 The best day's Woodcock shooting I have seen 
 occurred at Guisachan on November 22nd, 1890, 
 when, as the guest of Lord Tweedmouth, I was one 
 of the guns shooting the famous Fasnakyle Woods. 
 The Woodcock were "in," and I have never seen 
 so many before or since in Scotland in one day. 
 Besides these birds, we also made a splendid bag 
 of Roe, Grouse, Blackgame, Wild Duck, Pheasants, 
 Reeves' Pheasants and other game. I was the top 
 gun in one short beat above Fasnakyle House, 
 and in the best position, as the Woodcock rose 
 from springs in the centre of the birches and made 
 straight up-hill before passing forward. I shot 
 fifteen with sixteen cartridges in a few minutes, 
 and in the whole day we secured forty-five. 2 
 
 On the vexed question of whether Woodcock 
 carry their young or not my experience is purely to 
 the contrary. I have flushed hundreds of Wood- 
 cocks at the time when these birds had young ones, 
 and have noticed great numbers going out to feed 
 in the evening, and have never seen one carrying its 
 offspring. Moreover, I have often disturbed them 
 
 1 This was a red-letter day. I secured 107 duck by waiting 
 in a reed-bed on the Reed BOUT. 
 
 2 As many as sixty-five have been killed there in one day.
 
 42 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 from amongst their young, and noticed their dis- 
 tress and the curious method they have of hanging 
 the legs and frilling out the large under-tail coverts, 
 which might give the impression that they held 
 something pressed close to the body. 1 Although I 
 and many observers whose opinion is worth accept- 
 ing have not seen such a thing as Woodcock carry- 
 ing its young, nevertheless I do not wish to be 
 dogmatic, and must confess that I have met 
 individuals whose testimony was apparently reli- 
 able who have made out a good case in favour of 
 the fact. No evidence on this question seems 
 acceptable unless the observer has actually seen 
 the parent bird pick up the offspring and bear it 
 off, or when a Woodcock has been shot and the 
 young one has fallen from its grasp. 
 
 On this subject my friend, Mr. Colin Maclean, 
 who is an excellent observer of birds, thus writes 
 
 " One afternoon about four o'clock, during the 
 first week in June 1909, at Little wood Park, near 
 Alford, in Aberdeenshire, whilst walking through 
 some rough grass and young bracken towards a 
 large, open pheasant pen, which was enclosed with 
 wire-netting eight feet high, I flushed a Woodcock, 
 which flew off very heavily towards the pheasant 
 pen. Apparently she could not rise high enough 
 to clear the wire, and just before reaching it she 
 dropped a young bird, subsequently rising above 
 the wire and pitching in the pen. I ran up and 
 secured the young Woodcock, which was almost 
 as large as a Thrush. 
 
 1 I have given an illustration of the appearance of the Wood- 
 cock under these circumstances in a book by Tom Speedy.
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 43 
 
 " When the old bird rose I noticed she flew very 
 heavily and had great difficulty in rising, and after 
 she had flown a few yards I realised that she was 
 carrying a young one. She appeared to carry it 
 between her thighs, and flew a distance of nearly 
 twenty yards before dropping it. Two other 
 young ones were subsequently found close to- 
 gether near the spot where I flushed the old bird, 
 so that possibly she was brooding them when 
 disturbed. 
 
 " This is the only occasion on which I have seen 
 a Woodcock carry her young, though I have often 
 flushed old birds when with a brood." 
 
 P. D. Malloch, who now owns one of the largest 
 businesses in Scotland as an estate agent and 
 fishing-tackle maker, was a close friend of mine in 
 these early days. From small beginnings, he has 
 prospered. Owing to his wonderful knowledge and 
 experience in all matters relating both to sport and 
 the natural history of fish and insects he is able 
 to advise anglers from a practical point of view. 
 What he does not know about Scottish lochs and 
 rivers is not worth much, so many travellers to 
 the north go to his place in Perth to profit by his 
 words of wisdom. I have known him intimately 
 for forty-six years, and we have had many happy 
 days together on loch and river, and have derived 
 much pleasure from our continuous friendship. 
 As an angler I believe he has no superior, and as a 
 sportsman is quite of the best, for I have often seen 
 him when fish were rising and he was catching them, 
 and whilst his comrades were having no luck, put 
 down his rod and adjust the right flies on another
 
 44 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 man's cast. No one but a sportsman of the best 
 type would do this. He usually catches two trout 
 whilst another man is getting one, and as a salmon 
 angler has a wonderful insight of just the very spot 
 where a salmon lies and how to present the line to 
 the fish at just the right angle. 
 
 I remember one day a very irate tenant coming 
 into his shop and roundly abusing Malloch for 
 stating that he could catch eight or nine fish a day 
 on a certain beat on the Earn which he rented. 
 " The fish are there right enough," he roared, " but 
 no one on earth can move one." Malloch, in his 
 gentle manner, and without a semblance of annoy- 
 ance, quietly explained to him how, when and 
 where he ought to fish, what fly he should use, and 
 many other significant details, which only seemed 
 further to incense the disgruntled fisherman. He 
 was unappeased. " I have tried them all, and not 
 you nor any one else could move a fin of those 
 sluggish brutes." 
 
 " Well, I think I could do so," suggested Malloch. 
 
 " All right," was the reply, " you can go and 
 fish the water to-morrow." 
 
 In the evening I chanced to meet Malloch re- 
 turning from his day on Dupplin. He had nine 
 good fish. It was just an example of superior skill. 
 
 Malloch gave me my first commission as an 
 artist at the age of thirteen. It was a picture of 
 a Kingfisher, for which I received the princely sum 
 of three and sixpence. 1 In 1886 the Graphic pub- 
 lished two of my drawings, and then I began to 
 illustrate books, for which, being a poor hand at 
 business, I was sometimes paid and sometimes not. 
 1 It is still his trademark for " Kingfisher " lines.
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 45 
 
 Seebohm, the naturalist, gave me the first good 
 commission, and I did a number of illustrations 
 for his monograph on the Charadriidce, which, with 
 my militia pay (I was then in the 3rd Battalion 
 Somerset Light Infantry), enabled me to undertake 
 the first serious expedition to foreign lands. 
 
 On this trip to Western America, then still a 
 land of big game, I did a good deal of work upon 
 large mammals as well as birds, and although it 
 taught me something in the way of art and hunting, 
 it fostered a spirit of restlessness and roving that 
 has never left me. From the time I was a little 
 schoolboy of eight I had always longed to be an 
 artist and naturalist, and to hunt and explore in 
 new lands. Like my friend Fred Selous, the book 
 that influenced me was Baldwin's African Hunting. 
 
 This we used to have read to us by Mrs. Wemyss 
 on Sunday afternoons in her house at Queen's 
 Gate, when my brother and I and Hugo and 
 Rosslyn Wemyss * would sit entranced and listen 
 to adventures in Africa. My father, however, had 
 other ideas, and was bent on my going into the 
 Army. Like many other men who know the diffi- 
 culties of their own profession, he thought any 
 other a better one. So, much to my disgust, I 
 gave in, and went to cram at " James." 
 
 u Jimmy " disliked me because I was always 
 drawing Wapiti or Grizzly Bears in books on forti- 
 fication, or taking French leave to go off to shoot 
 and fish. Wherefore he prophesied a complete 
 failure when the final exams, came, and no credit 
 to himself. He always held up for our model a 
 very nice fellow whom we will call X, and who 
 1 Now Admiral Sir Rosslyn Wemyss.
 
 46 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 worked assiduously and never did anything wrong. 
 He was his " star " pupil, whom disreputable people 
 like myself, Fitzwilliam and Johnny Thynne l were 
 always invited to copy. Shortly before the final 
 exams. I absented myself without leave for a week, 
 and " Jimmy " promptly sacked me, but as I took 
 no notice of my dismissal, and returned to Lexham 
 Gardens in the following week, things went on as 
 usual, because the " chief " did not come round 
 again and visit the rooms. Eventually when the 
 lists came out and I heard I had passed (I was 
 playing a salmon on the River Naver at the moment) 
 there was one real joy to be experienced I was 
 several places ahead of the star. 
 
 Owing to the interest of Sir Garnet Wolseley 
 (Lord Wolseley), I got a commission in the Scots 
 Guards, in which I remained exactly four days, 
 being then transferred to the 2nd Battalion Seaforth 
 Highlanders. 
 
 At that time Army life in Edinburgh was very 
 pleasant, and I was soon hard at drill and very 
 happy in the companionship of the best set of men 
 in the world. The British officer needs no eulogy 
 from me, and I found my comrades all that I had 
 expected of them. 
 
 When work was over there was much gaiety and 
 dancing in those days, and in the autumn there was 
 always plenty of leave for shooting and fishing. 
 The Colonel was very generous about leave for 
 sport, but could not see any other reason for its 
 
 1 Lord John Thynne. He eventually got into the 10th 
 Hussars, and was accidentally killed, owing to his horse falling 
 on the tramlines in York. He was a charming personality, 
 and one of the handsomest men I have ever seen.
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 47 
 
 application. I was always going off, but one day 
 one of my brother officers, whom we christened 
 " Von Moltke," a keen student of military history, 
 and caring nothing for sport, asked for leave and 
 was promptly refused. " What the devil do you 
 want leave for ? " said the Colonel sternly. " I 
 shall not give it, you are wanted here." 
 
 In the autumn of 1887 I made ready to go to 
 India, but on a vacancy occurring in the first 
 battalion the Colonel asked me to take it, and so, 
 much to my regret afterwards, I did so. About 
 this time, too, I met Colonel Cumberland, who was 
 about to undertake a long journey across Europe 
 and Asia through the Pamirs down to India. At 
 this time no one had made the expedition from the 
 Russian side, and he asked me to accompany him. 
 I applied to the War Office for permission, stating 
 that I would make topographical maps of the whole 
 route, which would have been of service to them, if 
 I was " seconded " for a year. They granted the 
 permit, and I was in the seventh heaven of delight ; 
 but just at the last moment the Colonel thought 
 otherwise, and put in a veto on the grounds that I 
 had not served long enough for such a privilege. 
 The chance never occurred again, and the refusal 
 was a great disappointment to me. 
 
 I served for five years in the Seaforths, during 
 which time I published Game Birds and Shooting 
 Sketches, which was a success owing to its being 
 the first of those modern books dealing with the 
 natural history of our islands. Late in 1892 I 
 began to feel that moving from one country town 
 to another and doing the usual round of military 
 life was not my metier. I passed the exams, and
 
 48 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 should have been a Captain in six months, but this 
 did not prevent me from throwing up my com- 
 mission and entering a new line of life. Moreover, 
 a severe attack of influenza, followed by chronic 
 sleeplessness, caused me great depression. So, much 
 to my father's regret, I left the army and went off 
 to South Africa to see something of the wild life 
 on which I had always set my heart. Recently my 
 uncle, Everett Gray, had died and left me a small 
 legacy, and with this I bought a wagon and oxen 
 and went off into the interior for a year's hunting. 
 
 Small things often change a man's life and pro- 
 fession, but I confess that I have never regretted 
 the step I took that January morning in 1893, and 
 thirty years of wandering and work at home are 
 my ideal of freedom, with its contact with interesting 
 things and people. Travel and the association 
 which it brings with all kinds of men has always 
 seemed to me the best education in the world, for 
 it gives one the greatest sympathy with other 
 people, and an insight into those problems of 
 Imperial Unity which are, after all, the heart of 
 England's greatness. To be a " Jack of all Trades " 
 may not be the most profitable profession in a 
 worldly sense, but at any rate I have found it the 
 most interesting existence. In turn I have been 
 soldier, sailor, a British Consul, artist, zoologist, 
 author and landscape gardener, so life is alto- 
 gether too short for all the things one would like 
 to do; but if variety is the spice of life, and a 
 living can be made, it is far better than grinding 
 all one's days at an office stool to amass wealth, 
 which, once gained, cannot always be enjoyed. 
 The great thing in life is to live.
 
 SOME EARLY EXPERIENCES 49 
 
 My usual plan of work is to take up six or seven 
 subjects of interest and of which knowledge is 
 deficient and to work at each until I have mastered 
 the subject by careful reading and personal ex- 
 perience. In some cases this has involved an 
 enormous amount of labour and travel. In the 
 case of Mammals of Great Britain and Ireland, 
 three volumes, I worked seven years at the book 
 and its illustration, and undertook six small expedi- 
 tions to gain a knowledge of one mammal, the 
 Grey Seal, alone. Then there were four expeditions 
 to hunt whales and to visit whale factories to 
 study and draw the great Cetacea immediately 
 after death, to say nothing of some twenty visits 
 to outer islands of Orkneys, Shetlands, and the 
 Hebrides to catch voles and other small creatures, 
 as well as to all well-known areas in England in 
 search of bats.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 ICELAND 1889 
 
 PERHAPS there are few things that can imbue 
 the soul of the enthusiastic traveller with a more 
 wholesome sense of disappointment than to be 
 told on arrival at the seaport from which he has 
 contemplated taking his departure that there 
 is a good chance of his ship being detained for an 
 indefinite period. Such was the unwelcome news 
 which greeted us my sister Mary, my brother Geoff 
 and myself, with some others at Messrs. Slimon's 
 office at Leith on our arrival there. We wanted 
 to go to Iceland, but the owners were much afraid 
 it would be impossible to get a ship's crew together, 
 owing to the strike then prevailing all over Scotland, 
 especially at Leith and Glasgow ; and as we neared 
 the quay, groups of men were to be seen lounging 
 about everywhere, bent on stopping any sailor who 
 might think of embarking on an outgoing vessel. 
 However, during the afternoon we managed to get 
 on board the Majestic, and things began to take 
 a more hopeful turn, for the Captain had succeeded 
 in getting two sailors from a ship that had just come 
 into the Firth, and thought that, with the addition 
 of a few landsmen and his engineer, he would be 
 able to manage the voyage all right, provided we 
 would entrust ourselves to his care. To this we 
 
 60
 
 ICELAND 51 
 
 all agreed, being only too keen to start under any 
 circumstances ; and it was with feelings of no little 
 relief that we steamed out of the firth in the still 
 summer evening. 
 
 The following day we were off the coast of 
 Sutherland, and were compelled to lie to under the 
 shelter of Dunnet Head, owing to the tremendous 
 tide running in the Pentland Firth, against which 
 it was impossible to make any way. So, till the 
 tide turned, we had to amuse ourselves as best we 
 could by talking to crofters who came off in boats 
 to hear the latest news. The rocks of this part of 
 the Scotch coast are the resort in summer of thou- 
 sands of Puffins, Razorbills and Shags, and these 
 could be seen returning home in little parties from 
 their fishing-grounds, bringing the spoils of the sea 
 to their wives and families. Towards evening we 
 were off again, heading away to the N.N.W., leaving 
 the Orkneys looming in the distance behind us. 
 
 Our Captain Brown was a charming fellow, and, 
 like the wind, always " on the beam." We should 
 have quite taken him to our hearts, but for his 
 fondness for sheep's-head. At our first dinner he 
 asked if we liked sheep's-head, and our reply seemed 
 to fill him with eminent satisfaction, for he had 
 taken in a heavy cargo of this delicacy. But on the 
 fourth day out, when sheep's-head soup, followed 
 by the cranium that had supplied it, came on for 
 the eighth time in succession, there was a general 
 revolt, which was only quelled by the Captain's 
 assurance that we should have a change the next 
 day. On arriving at Reykavick the following morn- 
 ing, we breakfasted at the little hotel, but the Cap- 
 tain did not appear at the meal ; he was, no doubt,
 
 52 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 enjoying a royal feast of his favourite dish in his 
 own cabin. 
 
 The journey on the whole this time and later on 
 varied somewhat from the usual type of sea- 
 voyages. All the passengers were good sailors, 
 and all the crew were extremely ill, and we had to 
 attend them with restoratives or the stoking would 
 not have gone on. The stewardess, who had never 
 been to sea before, entirely collapsed, and was 
 invisible throughout the voyage, looked after by 
 my sister Mary. 
 
 Birds were scarce; off Uist in Shetland I saw 
 several Great Skuas, and a day later had my first 
 sight of a party of six Buffon Skuas (Stercorarius 
 parasiticus), which flew within fifty yards of the 
 boat, so that I could make certain identification of 
 the species. They were travelling close to the 
 water, and their beautiful long tail-feathers gave 
 these graceful sea-pirates a peculiarly rakish style. 
 
 Captain B. said that if I came to him on the 
 bridge at half-past eight on the morning of the 
 fifth day he could show me the first sight of Iceland. 
 To the very moment there appeared some jagged 
 spikes sticking up from the water away to the north. 
 Presently we made Reykianase, the south-western 
 corner of the island a great mass of tumbled lava 
 rocks rising to a height of 800 feet, and looking barren 
 and inhospitable in the morning mists. Here a 
 heavy tide ran, and swarms of gannets and small 
 whales hunted the ubiquitous coal fish. Other 
 birds were also numerous. Swarms of Kittiwakes 
 wheeled and screamed; Great Skuas, with their 
 owl-like flight, and Fulmars were plentiful, whilst 
 strings of Brunnich's Guillemot, Razorbills and
 
 ICELAND 53 
 
 Puffins darted like arrows across the waves towards 
 the cliffs. Gay male Eiders with their brown mates 
 were also in evidence, and everywhere were Cormor- 
 ants and Shags. Away to the west, standing up 
 bold and lonely in the ocean, was the Meal Sack Rock, 
 known to naturalists as the last home of the Great 
 Auk, and tenanted by these birds until 1835. 
 
 Reykavick is prettily situated in a small green 
 harbour. To the north there is a long, low promon- 
 tory, on which stands, fifty miles away, the imposing 
 peak of Snaefell Jokul, 4701 feet high. To the 
 north-east stretches the narrow Hvalfjord, crowned 
 by the Akrafjall and the rosy-hued Esja. 
 
 We arrived at Reykavick, the capital of Iceland, 
 on the 18th of June, but before going on shore I 
 must say one word about our fellow-passengers. 
 First, there was a charming old gentleman, Mr. B., 
 who had undertaken the voyage to get rid of hay- 
 fever, from which he was suffering. Iceland, he 
 fancied, was the one place on earth where haymaking 
 must be an impossibility ; but on consulting a local 
 guide-book, he amused us all very much by reading 
 out that " haymaking and fishing were the principal 
 industries of the Icelandic people." When we first 
 went ashore, my sister and I strolled out on to some 
 rocky ground covered with about an inch of scanty 
 grass, when we were instantly attacked by a shock- 
 headed youth, who warned us that we were treading 
 down the hay crop 1 So on consideration we con- 
 cluded that Mr. B. might possibly survive his trip 
 to northern latitudes after all. 
 
 Then there was an Icelandic M.P., who, in his 
 capacity of Minister of the Interior, took three 
 helpings of the everlasting sheep's-head, the sight
 
 54 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 of which made us all feel ill. He told us that he 
 had five kroners (about 6s. 6d.) a day for his services 
 when the Parliament was in session, and was 
 evidently one of the bloated plutocrats of the place. 
 Our other voyagers were an Irish doctor of urbane 
 manners and city tastes, who complained bitterly 
 that there never was a billiard-table on board ship 
 to render life endurable, and a pale youth from 
 Sheffield, who affirmed that " Ask nothing more " 
 was the finest song in the English language, and 
 would sing it. 
 
 Our intention was to remain a day in Reykavick 
 and go on to Akureyri in the Majestic, which was 
 to sail to the north of Iceland, picking up emigrants 
 on the way, and this we did, since we could thus 
 get to Myvatn, the home of ducks and big trout, 
 without having to ride twice across the island, the 
 central route being by far the most uninteresting 
 part of the country. On landing, we were so fortu- 
 nate as to secure the services of one Thorgrimmer 
 Gudmansen, who had the reputation of being the 
 best guide in Iceland, and one of the few men who 
 knew the Myvatn rivers and lakes. He was to bring 
 fifteen ponies with pack-boxes to meet us at Aku- 
 reyri, which was to be our starting-point for the 
 interior, in five days. A word about our guide. 
 The Icelanders, like most island folk, are short in 
 stature, but Thorgrimmer was an exception, being 
 a big, powerfully built man of about six feet one. 
 Like all Scandinavians, he was the essence of good- 
 nature and amiability, with just one little weakness 
 he preferred to sit on a box and discuss sagas, 
 literature, music, art and sport, to engaging in the 
 hustle of packing or travelling. But he was such a.
 
 ICELAND 55 
 
 good-natured creature, and so well-read, that I fear 
 we rather spoilt him, and let him talk and guide us 
 whilst Geoff and I drove the ponies, packed boxes, 
 erected tents and did the cooking. But these 
 shortcomings and love of a dolce far niente existence 
 were very venial faults, for when his services were 
 really required, such as in the somewhat dangerous 
 crossings of glacier torrents, in guiding, and in 
 making things generally more comfortable and safe 
 for my sister, he was an admirable helper, and all 
 that we could desire. 
 
 Reykavick does not contain much of interest to 
 the traveller. There was the usual shambling 
 mass of wooden structures, the same as in all 
 Norwegian sea villages, and after gazing for a few 
 minutes in awe and admiration at the only police- 
 man in Iceland, we felt that we had done the sights 
 of the place, so took a boat and went off to see some 
 bird life on the Island of Engay. Here we found 
 nice little colonies of Arctic Terns and Eiders, 
 whilst graceful little Red-necked Phalaropes flitted 
 everywhere. 
 
 That night we steamed away north to Stickisholm, 
 passing hundreds of beautiful little islands where 
 Black Guillemots and Kittiwakes perched on all 
 the pinnacles. Majestic, snow-covered glaciers hung 
 in the distant clouds far inland, and the glassy sea 
 was broken only by the rising pollock and saithe. 
 Occasionally an old female Eider, with her young as 
 deck passengers, swam out of the way of the steamer, 
 and seemed nervous whenever the marauding Great 
 Black-backs put in an appearance. Noisy Arctic 
 Terns (here called Kria) floated like little grey 
 fairies round the ship, or dropped into the still
 
 56 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 waters after the sand eels. It was a typical Ice- 
 landic summer night, calm, warm and almost 
 Italian in its pellucid clearness, and one could hardly 
 imagine that only 250 miles to the west were the 
 icebound shores, the Esquimaux and the Polar 
 bears of East Greenland. 
 
 We took many emigrants on board at Reykavick, 
 leaving their native land for Nebraska, where there 
 is now a large and flourishing Icelandic colony. I 
 noticed but little emotion amongst the people on 
 leaving the home of their childhood, and this was 
 probably accounted for by the fact that as a rule 
 every member of a family joins the party even 
 very old men and none are left to grieve about. 
 There is a settled melancholy amongst all these 
 northern races, due rather to their conditions of 
 life than to their temperament, and there is no 
 doubt that insufficient nourishment and bad air 
 are mainly responsible for their pale faces and sub- 
 dued ways. Here on board ship they all shut 
 themselves up in the forecabin between decks, from 
 which they carefully excluded the fresh air, to 
 which they seem to have the strongest objection. 
 A little boy chanced to sit on, and break, one of the 
 skylights of the cabin, and the Captain in high glee 
 said they would now be forced to get a little pure 
 ozone. Not a bit of it. In less than two minutes 
 the open space was completely stuffed up with 
 eiderdown quilts, and the inmates of the cabin 
 were happy once again. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the Icelanders are 
 a particularly grave race. They are more cheerful, 
 on the whole, than either the Norwegians or the 
 Shetlanders, and considering the many weary
 
 ICELAND 57 
 
 months they are forced to spend practically under- 
 ground, it is a wonder that they are as gay and as 
 healthy as they are. My sister observed that their 
 superior education made them light-hearted, but 
 the Captain said it was because they were so deuced 
 glad to get into the open air again. See a party of 
 Icelanders making hay. How they laugh and chatter, 
 and how happy they are ! " Results of honest 
 toil," said Mary. " Yes, because the women do 
 all the work, and the men have time to smoke," 
 retorted the sarcastic man of ships, who maintained 
 that the Icelanders were the laziest people on earth. 
 
 After leaving Stickisholm we steamed along the 
 north coast of Iceland, passing splendid cliffs 
 rising to 2500 feet straight from the sea. We sat 
 on deck all night, and Geoff took some photos of 
 the midnight sun. At three the North Cape was 
 in sight, and after breakfast we were right abreast of 
 this magnificent wall of rock rising straight and 
 clear against the blue sky to a height of 3000 feet, 
 the top being capped with snow. The North Cape 
 of Iceland is a great bird station. The whole cliff- 
 face is broken into ledges and inhabited by countless 
 numbers of Brunnich's Guillemots, which at times 
 simply blacken the air. With these birds were 
 many Puffins, Black Guillemots and Razorbills, 
 and as the steamer cut a lane through the floating 
 thousands the flight of rising birds made a roar 
 that sometimes lasted for several minutes. 
 
 A propos of these northern bird colonies, and as 
 illustrating the kindred feeling which exists between 
 the Scandinavian races and ourselves on the subject 
 of sport, I may introduce the following. The scion 
 of a royal continental house took with him on a
 
 58 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 sporting expedition to the northern seas a Norwegian 
 who, as events will show, was a much better sports- 
 man than himself. Arrived at one of these breeding 
 haunts, the great man found it fine practice to 
 shoot the little Auks and Brunnich's Guillemots 
 as they flew from their eggs on the cliffs, and when, 
 after a bit, the poor creatures seemed disinclined 
 to move, he sent the Norwegian up the rocks with a 
 stick to assist their flight. After about twenty 
 had been shot he continued to call for more, but 
 the Norwegian came down and positively refused 
 to lend himself any further to such wholesale 
 slaughter. In telling the story he made his English 
 hearers laugh by concluding with the words, " But 
 what could you expect from a poor uneducated 
 foreigner ? " 
 
 Leaving the North Cape, it suddenly became 
 bitterly cold, and the Captain said ice was very near, 
 but that we should probably get along all right, as 
 the early summer had been warm. This was the 
 first northern trip of the season, and there was 
 always the possibility that the ship would be unable 
 to round the Cape, as had happened to our Captain 
 in the previous year. He got blocked for fourteen 
 days in the ice, and even then had to return to 
 Reykavick without having effected a passage round 
 the island. We were more fortunate, however, 
 and reached Akureyri, our destination, on June 
 the 22nd, after a very pleasant voyage. 
 
 The Captain kindly put us ashore in his boat. 
 Jansen's Hotel, to which we went, was a strange 
 place, consisting principally of a billiard-room 
 where no one had ever played, and a few bedrooms 
 of a primitive character. The host was an old
 
 ICELAND 59 
 
 German, and my sister won his heart by conversing 
 with him in his own language, so we soon got some- 
 thing to eat. Before this, however, all the great 
 people in the place had called on us, and Mary held 
 a sort of levee in her bedroom, which kept over- 
 flowing into our wretched little band-boxes. The 
 pastor, Mr. Jacomsen, was a charming man, and 
 after breakfast took us to see what he called the 
 most remarkable sight in Akureyri, which turned 
 out to be simply a mountain-ash tree about as large 
 as a gooseberry bush ! We had many talks with 
 this gentleman, who was a very clever man, and 
 had translated Shakespeare into Icelandic, as well 
 as producing many poems in his own tongue. He 
 had also been a great traveller, and we were amused 
 to find that in London the " hill of Highgate and 
 the Alhambra Theatre " seemed to have left the 
 most lasting impression on his mind. 
 
 After some difficulty with a harmless lunatic 
 who called himself a guide and wanted to accompany 
 us, Geoff and I hired two ponies and went for a 
 ride up the beautiful valley that stretches away to 
 the south. The scenery here was the best that we 
 saw in Iceland, to some extent recalling the charms 
 of Switzerland. Bird life was scarce, but we saw 
 two Ravens, and beautiful little Snow Buntings 
 sunning themselves on the rocks. Near the village 
 were the usual White Wagtails and Red-necked 
 Phalaropes. During the next two days we made 
 short expeditions along the Eyja Fjord, and saw 
 only flocks of Eiders and two pairs of Great Northern 
 Divers. We found the Iceland ponies all we had 
 heard of them, when once we had acquired the 
 Icelanders' mode of riding and a few of his choicest
 
 60 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 expressions to urge them on. I may say without 
 hesitation that people in this country have no 
 idea what a really good Iceland pony is like, simply 
 because they have never seen aught but the useless 
 stock that are annually shipped to Scotland and 
 employed as hill carriers or in the mines. There is 
 in Iceland a high-class breed which never leaves 
 the country, and which the owners will not sell 
 except at an exorbitant price ; and these little rats 
 will carry a huge man like Thorgrimmer Gudmansen 
 for fifty miles a day, day after day, travelling the 
 greater part of it over the merest apology for a 
 track in the lava. Thorgrimmer's own pony, 
 though twelve years old, could on occasion trot 
 ten to twelve miles an hour, and looked a mite under 
 its owner's long legs, which nearly touched the 
 ground. Yet this and all the other ponies did some 
 800 miles' travelling with us in two and a half 
 months, and lived on nothing but the extremely 
 scanty herbage they were able to find amongst the 
 rocks. 
 
 On the 23rd came Thorgrimmer, tired and dusty, 
 having crossed Iceland, a distance of 300 miles, by 
 the trail in five days. Pretty good going this 
 sixty miles a day for five days continuously, and 
 driving fourteen ponies all the time and a fine test 
 of horse and human endurance. With him came 
 one Jon, who was to be our pony-man; and an 
 excellent and hardworking little chap we found him. 
 He was often on the grin, and when spoken to 
 seemed to enjoy his work amazingly, but his face 
 when at rest was sad. He looked upon the expedi- 
 tion not as work, but as a holiday, said Thorgrimmer, 
 for his wife had the reputation of being a shrew who
 
 ICELAND 61 
 
 ruled him with a rod of iron when he was at home. 
 He was, as they say in Scotland, " a man sair 
 hudden doon." 
 
 Long hours spent in chasing refractory ponies, 
 and the conviction of the hollowness of all earthly 
 pleasures save " aqua vitse " (kummell) and tobacco, 
 had given to Jon a solemnity of expression, and 
 oblivious of the fact that suspenders were necessary 
 to keep trousers in their proper position, he was for 
 ever pervading the landscape in a certain wild and 
 buttonless freedom that was wholly repellent to 
 our sense of modesty, or holding these same gar- 
 ments in position with the only hand not tempor- 
 arily engaged a form of dressing that I need 
 hardly say was generally unsuccessful. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon of the 24th before 
 we were ready to start on our long ride, but, time 
 being of no object in Iceland, we soon began to 
 adopt the manners of the country, and to move 
 whenever things were ready, and not when it was 
 time to start. We crossed the lovely fjord in a 
 boat, and Thorgrimmer drove the pack-ponies across 
 the mouth of the river, so we met on the hillside, 
 saddled up and made a start up the mountain. It 
 took some hours to ascend, and then we had a lovely 
 view of the Eyja Fjord and the surrounding hills. 
 Akureyri looked a tiny cluster of wooden huts, and 
 we said good-bye to this last trace of civilisation 
 as we went over the crest into a great barren world 
 of rocks and lava. We stopped once, about seven, 
 for rest and refreshment, and then pushed on to 
 Lyosvatn (the Lake of Light), where we intended 
 to camp. Near the lake was a good piece of turf, 
 so Geoff and I galloped on to choose a suitable spot
 
 62 WANDERINGS AND! MEMORIES 
 
 for the tents ; but, as the old saying is, " more haste, 
 less speed." My pony, a young grey, thought it 
 desirable to cross its forelegs, with the result that 
 we came an imperial cropper, much to the amuse- 
 ment of the rest of the party. That evening I killed 
 a Whimbrel as Geoff was erecting the tents, and 
 my pony having now learned to stand fire, and even 
 allow me to shoot off his back, I forgave him for 
 giving me such a hard toss. We had ridden about 
 forty-five miles, so took a day off, as is always 
 desirable after a start on any expedition. It 
 allows everything to settle down, although the 
 wonderful little ponies showed no sign of fatigue 
 after their continuous work of the past week. I 
 saw Scaup, Long-tailed Duck, Wigeon and Scla- 
 vonian Grebe on the lake, and the first pair of Ice- 
 land Falcons soaring high in the air. The next 
 day we passed through mountainous country, 
 hoping to make that night the Skalfandi Laxa, of 
 which Thorgrimmer had given a glowing account 
 as a place of great trout. 
 
 During the afternoon an exquisite piece of wild 
 scenery presented itself in the magnificent waterfall 
 of Godafoss in form a small Niagara in its way, 
 but without that great cataract's distasteful sur- 
 roundings. There were no shrieking hackmen, no 
 solicitous photographers and no vulgar buildings 
 to offend the eye and oppress the senses only a 
 great roar of yellow waters fresh from the virgin 
 snows. Here the only sounds that rise above the 
 thunder of the torrent are the melancholy wail of 
 the Golden Plover and the babbling cry of the 
 Whimbrel, and they are a charming and natural 
 accompaniment of so grand a scene. After leaving
 
 ICELAND 63 
 
 Godafoss we passed over undulating moorlands, 
 where were many Golden Plover and Whimbrel, 
 and now and again we heard the calls of the cock 
 Ptarmigan " jarring " to his mate. 
 
 The Whimbrel should be the Icelandic national 
 crest. In the northern wilds he is absolutely 
 ubiquitous, and he never allows one to forget that 
 he is there. Neither by day nor night do his calls 
 cease. Each pair takes upon itself the duty of 
 escorting the traveller from his beat on to the next. 
 So one is being continuously handed on for days 
 together, and listening to their monotonous and yet 
 not unmusical cry. It was like Mark Twain's 
 jodelling peasant the first time you heard the 
 call you felt inclined to offer the bird a kroner to 
 do it again, and the next one you still loved 
 to the extent of half a kroner; but after listening 
 for a week to nothing but continuous Whimbrel 
 jodelling you had some difficulty in suppressing 
 your murderous tendencies. Thorgrimmer had 
 once before escorted a traveller to the Skalfandi 
 Laxa and Myvatn, and whilst saying that he was 
 no fisherman, yet he had caught several trout in 
 the river, and all about five pounds. This was a 
 big weight for trout to average, and notwithstanding 
 the fact that our guide was a thoroughly reliable 
 man, I was still inclined to be a bit sceptical about 
 these fish. As soon as we sighted the river I made 
 all haste to put up my trout rod and get something 
 for supper, whilst the others erected the tents and 
 made ready. 
 
 Arrived at the stream, which was a glacier one,- 
 the colour of pea-soup, I thought it looked most 
 unpromising. There was, too, a great rush of water,
 
 64 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 and none of those eddying swirls of slow, rippling 
 flats that every fisher expects to find in the home of 
 trout. I wandered down the river looking for 
 likely places, and taking a cast now and then in a 
 somewhat perfunctory manner, yet not a fin did 
 I see move. Moreover, I was having my first 
 introduction to the Icelandic black fly, a creature 
 of such stinging powers and detestable familiarity 
 that it is unequalled in the world as a human pest. 
 These little beasts soon covered my face and hands 
 and stung me on all exposed parts, so whilst I 
 fished with one hand it soon became a habit to 
 slap with the other. After half an hour of this 
 torture, and no signs of fish, I began to get cross 
 and inwardly to swear at Thorgrimmer. Yet 
 somehow I did not like to return to camp without 
 anything to show, so wandered on for an hour, till 
 I had made up my mind that I was an idiot who 
 might as well be flogging the Serpentine. However, 
 there was one quietish corner the first I had seen 
 I would just try that and then go home and 
 acknowledge defeat. My last cast ; the line tightens, 
 there is a splendid head and tail rise, and I am " in " 
 to a good trout if ever there was one. He fought 
 well, rushing out in the heavy water and keeping 
 there, backwards and forwards, down, across and 
 up stream. Oh, if I should lose him now, how they 
 would chaff me in camp, for much depends on the 
 " kudos " of a first fish ! It was a good quarter of 
 an hour before I had him dead beat and back into 
 the comparatively still pool where I had hooked 
 him. What a beauty he looked as he lay over on 
 his spotted side and I drew him slowly towards 
 me 1 But no, he was not done yet ; he must
 
 ICELAND 65 
 
 have another run or two, though, thank goodness, 
 he had not sufficient strength left to gain the heavy 
 stream. At last he came to the surface, and I drew 
 him straight to the pebbles, slipped my fingers into 
 his gills and raced for camp with a five-pounder. 
 How we enjoyed that wretched fish ! It was 
 delicious. I even apologised to Thorgrimmer for 
 doubting his word as to the size of the Laxa fish, and 
 he assured me in reply that I would get better ones 
 than that the next day. 
 
 On the following day, Geoff went down-stream 
 and I up the river. We each found a good swim, 
 and by midday had had enough of the flies and the 
 fishing. The place I had selected was a rippling 
 shallow in the centre of the stream, and I had to 
 wade above my knees to reach the place where the 
 fish were lying and then throw a long line. The 
 trout were not numerous, but were all big, and seldom 
 refused the grilse-sized Silver Doctor, which seemed 
 to have an especial attraction for them. The only 
 troubles were the flies, which were, of course, 
 maddening in the heat of the day, and the fact that 
 I only had a light eleven-foot trout rod. There 
 is little doubt that with a salmon or grilse rod twice 
 as many fish would have been taken, for the time 
 occupied in playing each fish on such light material 
 was not less than ten minutes or a quarter of an 
 hour, though it certainly prolonged the amusement. 
 When we met, Geoff had seven fish and I had eight 
 my best over six pounds weight of all about 
 seventy pounds. Such fishing is not to be had 
 every day, so we decided to make another attack 
 on the trout, especially as an old farmer appeared 
 and begged us to catch some for his winter supply,
 
 66 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 as he had no means of doing so himself. Changing 
 beats, I went down the river, accompanied by 
 Thorgrimmer, a pony and a sack, and fished for 
 three hours on a boiling flat just above a beautiful 
 waterfall and near to a lake from which the river 
 debouched. There were more trout here than at 
 the upper station, and I fished hard and had some 
 grand sport. It was necessary during this time to 
 halter the pony, both hind- and fore-legs, to prevent 
 his running away, and after two hours Thorgrimmer 
 left me, saying he refused to be eaten alive. This 
 fishing- place was only about 110 yards long, and 
 going over it twice I secured seventeen trout, one 
 of which, if he had been in better condition, would 
 certainly have touched eight pounds. Geoff got 
 five on his beat. Here is a photo of this morning's 
 sport taken by my brother, which, although not very 
 clear, shows the size of the fish. 
 
 Down the river were many Harlequin Drakes in 
 parties of from three to twelve. They are amongst 
 the most lovely birds of the duck tribe, and were very 
 tame, allowing the intruder to approach within a 
 few yards. It was curious to see how they loved 
 the roughest places in the rivers. Apparently 
 no rapid was too swift or waterfall too tumultuous 
 for them. In one eddy, where it was barely possible 
 for anything to live, a party of cock Harlequins 
 were swimming about or perching on a stone 
 amidst the boiling waters. Places that other ducks 
 would shun they seem to revel in, and sometimes, 
 to our astonishment, they stayed for hours in 
 apparently untenable situations. In flight, too, 
 the Harlequins are somewhat extraordinary. They 
 never by any chance cut off corners of land in
 
 ICELAND 67 
 
 making from one sheet of water to another, as their 
 cousins, the Golden-eyes, and all other surface-feed- 
 ing and diving ducks will do. On the contrary, 
 they keep exactly above the line of the winding 
 waters, adopting a swinging motion, and passing 
 to left and right in the flight over the stream in all 
 its windings. The male Harlequin has a peculiar 
 cry, not unlike that of the common Lapwing in 
 spring. 
 
 Another very interesting bird whose acquaintance 
 I made for the first time was Barrow's Golden-eye, 
 a larger and more handsome creature than our own 
 Golden-eye, but similar in its habits. They were 
 very tame, both males and females, and a week later 
 at Myvatn I caught two with a fly-rod and shot 
 one with a catapult. 
 
 In these northern wilds I found the catapult 
 not the clumsy round-elastic weapon of the country 
 schoolboy, but the scientific and small, square- 
 elastic tweaker a great aid in obtaining a few 
 specimens where birds were numerous and fairly 
 tame; in fact, I never cared to disturb the whole 
 place by firing off a gun unless absolutely necessary 
 to procure some rare and shy species. With 
 the little silent weapon I secured during this 
 trip one Golden Plover, one Long-tailed Drake, 
 one Barrow's Golden-eye, one Ptarmigan, four 
 Purple Sandpipers, three Dunlins, and four Red- 
 necked Phalaropes. I nearly got a female Black 
 Scoter a tough bird to kill but she recovered 
 after being knocked down, and commenced diving, so 
 my other shots with the catapult were unavailing. 
 
 Late in the evening of June 29th we made a 
 start for Myvatn (the Fly Lake), said to be the great
 
 68 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 breeding station in Iceland of all the northern 
 wildfowl. The route from the Skalfandi Laxa to 
 Myvatn winds in and out of rocky mountains. By 
 midnight we had reached the lake, and rode along 
 its reeded shores enjoying the landscape. Away 
 to the north the blue waters, studded with green 
 islands big and little, stretched for some ten miles, 
 the water-line on the horizon being bounded by 
 low, rocky mountains. Altogether the whole place 
 reminded me strongly of our own Scotch paradise 
 of the ducks, Loch Leven, and I looked instinctively 
 for the romantic old castle and the Reed Bour. 
 Thorgrimmer guided us to a spot where the Skal- 
 fandi River, here much reduced in size, leaves the 
 lake and, passing through a series of long pools, 
 becomes gradually a rushing river. In these 
 miniature lakes were congregated hundreds of 
 Scaup and Long-tailed Ducks, and amongst them a 
 goodly sprinkling of other species, such as Mallard, 
 Teal, Wigeon, Pintail and Barrow's Golden-eye. 
 On the big lake I noticed two or three pairs of 
 Whooper Swans, Sclavonian Grebe, Great Northern 
 Divers and Black Scoter. 
 
 While erecting the tents, a charming old lady, 
 part-owner of the farm, came to pay her respects 
 to my sister, whom she seemed to regard with the 
 most intense curiosity, being the first English lady 
 she had ever seen. We were all dead tired, yet she 
 refused to take the hint that we would show her 
 all our curiosities in the morning; so we went off 
 to bed, leaving my sister to the tender mercies of 
 the old lady's questions. After a bit, Mary could 
 stand it no longer, and retired to her Wolsely 
 mattress, and sinking into slumber, had faint
 
 ICELAND 69 
 
 recollections next morning of being lulled to sleep by 
 such queries as, " What's this for ? Oh, beautiful, 
 beautiful ! Nice clothes. Yes, yes, yes. How you 
 wear this ? " etc., etc. Poor old dear ! She was just 
 a daughter of Eve, after all, and yet had never 
 known the feminine delight of flattening her nose 
 on the plate-glass windows of Bond Street. Yet 
 the instinct was there all the same, and she already 
 envied the possessor of a real sponge and a better 
 brush and comb than she had ever known.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ICELAND, 1889 
 
 IN general appearance the Icelanders are typical 
 Scandinavian, but, owing to their long isolation 
 and intermarriage, are certainly a slightly deterio- 
 rated form of the original stock. A physically fine 
 Icelander is difficult to find, but a mentally active 
 individual is common. It is doubtful if amongst 
 the nations of the world a better read or more 
 widely informed class exists amongst the peasants 
 than in this wild northern island. A labouring 
 man understanding several languages is no rarity, 
 and the traveller is much struck by the hetero- 
 geneous mixture of general information acquired 
 by a people who have never been beyond their 
 own farms and have seen but very few travellers. 
 Except in places like Reykavick, there are no ele- 
 mentary schools, and yet a child of nine that cannot 
 read is practically unknown. This is all due to the 
 excellent system of home teaching and the high 
 respect in which all learning is held by these intel- 
 ligent and amiable folk. During the long winter 
 months, when the people are forced to live in their 
 insanitary burrows beneath the ground in many 
 cases opening into, or adjoining cattle-sheds each 
 member of the family takes up some art, such as 
 the wood-carving of household vessels, or makes 
 a study of some foreign tongue, either English, 
 
 70
 
 ICELAND 71 
 
 French, German or Danish. They soon become 
 proficient, and impart their knowledge gradually to 
 the other members of the household. The Ice- 
 landers are proud of their learning and their litera- 
 ture, and are never weary of listening to stories 
 concerning the ancient history of the island. 
 Their historic records have been carefully kept since 
 an early age, and the curious phases of life which 
 have determined the existence of this little Teutonic 
 community for a thousand years are of impressive 
 interest to a people proud of their unbroken record. 
 The language of Iceland most nearly represents 
 that of the early Teutonic fathers, and has not 
 been so changed phonetically as the Norse and 
 Danish languages have been through contact with 
 the nations of the south. 
 
 The history of Iceland goes back to the year 
 870, when the country became known for its poets 
 and singers, who travelled to the distant Courts of 
 Europe. The Heroic Age succeeded this date and 
 lasted for some four hundred years, during which 
 colonists from our Western Isles and from Norway 
 settled in the country. It was during this period 
 of the Commonwealth that the events embodied 
 in the earlier and later sagas are said to have taken 
 place. According to the popular belief, Chris- 
 tianity was introduced in the year 1030, and with 
 it came peace, great ecclesiastical organisation and 
 a slight phonetic change in the original language. 
 Then followed the first and second civil wars, 
 which lasted until the fall of the great houses in 
 1258, after which the Icelanders made submission 
 to the Norwegian kings. Thus came the second 
 period, an age of Medievalism, which lasted for
 
 72 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 two hundred and fifty years, resulting in the death 
 of old traditions and the birth of mediaeval poetry 
 in their place. In 1420 Iceland passed through what 
 is known as the Dark Age. She became isolated 
 from Norway and the continents, and only English 
 trade was carried on. The third period commenced 
 with the Reformation. Another subsequent Dan- 
 ish monopoly began in 1530, and after the Renais- 
 sance the country experienced a frightful series of 
 disasters, which lasted from 1640 to 1783. 
 
 First came the attacks of pirates from the south, 
 though what loot they expected to get in those 
 northern barrens nobody seems to know. In suc- 
 cession several vessels came all the way from Al- 
 geria to kill, to ravage, and to burn, and committed 
 wholesale destruction along the southern coasts and 
 on the Westmann Islands. This scourge was im- 
 mediately followed by the introduction of smallpox, 
 then raging in the Courts of Europe (1707), and one- 
 third of the total population died in consequence. 
 After this, in 1759, came a great famine, in which no 
 less than 10,000 people died of starvation, and, to 
 make matters worse, a plague appeared amongst 
 the sheep in 1762. The Great Eruption of the 
 whole of the volcanoes took place in 1783, and 
 destroyed a considerable portion of the country, 
 and the land only seems to have taken a turn for 
 the better when travellers made the island better 
 known in 1800. 
 
 Since the beginning of the last century Iceland 
 may be said to have entered on its fourth phase 
 a period of increasing prosperity. Many Icelandic 
 scholars have travelled abroad, and the wealth 
 and general condition of the people has materially
 
 ICELAND 73 
 
 advanced under the auspices of Home Rule and Free 
 Trade. Now, too, that the world has become better 
 known, and that facilities are given to tillers of the 
 soil to move to other lands, the Icelanders are 
 annually taking more and more advantage of the 
 opportunities for emigration. 
 
 They have founded a fine colony in Nebraska 
 and are prospering there, and it is more than 
 probable that as years go on and the emigrants 
 begin to return with tales of prosperity in a new 
 home beyond the seas, most of the inhabitants 
 will work their way to the Canadian north-west 
 and leave the old country to the few fishing-folk 
 who dwell along the coast. The centre of Iceland 
 is barren and worthless for farming purposes, and 
 the day must come when it will be absolutely 
 deserted. 
 
 This is briefly the history of Iceland and the 
 past and present condition of her people. It is 
 always a pity to see the old order of things, with 
 the romance and reverence that attached to them, 
 banished by the new and restless spirit of the age ; 
 but to their new home the Icelanders take with 
 them the memory of many things that do not die. 
 In the long summer evenings, instead of the stifling 
 burrows reeking with peat smoke, they sit outside 
 the cabin doors of the West and still teach their 
 children the legends of Odin and Thor and sing of 
 the great deeds of Skalla-Grim and Thoroef, of Olaf 
 the White and the beauty of his Queen, and above 
 the whirr of the old hand-loom still rises the plain- 
 tive crooning of the Icelandic mother as she sings 
 to her little ones the Flyting of Loki, the Lay of 
 Skirni, and the Lay of Harbard. The woods of
 
 74 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Nebraska no longer echo the war- chant of the 
 Pawnees, but only gentle voices are heard singing 
 the Battle of Hafur-firth and the Death of Ivar. 
 
 To return now to my sister, whom we left in the 
 last chapter in deep converse with the owner of 
 the Myvatn farm. When we woke up in the 
 morning the old lady was still at it scanning with 
 eager eye every article of Mary's wardrobe, and 
 audible above the cry of the birds came, " How 
 much that cost ? Will you sell that ? What ? no ! 
 This, love, pretty, pretty. Like see looking-glass 
 again." 
 
 When my sister awoke she found her hostess 
 carefully unpacking her tin box and examining its 
 contents one by one; and not wishing to deprive 
 her of so much innocent amusement, she allowed 
 her to go on while she herself engaged in dressing. 
 Even at breakfast, which we all had together, the 
 old lady could not refrain from admiring several of 
 the choicest articles which she had retained in her 
 lap for closer inspection. It was wonderful how 
 well she understood English, considering the fact 
 that she had not seen a dozen English-speaking 
 people in her life, and that she owed her knowledge 
 of the language entirely to the winter home-teaching. 
 In the end we discussed business. I asked leave 
 to shoot a pair of all the different kinds of ducks, 
 saying that I would pay one kroner apiece for each 
 bird; and to this she readily assented, saying that 
 I could shoot what I liked, but that, out of cour- 
 tesy, permission was necessary from her son, who 
 was part-owner of the farm. This gentleman, a 
 very sulky sort of fellow, turned up, and, after 
 much interpretation through Thorgrimmer, said I
 
 ICELAND 75 
 
 might shoot the ducks, but must pay him ten 
 kroners apiece for them. This was outrageous, and 
 I refused to pay such a sum. He went away in a 
 huff, but returned in half an hour saying that the 
 tariff of ducks at Myvatn was seven kroners apiece. 
 Seeing that I had received permission to shoot 
 from the old lady, I suggested that two kroners 
 was a good price for a wild duck, and that, unless 
 he consented to this tariff, I should go out and shoot 
 his mother's ducks at this price and leave his alone. 
 Again he departed, saying something angrily, of 
 which we took no notice, and again the diplomatic 
 Thorgrimmer brought him back just as I was 
 leaving camp with my gun. The market price of 
 wildfowl at Myvatn was now reduced to four 
 kroners a bird, but that was still a bit too high; 
 so, to save further argument, I told the old lady 
 that I was now going to shoot some of her one- 
 kroner ducks, at which she laughed immoderately 
 at her pettish boy. 
 
 In the evening, as I was skinning a cock Pintail 
 and had three other duck lying close by, the finan- 
 cier came and had the impudence to ask for forty 
 kroners; but I refused to do any business with 
 him, either in this way or as to the dairy produce 
 that we had from his farm. After that our trans- 
 actions were conducted with the old lady. The real 
 trouble, we presently found out, was that in 
 Myvatn and elsewhere we were bent on establishing 
 a precedent the precedent of living in our own 
 tents, contrary to the advice of Thorgrimmer, who 
 had again and again endeavoured to dissuade us. 
 All previous travellers in this part of Iceland had 
 made use of the farmhouses that dot the country,
 
 76 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 although in most instances they are quite unfit for 
 ladies to sleep in. Of course, men can rough it 
 anywhere; but when it is known that more than 
 half of these dwellings, though well constructed to 
 keep in the warmth, shut out all possibility of the 
 light and air, whilst many of the beds are tenanted 
 by superfluous visitors, residence in houses is not 
 an unmixed joy. So we took our own tents, and 
 stuck to them, in spite of Thorgrimmer's constant 
 assertions that we should be starved to death in that 
 cold climate, to say nothing of the rains that no tent 
 could withstand. Of course, none of these things 
 happened. We were all fairly comfortable, only 
 suffering slightly from cold at times, and when 
 thoroughly chilled it is wonderful how warm you 
 can get by creeping into your snug Wolsey mattress 
 or reindeer bag. 
 
 The reasons that led Thorgrimmer to so strongly 
 recommend the houses of his friends were obvious ; 
 but there was no fault to find with him on that 
 account, for it has always been the custom for 
 travellers to stay at farmhouses and the people to 
 reap some monetary return thereby. Wherever 
 we went poor Thorgrimmer, I believe, got pitched 
 into by the people for allowing us to come to 
 their farm in tents in so horribly independent a 
 fashion. 
 
 We remained for a week by the Fly Lake, daily 
 tortured by the abominable flies, and had to engage 
 the financier to help Jon in looking after the ponies, 
 as they were liable to stampede off to the hills and 
 get lost. To give one instance of the attacks of 
 these flies on the horses. Wishing to go to a 
 distant part of the lake, I asked Jon to bring the
 
 ICELAND 77 
 
 ponies close to the water that I might get my usual 
 riding nag. After breakfast I strolled out and saw 
 a bunch of ponies close by, all of them being black 
 or pied, and was going to pass on, thinking they 
 belonged to the farm, when Jon, surrounded by a 
 halo of insects, arose from behind a rock and asked 
 me which pony I wanted to ride. My white pony 
 had been transformed into a black one, being 
 literally covered with black flies. 
 
 There is more than one instance of flies having 
 killed ponies, and some weeks later, when we stood 
 at the other end of the lake, one of our ponies had 
 a hole eaten in his neck as big as a half-crown, and 
 if this had not been discovered, and the animal 
 had been allowed through an oversight to remain 
 tethered a little longer, he would doubtless have 
 been killed by the insects. This is the usual prac- 
 tice of these terrible little creatures. They settle 
 on a pony and simply wear him out till he is so 
 tired that he can no longer kick, bite or swish his 
 tail. A mass of flies, owing to the pony's difficulty 
 in reaching them, get in their most deadly work, 
 especially if the little horse is hobbled. They then 
 fix on one spot, generally high up on the side of 
 the neck between the windpipe and the vertebrae, 
 and suck and suck till they have made a hole you 
 can put your finger into. In the particular case 
 of our own pony which they had attacked, there 
 was a solid cake of flies all eating their way into 
 the flesh to the depth of an inch and a half. 
 
 The bird life of Myvatn is a great delight to the 
 ornithologist. In our own Scottish lakes and seas 
 we can see and hunt many of the northern ducks, 
 but there they only come to us for the most part
 
 78 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 as shy winter visitors, and only occasionally can 
 we sit down quietly and study their interesting 
 habits. Here all was different. Our camp was 
 placed on the banks of a stream where the Long- 
 tailed Ducks, the Barrow's Golden-eyes and the 
 Scaup fed and played within a few yards without 
 the slightest sign of fear, and but for the flies it 
 would have been delightful to lie in the sun and 
 watch them. 
 
 One evening, as I strolled up the river to catch 
 a trout for supper, I saw something that was quite 
 new to me. I was sitting on a high bank preparing 
 a cast of trout flies when a pair of Richardson's 
 (Arctic) Skuas came sailing up the stream, on the 
 banks of which five or six female Long-tailed Ducks 
 were sitting with their newly-hatched broods. All 
 these ducks crouched as if frightened of the Skuas, 
 and at the same moment another Long-tailed Duck 
 came rushing across the river with all her babies 
 following in a bunch behind her. In a second 
 both Skuas dashed down, and one of them picked 
 up a duckling, and, as far as I could see, swallowed 
 it alive and kicking. Meanwhile the maternal 
 duck had reached the shallows, and erected her 
 breast for a moment to keep off the other Skua. 
 But it was only for a minute. The marauder, 
 much too active for her, picked up and swallowed 
 a youngster before the terrified mother's eyes. I 
 had no idea that Skuas were such destructive 
 creatures to the young birds of other species, and 
 the fact is not mentioned in any Natural History 
 with which I am acquainted. Yet this scene of 
 murder must be of frequent occurrence in the 
 summer time where the Skuas have few gulls and
 
 ICELAND 79 
 
 terns to chase and must prey upon something to 
 obtain a living. 
 
 From our camping-ground I daily witnessed the 
 attacks of the gallant Iceland Falcons on the ducks. 
 Three or four old birds, with their young in attend- 
 ance, evidently undergoing a preliminary training, 
 visited the stream at least once a day, and twice I 
 actually saw them make a kill. Like the Peregrine, 
 they would many times make practice stoops at 
 passing ducks, and then veer off as if they had 
 dashed downwards for a bit of fun. In flight the 
 Iceland Falcons are very bold and daring. They 
 passed by our tent twice within a few yards, and 
 I could easily have killed one had I wished to do 
 so, but it was much more enjoyable to see their 
 graceful aerial movements. In the evening, after 
 having fed, a pair were generally to be seen soaring 
 high in the clouds and behaving as all Eagles and 
 Buzzards do often stooping and playing with one 
 another in jest. 
 
 But by far the finest ornithological sight we wit- 
 nessed was at breakfast time one morning, when 
 a magnificent White-tailed Eagle came slowly 
 flapping along from the direction of the lake and 
 following the line of the stream. The commotion 
 amongst the ducks was intense. Every mother 
 that as yet had no children and all the unattached 
 drakes came scurrying along before the great 
 scavenging coward of the air. A stream of some 
 1500 or 2000 ducks passed our camp in one confused 
 mass, all flying low, and most of them just above 
 the water, in evident terror. It was a royal pro- 
 cession indeed. Doubtless the eagle would catch 
 a helpless flapper or two later in the season, but
 
 80 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 at present the fears of the ducks were groundless ; 
 for at the moment he had no wish for anything 
 beyond a big trout, and this he presently found 
 basking in the shallows of a still pool about three 
 hundred yards below. What a splash his clumsy 
 majesty made as he entered the water ! One would 
 think that any fool of a fish must have seen his 
 coming; but no, he had got a beauty of three 
 pounds or thereabouts, and it was kicking to relieve 
 itself as it sent a shower of golden spray into the 
 light. The bird of Jove, having now got his dinner, 
 made straightway for a neighbouring mound close 
 to the river bank. For a moment I half entertained 
 an idea of stalking him, which I fancy was easy, 
 but, on second thoughts, I left him in peace to 
 enjoy the dinner, and contented myself with 
 watching him through the telescope. 
 
 This bird and his mate visited us daily, and did 
 not appear to molest the ducks, although they 
 seemed to live in greater terror of him than of their 
 really formidable enemy, the falcon. The eagles 
 selected a long, still swim, or lake pool, and beat up 
 and down it at a considerable height; and we did 
 not again observe either of the birds descend on 
 a fish. 
 
 Another bird whose nest I wished to discover 
 was the Black Scoter, and after two days' hunting 
 in a lake marsh I at last almost stepped on a female, 
 whom I was obliged to shoot in the interest of 
 science. There seemed to be not more than a 
 dozen pairs of these birds altogether, and of the 
 Gadwall I saw nothing at all. Other interesting 
 birds that I saw at our first Myvatn camp were a 
 pair of pied ravens. Doubtless in time, from iso-
 
 ICELAND 81 
 
 lation and interbreeding, the Icelandic Raven may 
 show the same tendency towards albinism that the 
 Faroe birds do; but all the other ravens that I 
 saw in Iceland were of the normal colour. I tried 
 very hard to shoot one of these pied birds, but 
 never succeeded in getting nearer than one hundred 
 yards, owing to the flat nature of the tundra. 
 
 On July 3rd we moved on to the north end of 
 the lake to a farmhouse called Reykalid, and 
 thence trekked on over a great barren country, 
 half desert, half mountain, till by midnight we 
 reached a lonely farm with an unpronounceable 
 name, ending with the usual vatn in English the 
 Lake of the Eternal. 
 
 Whilst Geoff was putting up the tent I went down 
 to the lake-side to draw some water, and there a 
 sight met my gaze which filled me with strange 
 longing and regret a regret that I had not brought 
 my rifle for there, as plain as feet could make it, 
 was the perfectly fresh spoor and sign of a good 
 herd of wild reindeer. 
 
 Thorgrimmer had admitted that there were 
 reindeer here, but deprecated the taking of a 
 rifle, as they were so scarce as rarely, if ever, to 
 be seen, being few in number and ranging over a 
 big country. Like a fool I had listened to him and 
 left my rifle at Akuyreri, so my feelings as a keen 
 hunter may be realised when next morning, as we 
 rode off in a sandstorm to the waterfall of Detti- 
 foss, we came plump up against two reindeer 
 bucks, lying on a little mound within seventy 
 yards ! At first they absolutely refused to run 
 away, but stood and tried to stare us out of coun- 
 tenance. One was a fine fellow with a really
 
 82 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 splendid head, and I watched him trotting slowly 
 away with disgust that can be more easily imagined 
 than described. 
 
 Dettifoss was so magnificent that it almost 
 compensated for the loss of the reindeer. It was 
 a truly grand sight to the lover of fine scenery, 
 almost worth going to Iceland to see. An immense 
 volume of glacier water leaps through a narrow 
 chasm of rocks and falls into a boiling cauldron 
 some three or four hundred feet below. The sun 
 came out just as we arrived and exquisite rainbows 
 appeared in the rising spray, whilst over all hung 
 a splendid White-tailed Eagle, as if especially sent 
 there by the Creator to add the one artistic touch 
 to this great natural picture. We left Dettifoss 
 the peerless with feelings of regret. There is a 
 strange fascination about a great cataract in wild 
 surroundings that all must feel notably the un- 
 utterable littleness of all things human compared 
 with the works of the great Creator. 
 
 The ponies did a good run back to Myvatn 
 sixty-five miles in under ten hours and we made 
 camp near Reykalid in the worst spot on earth for 
 flies. By this time Geoff and I had become in a 
 small degree hardened to their attacks, and had 
 given up veils after the first day, because under 
 these coverings one could see nothing of the 
 country, nor even a trout rise. The Icelanders 
 seemed to feel the flies more keenly than we did, 
 and they seldom came near the lake or the river 
 unless obliged to do so. But here we saw the 
 children of the Reykalid farm eating the flies 
 wholesale which they picked off their faces. The 
 flies are very sweet, like little lumps of sugar, and,
 
 ICELAND 83 
 
 as they are constantly getting in your mouth, you 
 are forced to eat a few of these natural lollipops 
 whether you like them or not. 
 
 Near this camp was a beautiful little colony of 
 Sclavonian Grebes and their nests six all in a line 
 together. The birds were very tame, and allowed 
 one to approach within six yards without leaving 
 their nests, which they never failed to " cover," 
 however frightened they might be. Not so tame, 
 however, were they as some Red-necked Phalaropes 
 that I came across. Whilst sitting on a big stone 
 making a sketch of the Grebes' nests I became 
 aware of a gentle " cheeping " noise that sounded 
 now near, now far away. Being engrossed in my 
 work, I took no notice of it for some time, when I 
 observed a male Phalarope running busily amongst 
 the rough heather and catching flies, with which 
 his beak was already almost full. Though accus- 
 tomed to the extraordinary tameness of these 
 charming birds, I was not prepared for such fa- 
 miliarity as this little creature exhibited coming 
 nearer and nearer till he looked up anxiously in my 
 face from the point where my right leg was resting. 
 I kept perfectly motionless, and felt glad that I had 
 not been shifting my position, for presently a little 
 downy ball suddenly leaped up and ran over my 
 boot to his father, who fed him with flies. Now 
 looking down, I saw another youngster lying in the 
 space between my legs, and close beside it a de- 
 pression and broken eggshells showing where the 
 Phalarope's nest had been. In a short time the 
 parent bird, which kept running backwards and 
 forwards all the time catching flies, within a few 
 feet, became so sure of my harmlessness that, after
 
 84 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 some little hesitation, he came right up to the 
 little one immediately between my legs and fed it 
 there. I doubt very much if such remarkable 
 tameness is to be found in any other feathered 
 creature in existence. The Red-necked Phalarope 
 is an extraordinary bird in many ways. Besides 
 being a wader and having webbed feet like the Coot, 
 it is polyandrous. The female has two husbands, 
 and after the young are hatched one or other of 
 these domestic gentlemen undertakes the whole 
 duties of tending the young. The female is also 
 by far the more beautiful of the two sexes, and to 
 this reason we may possibly trace the plurality of 
 mates, seeing that the handsome males of the Game 
 or other birds are polygamous. 
 
 As already mentioned, the ponies had done a 
 big march of sixty-five miles on this day, and yet, 
 since they were only loosely hobbled on the forelegs, 
 they managed to run away seven or eight miles to 
 the hills to escape the flies. Next day we moved 
 back to the Skalfandi Laxa, where I got nineteen 
 big trout of over 5J Ibs. each in the swim above the 
 waterfall, and, continuing our journey the following 
 day and into part of the night, reached the Eyra 
 Fiord opposite Akuyreri after a ride of fifty miles. 
 
 Here my sister thought it a good opportunity 
 to go to Jansen's and have a bath; but this the 
 people seemed to regard with some suspicion as 
 an intention to introduce innovations they had 
 never heard of before. However, after a good deal 
 of talk, the good pastor, Jacomsen, came to the 
 rescue, and she was told that she might have a 
 bath in four hours' time in the hospital three doors 
 off.
 
 ICELAND 85 
 
 We had some difficulty in crossing the fiord 
 next morning without getting soaked, as the water 
 almost reached the ponies' withers, and Geoff was 
 in fear and trembling lest it should reach his be- 
 loved camera and plates. Nowadays photographers 
 have many advantages in using lighter materials 
 and better films; but when my brother took the 
 photos that appear in this book he had many 
 difficulties to contend with, both in the packing of 
 glass plates and in their subsequent development, 
 all of which was done on the spot. So when we 
 crossed the somewhat dangerous rivers of the north 
 it was amusing to see Geoff herding, and breaking 
 the water for his precious pack-pony as if all the 
 treasures of the Golcondas were resting on its 
 back. 
 
 However, " old Longlegs," the treasure-bearer, 
 got across all right this time, though I believe he 
 did have to swim a few strokes, and we continued 
 our journey to the north-west for ten miles, and 
 then branched off into high mountains, and event- 
 ually towards the south-west, so as to cross the 
 island. The following entry in my diary next day 
 is fairly typical of Icelandic travel 
 
 " July 10th. To-day along a great valley to the 
 farmhouse of Silver Stadt, where we found a cow 
 and two sheep grazing on the roof. A black dog 
 sat on the chimney-stack, and resented our advent. 
 About eight in the evening we had to cross a small 
 glacier river going at a considerable speed. The 
 pack-ponies thought they knew the way across 
 better than our guide, and before we could stop 
 them they charged right in and were immediately
 
 86 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 swept off their legs. It was not a pleasant sight 
 to see all one's belongings being whisked down the 
 current at seven miles an hour. Geoff said all his 
 plates were irrevocably destroyed, and many of 
 the boxes were entirely submerged. We made all 
 speed down-stream parallel to the swimmers, 
 chiefly anxious because a high bank crowned the 
 other side, and it was impossible to see any landing- 
 place where the ponies could get footing. But it 
 is a very bad place indeed that puts a good Iceland 
 pony in a fix, and first one little animal got footing 
 on a steep place, out of which a man could hardly 
 have climbed, and then another, till the whole lot 
 stood shaking and dripping on the further shore, 
 and we were in a measure comforted. It was 
 some time before we made a crossing, and Thor- 
 grimmer had to hold Mary on to her pony and work 
 very slowly across the torrent, which coursed over 
 our saddles." 
 
 The next day we reached the Central Fiskivatn, 
 a big chain of lakes in the middle of Iceland and 
 famed for its excellent trout-fishing. Here we 
 stopped for three days and enjoyed some excellent 
 sport. The first day I caught three dozen trout, 
 averaging nearly a pound each, and on the second 
 we went far afield to a stream where Thorgrimmer 
 said there were fewer trout but bigger fish. In the 
 morning I captured five or six fish ranging from 
 two to three and a half pounds. They were nice 
 lively fellows, and, being in somewhat better con- 
 dition, fought well. In the afternoon, following 
 the same stream, there was the usual place where 
 a small lake debouched into a river again, and full 
 of good trout. I fished away steadily for an hour
 
 II 
 
 ll
 
 ICELAND 87 
 
 and caught two dozen fish from half a pound to a 
 pound each. Geoff was off in another arm of the 
 same stream, so I hailed him to come home, mean- 
 while flogging away at the now played-out pool. 
 Whilst doing this I suddenly saw the large back 
 fin of a fish boil up a little further down-stream, 
 so I immediately ran a few steps and threw over 
 the rise. He came up at once, and I knew by the 
 way he bored that this was something bigger than 
 usual. 
 
 The river at this point was narrow, only some ten 
 yards across ; so, although I only had the trout on 
 a small-sized Loch Leven " Heckem peckem," I 
 expected to manage him with care whatever size 
 he might be. He kept moving from side to side 
 and making small rushes, which was exactly what 
 I wanted, as that would tire him; but this was no 
 ordinary fish willing to give in after a dingdong 
 worry. He knew something, and in those pre- 
 liminary rushes had thought it all out. The 
 stream was too narrow, he could not get anywhere, 
 but if he made the lake, some twenty yards above, 
 he would have a clear run and break me. Slowly 
 at first he began to move up-stream, then, increasing 
 the pace, it was a race who should reach first the 
 stony shallow at the lake mouth he or I. The 
 biped had the best of it. Filling my pockets with 
 stones and bombarding the shallows was the only 
 way to keep the fish from his point, and what with 
 playing him and picking up stones, which were by 
 no means plentiful, I had warm work for a minute 
 or two. By and by the stones gave out, and with 
 a great rush the fish got by and dashed to the lake. 
 I had about eighty yards of line on my Malloch
 
 88 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 reel a present from the inventor some years 
 before and the fish took out quite forty in his 
 big rush. I was afraid it was all up and that he 
 never was going to stop, but the previous strain 
 was beginning to tell on him, and even with my 
 light tackle I felt at length that I had the mastery. 
 I have been a trout fisher " a' me days," as they 
 say in the north, but I never have seen a trout 
 fight better or had grander sport with a fish than 
 with this big fellow. For some twenty minutes he 
 bored and rushed, jumped, jigged his head and 
 resorted to every device without once sulking, and 
 then at last showed side for the first time and began 
 the rolls of a spent fish. Geoff and Thorgrimmer 
 now came up and witnessed the last struggles of 
 the gallant fellow, but I would not allow either of 
 them to touch him, but worked him into the shallows 
 at my feet and threw him on the bank. When we 
 eventually got back to camp with the prize he was 
 found to turn the scale at ten pounds, the largest 
 trout I have ever caught with the fly. 
 
 During our stay at Fiskivatn I noticed several 
 pairs of Whooper Swans swimming on the largest 
 of the lakes, and was anxious to secure a male to 
 see if there was any difference in the bill during 
 the winter and the nesting season; but the birds 
 were extremely shy, and during the day kept far 
 out in the middle of the lake quite out of range. 
 As we wended our way home along the lake-side 
 I suddenly noticed two snow-white dots far up on 
 the hill to our right. They were too white for 
 sheep, and the telescope soon revealed the fact that 
 they were a pair of barren swans feeding in a small 
 marsh. The stalk would be a difficult one, as
 
 ICELAND 89 
 
 swans stand high on the ground and are very 
 watchful when on feed. Moreover, the only pos- 
 sible approach was from below and up the bed of 
 a small marsh streamlet, down which there was a 
 good chance of their flying if they were disturbed. 
 Geoff and Thorgrimmer prepared for a protracted 
 wait by the ponies, and I started on a long and 
 careful stalk. The first three hundred yards was 
 easy, as cover could be obtained, but to reach the 
 slight declivity a perfectly barren space of stones 
 must be crossed, and over this I gradually wriggled 
 without being seen. It was cold work to enter the 
 stream, but only by taking advantage of the marsh 
 grasses could my approach be concealed. I was 
 now within three hundred yards of the swans, who 
 were extremely restless, one of the birds keeping 
 watch whilst the other fed; but nearer and nearer 
 I crept whenever both their long necks were crooked 
 for a moment. As I approached the marsh the 
 reeds grew longer and the way became easier, till 
 at last, on taking a peep, I could see the top of 
 the watch bird's head at about one hundred yards' 
 distance. Hardly had I settled down again to 
 move on than a loud flapping and singing noise 
 produced by the grand birds on the wing told me 
 that they were up, and on looking over the reeds 
 I saw to my delight both the swans coming straight 
 towards me. The cock much the larger bird of 
 the two sailed over my head at about twenty 
 yards, and I dropped him stone dead with my right 
 barrel. I could easily have killed the hen, as she 
 was a little behind, but I let her go, as she was of 
 no use for scientific examination, and I had already 
 good specimens obtained some years before in the
 
 90 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Orkneys. The male weighed 28 Ibs. After skin- 
 ning the head we had strips off the breast for 
 supper. They tasted much like third-rate beef, 
 tough and stringy, but were a nice change to the 
 perpetual duck and Golden Plover, of which we 
 were now getting a trifle weary. Thus ended a 
 most delightful and exciting day's sport one of 
 those red-letter days which the hunter can look 
 back upon with real pleasure the very best 
 combination of stalking, shooting and fishing. 
 
 Next day we made the wonderful ice caves of 
 Kalmanstunga. Armed with candles Thorgrimmer 
 led us down a steep rocky declivity into the bowels 
 of the earth, when we suddenly found ourselves 
 on the ice-laid floor of a wonderful chamber several 
 hundred yards long. The floor was of perfectly 
 smooth ice, and on each side our candles lit up 
 wonderful pyramids of ice like huge bridal cakes. 
 The place was bitterly cold, and after wandering 
 about into many side channels where galleries and 
 retreats have been cut out by the prehistoric 
 Icelander as dwelling-places, we were not sorry to 
 again return to the light of day. 1 
 
 I gathered from Thorgrimmer that until the end 
 of the last century sheep robbers had regularly 
 visited the caves of Kalmanstunga, and in one of 
 the top galleries Geoff and I discovered some remains 
 of an old fireplace. With the aid of a sharp stone 
 we disturbed the earth and found many sheep bones 
 and what appeared to be a piece of a human jaw. 
 
 1 These interesting caves were visited in the previous year 
 by Sir Rider Haggard, with Thorgrimmer as his guide. The 
 result of the journey was the novelist's Eric Brighteyes, a 
 work replete with charming Icelandic tales and excellent 
 descriptions of the country.
 
 ICELAND 91 
 
 After leaving Kalmanstunga Mary and I wan- 
 dered many miles off the track, getting lost, and 
 it was not until four in the morning that we 
 discovered the camp. 
 
 While at breakfast next morning we saw an 
 interesting sight, of which my brother took a good 
 photograph, namely, a couple of girls packing a 
 herd of sheep into a stone kraal for the purpose of 
 milking them. They squeezed about a wineglass- 
 ful from each animal, and sold us some excellent 
 butter made from the produce. 
 
 Next day we made a big ride of some sixty miles, 
 and in the evening were heading for a lower branch 
 of the Sorg River, where Thorgrimmer said we 
 should get a good day's fishing. He himself was 
 on a track that he had never been before, but 
 Jon said he knew the way, as he had made the cut 
 across country some sixteen years before. But Jon's 
 views on most things, except the absorption of 
 aqua vitae, were a bit rocky, and on this occasion 
 he distinguished himself by nearly drowning the 
 whole party. 
 
 About seven in the evening we came to a for- 
 midable obstacle in the shape of a broad lake about 
 a mile and a half across. It looked impossible to 
 cross, as the usual river flowed into it, and Jon said 
 there were quicksands in many places, but that he 
 thought he knew the line all right. 
 
 It was rather a strange sensation, wading shoulder 
 deep through the great, still lake. The shore re- 
 ceded far behind us, and still on and on we went, 
 and on looking back it seemed as if we must have 
 been walking on the water, like St. Peter. We had 
 reached the very centre of the lake, and were about
 
 92 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 three-quarters of a mile from either shore, when 
 something very unpleasant happened. Geoff was 
 feeling his way on the right, driving six ponies, and 
 I on the left directing the other five pack-animals, 
 when suddenly the ponies in front began floundering 
 about and swimming in all directions. At the same 
 moment my nag seemed to sink under me. Divin- 
 ing the cause, I snatched his head round, and after 
 swimming a few strokes, struck bottom again. We 
 had walked into a quicksand and must either get 
 round it or retreat. At this time my sister, who 
 was behind with Thorgrimmer, became nervous, and, 
 fearing her pony would follow the others, jumped off 
 and stood in water up to her neck. It was disagree- 
 able for a moment, until we all began to laugh and 
 to consider a means of getting round the obstacle. 
 
 It was now a question whether -it was wiser to 
 retreat or to find a way round the quicksands. 
 Evening had come, and from immersion in the 
 water we were getting cold. After some consulta- 
 tion we decided to make an effort to advance. 
 Geoff took a wide sweep to the right, Jon felt the 
 way slowly to the front, and I, by retreating a 
 hundred yards and coming round, tried the left 
 again. Presently we saw that Geoff was getting 
 along well on hard ground, so we all followed him, 
 and soon had the satisfaction of finding the depth 
 of the water decreasing. In ten minutes we had 
 reached the further shore, and, taking our water- 
 tight boxes from the ponies, changed our wet 
 clothes and continued our journey. 
 
 Soon after getting under weigh again I heard a 
 strange, sharp, chattering cry that I had never 
 heard before, and, looking over the marsh-land
 
 ICELAND 93 
 
 from which it proceeded, noticed two long-billed 
 birds, which I immediately recognised as the Black- 
 tailed Godwit. A few of these fine waders breed 
 in the south-east of Iceland, and, being anxious to 
 obtain a pair, I spent more than an hour trying 
 to get within shot. Unlike most waders at their 
 breeding station, they were extremely shy. I 
 could have shot the cock several times, but wished 
 to reserve my first cartridge for the hen, as she 
 was by far the shyer of the two, and if I had shot 
 the male at once she would probably have de- 
 camped altogether. By and by she came within 
 about fifty yards, and a shot from my heavily 
 choked gun reached her. She was badly wounded 
 and, sailing away, fell in the marsh a good three 
 hundred yards away. It was an hour before I 
 found her lying dead, and I then returned and 
 without much difficulty secured the cock also. 
 
 Thorgrimmer had given me the line of the trail, 
 but after riding for two hours more the pony and 
 I were both tired and hungry. It was only by 
 ascending a hill I saw our two white tents, and was 
 soon enjoying a good dinner and a rest. 
 
 The Sorg, a river famous alike for trout and flies, 
 was close by, and next day Thorgrimmer showed 
 me one of the best swims for trout. As we walked 
 up the banks of the fine stream we saw many birds 
 now beginning to gather after breeding, as well as 
 many females with young nestlings. In one swell- 
 ing of the river were no less than twenty-two 
 Whooper Swans all old birds evidently not breeding 
 a big flock of Wigeon drakes, some Scaup and 
 Long-tails, and in the river itself I disturbed a 
 duck with a family of Uttle ones which I am certain
 
 94 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 was a female Common Golden-eye, a bird not at 
 this time supposed to visit Iceland. Trout were 
 scarce, rather shy, and not particularly large, but 
 from the excellent feeding they were in grand con- 
 dition, and fought like lions. I got one of two and 
 a half pounds that raced about like a five-pounder, 
 but by three in the afternoon had only five fish. 
 The sun was now hot and raised a swarm of Sorg 
 flies, certainly bad enough to send Thorgrimmer 
 home, but mere innocents compared with their 
 fellows at Myvatn. Wandering on up the stream, 
 I at length reached a deep, still pool at the bottom 
 of a series of rapids. It was fifteen or twenty feet 
 deep, almost as clear as crystal, and sailing about 
 in its liquid depths were eighteen or twenty splen- 
 did char. As usual they absolutely refused to 
 look at a fly. Then I tried them with pretty nearly 
 every lure in the fishing-basket, but nothing seemed 
 to be of the smallest attraction. It was hard to 
 be defeated, and, sitting on the bank, I watched a 
 splendid pair of White-tailed Eagles soaring above 
 the river a few hundred yards away. An apolo- 
 getic cough was now heard from the top of the 
 bank, and a small and shaggy Icelander made his 
 appearance and surveyed my fishing paraphernalia 
 with a look of supercilious wonder. In mock 
 pantomime I begged his assistance by pointing to 
 the big char and the useless trumpery of the fishing- 
 tackle maker, shaking my head sadly. He under- 
 stood in a moment, and began to feverishly over- 
 turn huge rocks and sods of earth. Of course; 
 what an idiot I was ! Why had I not thought of 
 the seductive worm of boyhood's days ? In less 
 than a minute down into those limpid depths sank
 
 ICELAND 95 
 
 a wriggling lob on a Stewart tackle, and no sooner 
 tried than five big fish dashed at the bait. It was 
 not high-class sport, but very good fun while it 
 lasted. I simply cleaned out that pool in about 
 two hours. Each char took from five to ten 
 minutes, and they were all about the same size, 
 from three to four and a half pounds, beautiful 
 golden-bellied fellows, and game as far as they 
 knew how. A char does not act so gallantly as a 
 trout. He certainly makes one fine rush, but then 
 it is all over, just tug, tug, tug, like a blessed old 
 perch or tench, till you have him dead beat. 
 
 Meanwhile the Icelander sat on the bank, all 
 beams and smiles rather commercial smiles I 
 found they were presently, when he appeared with 
 a pony and a large sack and said they belonged to 
 him, and he was ready to remove the spoil. To 
 this I was quite agreeable on the condition that 
 he would take the fish to our camp, three miles 
 down the river, where my brother would take a 
 photograph of them, as it would be nice to have a 
 good picture of such a beautiful basket of fine char. 
 He at once promised to do this, and started off 
 along the river-bank in the direction of our tem- 
 porary abode. However, this was only a bluff, 
 for he never went near our camp, but rode straight 
 on to Reykavick, about forty miles away, and sold 
 his load at a fish store for twenty-five kroners. 
 
 Whilst fishing for the char I witnessed a most 
 interesting sight in the way of bird life. A large 
 snow-white bird came over the hills and com- 
 menced beating up and down the river some half 
 a mile below. By and by it ascended the river 
 and began fishing over the stream within a short
 
 96 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 distance, and I at once saw that it was an old 
 Snowy Owl. Owls are not generally supposed to 
 catch fish as a part of their diet, and it was cer- 
 tainly most unusual to see this great snow-white 
 bird beating up and down the river in broad sun- 
 light. The flight of this owl resembled that of 
 the short-eared species which we may often see 
 hawking by day in our islands, and he kept moving 
 backwards and forwards for five or six minutes, 
 until he spied a char near the surface and descended 
 upon it with high-uplifted wings. Unlike the 
 great clumsy Sea-Eagle, he captured his prey with- 
 out a splash or fuss. He simply fell to the water, 
 and, hardly wetting his toes, picked the fish neatly 
 out of its natural element and sailed away to the 
 mountains to enjoy his dinner. 
 
 After a day spent at Thingvella and its charming 
 lakes we finally set out for Reykavick, which we 
 reached after a most delightful ride totalling five 
 hundred miles. Iceland had not presented the 
 obstacles we had been led to anticipate would be 
 encountered in its wilder parts; indeed, beyond 
 the difficulty of crossing glacier rivers, there is no 
 reason why ladies should not accompany their 
 husbands and brothers as they do in Norway. 
 Iceland is now one of the few European countries 
 where the traveller can wander at will with his 
 tent, and live with a small additional cost on the 
 produce of his gun and rod amongst charming and 
 good-natured people. The trail of the serpent 
 made by the tourist's dollar has not yet contamin- 
 ated the peasantry as it has done in Norway, and 
 there is yet room for a few sportsmen in their 
 northern wilds.
 
 ICELAND 97 
 
 We found a Danish ship about to leave for the 
 Faroes and Scotland, and after a pleasant voyage 
 of three days reached the former islands without 
 incident. 
 
 Few people in this country have visited the 
 Faroes, although they are now within thirty-six 
 hours' sail of England, and there is some good trout- 
 fishing to be had there. The coast scenery as 
 we entered one of the numerous ports from the 
 east was fine, beetling crags and precipitous hills, 
 green and flat on the top like a series of small 
 table mountains. A terrace formation, too, is 
 seen on most of the hills. On these the sheep and 
 ponies graze and the little farmhouses are perched. 
 The land is much richer than that of either Iceland 
 or the Shetlands, and, owing to the vicinity of 
 the Gulf Stream, the climate throughout the year 
 is warm and equable. Like all dwellers in isolated 
 islands, the Faroese lead a lonely existence, seldom 
 seeing a strange face, and making but few visits to 
 the capital, Thorshavn, and then only to sell their 
 sheep and ponies or exchange them for other neces- 
 saries. Sometimes the monotony of their lives is 
 broken by a whale hunt on a large scale that is, 
 when a very large school of Bottlenose Whales 
 has been headed outside and gently urged up 
 over the long Voes. I was told by Herr Muller, 
 the Sysselmund of Thorshavn and judge-in-chief of 
 all the whale hunts, that the Faroese have a very 
 perfect system of smoke signalling, and that men 
 are told off on various headlands at the mouth of 
 the Voes to signal the advent of whales. By light- 
 ing fires and causing the smoke to arise in various 
 manners the look-out can signal forty miles away
 
 98 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 to Thorshavn the possibilities of a capture, the 
 state of the sea, the number of whales and boats 
 required for the chase. When a really big school 
 is sighted the excitement in Thorshavn and the 
 surrounding district is intense, and all make a 
 great rush for the boats, men, women, and even 
 children joining in the strife for first place. A big 
 whale hunt is the great event of the year, and when, 
 after hours of skilful manoeuvring, the scared 
 Cetaceans are finally driven on to the beach, the 
 whole population goes mad with the lust of 
 slaughter. Men and women, even quite young 
 girls, often spring from the boats, and, standing 
 in the water, lance the maddened whales with 
 their harpoons and killing- knives. Accidents 
 rarely happen, though occasionally a whale in its 
 death throes rolls over a man or strikes him with 
 its tail. On the whole the whale hunt is looked 
 upon with delight by the inhabitants and is source 
 of little danger. 
 
 Herr Muller, who was an old correspondent of 
 mine and an excellent ornithologist, told me that 
 the real difficulty of these whale hunts was in 
 afterwards settling the claims of the respective 
 parties engaged in the fray. Even little children 
 got their share if they owned a paddle or a rullock 
 in one of the boats, and so the good Postmaster- 
 General and final arbiter on the bodies of defunct 
 Cetaceans had no easy task to perform during the 
 autumn months. That he did his duty well was 
 evidenced by the universal respect in which he 
 was held. I was very anxious to stay and take 
 part in one of these hunts, but we were told that 
 months might elapse before another school appeared
 
 ICELAND 99 
 
 in a favourable spot, and my leave was up in another 
 fortnight. 
 
 It was a beautifully still afternoon as we steamed 
 up to Thorshavn, a little village of wooden houses 
 nestling among the rocks at the foot of the high, 
 green-terraced hills. The place seems very green 
 and homely after barren Iceland, and there was 
 that indescribable charm about the island that 
 appertains to the Orkneys and the Shetlands 
 the charm that comes of the ever-changing play of 
 shadow and sunshine on land and sea in a bracing 
 and brilliant atmosphere. The harbour was alive 
 with boats of the usual slender Norse type high 
 of prow and light of oar and the natives rowed 
 their craft with all the dash and go of men born 
 to the water, whilst chanting their wild and not 
 unmusical sagas. Taken as a whole, the Faroese 
 men and women are of the usual Scandinavian 
 type yellow hair, blue eyes, pointed features, and 
 high cheekbones. Not a particularly fine race, 
 like the northern Norwegians, but amongst them 
 were a few exceptionally handsome men. Some 
 of the young men of Faroe were certainly as dark 
 as Spaniards, the nation to whom they doubtless 
 owed their features, for it is well known that two 
 ships of the ill-fated Armada struck these northern 
 isles, and that some of the crews escaped and 
 doubtless settled amongst the natives. The Beau 
 Brummel of the place was a fine fellow about six 
 feet three inches in height, and dressed in the 
 national costume he made an excellent model for 
 Geoff and his camera. 
 
 There seems to be no history of the origin of 
 the national costume, which is at once picturesque
 
 100 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 and useful. The most curious part of it is the shark- 
 skin covering. A single piece of skin is wrapped 
 closely round the foot and gathered in at the top, 
 giving a puckered-up appearance, and is fastened 
 round the ankles by a bright-coloured woollen cord. 
 Many of the men carry the long whale -killing knife 
 called Grinda knivur. 
 
 The town of Thorshavn was like any other Scan- 
 dinavian seaside village groups of bare wooden 
 sheds, with white-painted windows and green turf 
 roofs, and on all the rocks and open beaches masses 
 of halibut, cod, ling, pollock, haddock and saithe 
 put out to dry for shipment to Spain and the West 
 Indies. 
 
 There are no streets in Thorshavn, but you 
 stumble along winding alleys paved in places with 
 an outcrop of natural rock or a few stones flung 
 into the worst holes. The absence of roads in 
 Faroe is explained by the fact that there are no 
 wheeled vehicles in the islands. Everything is 
 carried on pony-back. Articles are packed in long 
 narrow crates resting on bundles of hay and a 
 sheepskin. These ponies are generally led and 
 rarely ridden as in Shetland. The horse of the 
 islands is slightly larger than the Iceland pony, 
 and is said to possess neither that wonderful nag's 
 endurance nor his surefootedness. In some of the 
 most isolated farmhouses, where ponies cannot 
 travel, it is the custom when a man dies to lash 
 his corpse to a plank of wood, which is then carried 
 on a man's back to the nearest cemetery. 
 
 Under the able guidance of the English Consul, 
 Mr. Jacobsen, we saw the Governor's house, the 
 pride of Faroe, then the great tree of the island
 
 ICELAND 101 
 
 (a more sickly-looking specimen than the Aku- 
 reyri wonder), then the curious little Parliament 
 house, where the members get 2s. 3d. per day per 
 man during the session, and last, but not least, a 
 wonderful wall made entirely from the skulls of 
 captured whales. 
 
 In the evening we went to a grand ball given in 
 the only two-storeyed building in the place. We 
 all enjoyed the ball very much so unlike anything 
 else of its kind in Europe. 
 
 After a great deal of forcing and squeezing, 
 rather like a Rugby scrum, we reached the top of 
 the room, where the " quality " of the island were 
 seated in majestic isolation. It reminded one of 
 the old county ball at home, with the self-selected 
 standing ground of local magnates. 
 
 The national dance of Faroe was in full swing. 
 Ye Gods 1 this was a dance and no mistake. It 
 lasted for twelve hours, without a halt for breath 
 or refreshments in some cases. It was a sort of 
 grand country dance, accompanied by singing, 
 which rose and fell like the wind on a spring day. 
 I believe there was a single fiddler who started the 
 music, but he soon relinquished his efforts as hope- 
 less in the babel of song and conversation. There 
 was no pairing off, every one, from old people to 
 mere children, took hands and joined in the national 
 dance. All kept up a snaky, circling movement, 
 winding in and out like a lowland stream, and 
 chanting the while, with a curiously rhythmic 
 cadence, the songs of old and the sagas of the 
 Northlands. There was something very charming 
 and old-fashioned about it all, and we were much 
 struck by the serious earnestness of some of the
 
 102 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 women. Two of them, notably leaders of the 
 movement, burst forth in passionate vehemence, 
 and, goaded on by the other women, their voices 
 rose to heights of eloquence and excitement, and 
 anon died away to melancholy croonings. Each 
 dancer held his neighbour by the hand or arm, and 
 there seemed to be some sort of etiquette that the 
 long chain of human links must not be broken. 
 The steps were a sort of polka shuffle, with a con- 
 stant change of time according to the subject that 
 was being sung. Sometimes the chain moved 
 slowly like a funeral march, then it would become 
 faster and break into a mad gallop, the younger 
 men leaping into the air and stamping and yelling. 
 Then it would subside to a slow walk, and again 
 rise to a passionate outburst. The excitement 
 was catching, so when the Consul said that the 
 people would take it as a compliment if we would 
 join in, there was no need of a second invitation. 
 We each burst forcibly in between two dancers, 
 and Geoff said I had no business to wait till the 
 prettiest girl in the room came to the surface. We 
 sang and danced away for about an hour. My 
 sister, who was held firmly in the chain by two 
 robust youths, had no little difficulty in escaping. 
 She succeeded, however, at last by making a wild 
 spring in the direction of the door and upsetting 
 several of the onlookers. Geoff and I hung on for 
 a bit, until the dust and the heat of the room became 
 unbearable, and then we, too, fled out into the 
 night. The dance, I was told, commenced at 
 6 p.m., and the chain of human beings never 
 stopped moving until six the next morning. Cer- 
 tainly if those we saw continued throughout the
 
 A FAROE ISLANDER IN NATIONAL COSTUME
 
 ICELAND 103 
 
 night it was a very fine physical effort and the 
 Faroese are in no danger of extinction. 
 
 It is only at a dance of this description and 
 importance that the native gala costume is worn, 
 and many of the guests were to us gracefully 
 adorned. A mere man is not supposed to know 
 anything about such things, so for a description 
 I have fallen back on the words of a recent writer 
 on the Faroes, Mrs. L. von Thiele 
 
 " The girls wear a full, dark-stuff skirt, reaching 
 to the ankles, a black velvet bodice, laced across 
 the front over a white chemisette, turned in at the 
 neck, with short, plain sleeves coming half-way 
 between the shoulder and elbow, a little silk Paisley 
 shawl over the shoulders, and a gaily-striped apron. 
 The hair is drawn plainly off the face, braided into 
 several plaits, and turned up under a little black 
 silk or velvet Dutch cap, tied under the chin. The 
 men wear fine black-cloth knee-breeches, fastened 
 with gold buttons, a cut-away coat, and knitted 
 stockings, with low shoes, the whole having a 
 curious resemblance to an English gentleman's 
 Court costume. By their side they carry a very 
 ornate whaling-knife, more for ornament than use, 
 for the ones actually used in whale hunts are larger 
 and stronger." 
 
 In two days more we were back again in dear old 
 Scotland after a most delightful trip.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN 
 
 MY father was a man with a broad love of human- 
 ity, choosing as his friends those whose outlook 
 was great in viewing life generally. Pettiness in 
 any one he particularly disliked, and taking a 
 kindly interest in people and things himself, he 
 expected the same from others. He had an abiding 
 aversion to " shop " of all kinds, and I do not sup- 
 pose there was a house in Britain where a stranger 
 would have heard less talk of art than in our home. 
 He liked to gather round him men of varied interests, 
 so that those who came met others on whom to 
 exercise their brilliance in mental sword-play, and we, 
 looking on, felt life was both merry and intellectual. 
 
 On Sunday afternoons, Sullivan, Arthur Cecil, Liza 
 Lehman and all the great musicians of the day would 
 come in, and gave us delightful concerts in the old 
 studio at Cromwell Place. My father was devoted to 
 music, of which three of my sisters, Erne, Mary and 
 Carrie, were excellent exponents, and every morning 
 as he painted, one or other of his daughters would 
 play to him all the more serious or lighter operas 
 which were popular at the time. 
 
 Gladstone used to come to lunch when he was 
 sitting for his portraits, of which my father painted 
 three. He was a pleasant visitor, and liked to 
 discuss all kinds of subjects, giving us a lecture 
 in the Early Victorian style upon all sorts of things, 
 
 104
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 105 
 
 whether he knew much about them or not. He 
 would orate upon art, music, poetry, and religion, 
 of which he knew a great deal, and even on 
 Natural History, about which he knew nothing, but 
 he was always charming to everybody and especi- 
 ally to children and I have several letters from 
 him which show the trouble this great man, whose life 
 was then oppressed with all the cares of a Prime 
 Minister, took to discuss with an insignificant boy 
 like myself the relations of birds and their influence 
 on human character. 
 
 Speaking of Natural History, we should expect 
 that our best poets, being embued with a love of all 
 that was beautiful and interesting in the great 
 out-of-doors, would display some slight knowledge 
 of the subject, but my experience is, that there is 
 no class of writers with the exception of modern 
 novelists and pressmen who are so woefully ignor- 
 ant of what goes on around them in the country 
 as our poets. Tennyson is not so bad, as he never 
 ventures beyond a description of common things 
 associated with his early Lincolnshire home. George 
 Meredith knew a little about plants, and Keats 
 had probably heard a nightingale. "I do love 
 bullfinches," said Matthew Arnold one day at 
 Murthly, as we stopped to admire two chaffinches 
 that settled on the roadway in front of us. Now 
 Matthew Arnold was an Oxford man and a scholar, 
 but he did not know the commonest birds, plants 
 or trees, and with all his learning he missed the best 
 in life. The only poet whose work ranges over a 
 vast variety of subjects, and who makes few mis- 
 takes in the ways of birds and beasts, is Rudyard 
 Kipling, who, being a mental giant, like Roosevelt,
 
 106 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 can not only read and retain the knowledge gathered 
 by others, but visualise the actions of Nature in 
 all its aspects. Nothing finer has ever been written 
 than "The Three Sealers" (The Seven Seas), or some 1 
 of the animal studies in the Jungle Book, such as 
 " The White Seal," and yet Kipling has never been in 
 Alaska. I believe he got the whole of his material 
 for these subjects by talking to one man who had 
 lived on St. Paul (the fur seal island), and a careful 
 study of Elliot's Fur Seals of Alaska. One day I 
 called his attention to an error occurring in the 
 verses beginning, " In the Neolithic Age," in which 
 he says : " When the reindeer roared as Paris roars 
 to-night." Now the reindeer does not roar during 
 the rutting seasons, but emits a series of low grunts 
 which are neither dignified nor awe-inspiring, as is 
 the voice of the Red Deer stag, so I ventured to 
 suggest that the poet should substitute the latter 
 animal for the former, to which I received the 
 following reply 
 
 " Bateman's, 
 " Burwash, 
 
 " Sussex. 
 " DEAR MR. MILLAIS, 
 
 " I'm just back after three months abroad, 
 to find your letter of the 28th of November. It 
 
 1 The word " some " is meant to express that, whilst as 
 literature his studies of tigers, elephants, wolves, etc., are 
 excellent, there runs through their expressed thoughts ideas 
 that are purely human, and not animal. Many of his wild 
 beasts' conversations are distinctly as grotesque as they are 
 imaginary, for animals do not judge things from the human 
 standpoint, and the more we study them the more do we 
 find that to do so is to take an altogether incorrect view of 
 mammalian life. In such cases the remark of the veteran, 
 John Burroughes, who abhorred all Nature-fakers, is about 
 the best, " Why can't they let a straddlebug be a straddlebug ? "
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 107 
 
 was awfully good of you to take the trouble, and 
 you've put me under an obligation. The change 
 to * Red Deer ' will be made for a new edition that's 
 coming out soon and for other editions as requisite. 
 " It's rather a coincidence that in the first and 
 last verse of those verses I should have made errors 
 which had to be corrected. I put (originally) the 
 two- or three-toed horse in the Neolithic Age, and 
 was very justly hauled over the coals for so doing. 
 I have your big vols. of the Mammals of Great 
 Britain, and I don't think that you anywhere state 
 that the common hedgehog is extraordinarily proof 
 against poisons toxic for choice. He does not 
 mind diphtheria or tetanus germs, and can also 
 absorb mineral poisons in large quantities. A 
 learned professor told me so this year. Is it true ? 1 
 
 " Very gratefully yours, 
 " RUDYARD KIPLING." 
 
 A man I knew well for a short time was Theodore 
 Roosevelt, late President of the North American 
 Republic, and it was a great disappointment to 
 me that his untimely death prevented a visit I 
 had hoped to pay him in 1919. 
 
 Nearly all ages and nations produce men of 
 exceptional physical and mental capacity that tower 
 above their fellows. From youth upwards they 
 exhibit a strong disposition to lead others, and allow 
 none of those obstacles that deter lesser creatures 
 to obstruct the path of ambition and success. 
 Theodore Roosevelt was one of these " super-men," 
 and though born with advantages superior to the 
 
 1 It is very doubtful if hedgehogs are immune, as suggested. 
 They are easily poisoned by strychnine.
 
 108 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 common lot, there was always the irresistible, 
 verve about him that carries others on and arrests 
 attention. Even when reading his first writings 
 in the Century Magazine, where he describes 
 how he captured two desperadoes in the heart of 
 the Rockies, and took them unaided in the depth of 
 winter over hundreds of miles of desolate prairies 
 to the nearest settlement, where they could be tried 
 and convicted, he exhibited the fact that he was 
 not only a man of exceptional courage and resource, 
 but also one out to do his duty to his country. His 
 rural life on the Little Missouri taught him many 
 things, and, above all, made him a lover of the great 
 out-of-doors, with its birds, beasts and virile men. 
 Yet in all his life he always placed his sports and 
 private tastes in a category subservient to the one 
 aim and object of his life, which was to lead the 
 people to better and higher things, to form the 
 national policy of his country and to clean Govern- 
 ment and private concerns of those undesirable 
 elements which clog the wheels of all progress. 
 That was why he attacked the meat-packers of 
 Chicago and the rotten police system of New York ; 
 and if his detractors accused him of only stirring up 
 the mud without cleansing the stables of Augeus, they 
 forgot the honesty of purpose and the difficulty of 
 achieving successful results in a land, at any rate 
 at that time, seething with dirt and venal corruption. 
 From his childhood he told me he always loved 
 birds and animals. By the time he was sixteen he 
 knew all the birds of his early home, and had studied 
 the principal works of American ornithology. When 
 he was eighteen he went to Egypt and made a 
 small collection of Nile valley birds, which I think
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 109 
 
 he afterwards presented to some museum. After 
 this he does not seem to have indulged in further 
 collecting, beyond superintending the work of his 
 naturalists in the course of his big expedition to Africa. 
 
 As a matter of fact, his knowledge of American 
 and African birds was very considerable, for he 
 was so thorough in all he did, that when undertaking 
 any new project, his method was to thoroughly 
 study the literature of the subject, and this, com- 
 bined with his marvellous memory, enabled him 
 to begin his work better equipped than most men. 
 
 We have heard much of Roosevelt the talker 
 and Roosevelt the politician, teaching all and sundry 
 their business with equal confidence, but I think 
 his greatest asset was hard work and a superb 
 memory. He took trouble to make himself agree- 
 able and well-informed, and seemed to know as much 
 about other people's tastes and family history as 
 they did themselves. I remember the first time 
 I met him, at a luncheon party at Lord Lonsdale's 
 in 1908. He spoke in turn to nearly every man 
 there, and was cognisant of all their past history 
 and activities, because I feel sure he had read it 
 all beforehand. I suppose I was the only man he 
 had not addressed, and just as all were leaving he 
 came up to me and said, " I seem to know your 
 face. Who are you?' : " Millais is my name," I 
 replied. " What ! Breath from the Veldt Millais ? " 
 he said enthusiastically. " You've just got to sit 
 down right here and have a chat. I don't know 
 when I have been so pleased to meet any one." 1 
 
 1 Next morning he wrote me a charming letter : " You 
 were one of the men I came to England to see, and I should 
 have been so distressed had I missed you yesterday."
 
 110 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 That was just the nice way he had of being 
 agreeable, and if we did not have a chat, I listened 
 at any rate for some twenty minutes with absorbed 
 interest to his views of Nature and the zoology of 
 South Africa, of which he displayed, contrary to 
 my expectations, a very considerable knowledge. 
 He described Bustards, Plovers, Raptorials, Cranes, 
 Francolins, etc., in a way that quite astonished me, 
 although I knew he could not have seen them, and 
 when I made some comment, he said he had read 
 every work on the birds and mammals of Africa 
 he could obtain at the library at Washington before 
 starting on his journey. It is one thing to read 
 books, especially on birds, and quite another thing 
 to remember all their contents, but I must confess 
 that on this and subsequent occasions on which I 
 had the pleasure of talking " birds " to Roosevelt, 
 the power of his memory filled me with admiration. 
 
 His views on modern nomenclature were some- 
 what surprising and not always consistent. At 
 first he seemed to be inclined to favour the inclusion 
 as subspecies of all local forms. This is borne out 
 by his acceptance, and even approval, of the naming 
 of the collections of the Roosevelt expedition, which 
 included many new birds and mammals as sub- 
 species which even the most enthusiastic advocates 
 of local forms could scarcely accept. On the other 
 hand, after due consideration and some time had 
 elapsed, he became a very orthodox " lumper," 
 and laughed at the claims of the " splitters." The 
 case in point which caused his conversion to the 
 former group was, he told me, an occasion when he 
 submitted the skulls of three Bos caffer which his 
 party had shot out of one herd at one place in East
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 111 
 
 Africa to Professor Matschie of Berlin. The learned 
 zoologist in question pronounced them as the skulls 
 of three different subspecies, giving each and all 
 separate names. 
 
 More recently Roosevelt himself expressed his 
 views on scientific nomenclature : " The time has 
 passed when we can afford to accept as satisfactory 
 a science of animal life whose professors are either 
 mere roaming field collectors or mere closet cata- 
 logue-writers who examine and record minute 
 differences in ' specimens ' precisely as philatelists 
 examine and record minute differences in postage 
 stamps and with about the same breadth of view 
 and power of insight into the essential. Little is 
 to be gained by that kind of ' intensive ' collecting 
 and cataloguing which bears fruit only in innumer- 
 able little pamphlets describing with meticulous 
 care unimportant new subspecies, or new species 
 hardly to be distinguished from those already long 
 known. Such pamphlets have almost no real 
 interest, except for the infrequent rival specialists 
 who read them with quarrelsome interest." Intro- 
 duction to Tropical Wild Life in British Guiana, 
 by William Beebe (1917). 
 
 Although it must be acknowledged that Roose- 
 velt's favourites amongst wild creatures were the 
 larger mammals, and especially the dangerous ones, 
 which afforded opportunities in the excitement of 
 the chase of thrilling moments, his delight in the 
 birds of Africa and America always displayed the 
 feelings of the true naturalist, whose chief instinct 
 is not to slay, but to sit down and study the ways of 
 wild creatures in their natural homes. In spite 
 of his abundant energy, the President had also a
 
 112 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 reflective side to his character, and a very real 
 appreciation of all that is best in art and Nature. 
 He loathed what was false and untrue to life as 
 sincerely as a man like Selous. As an instance of 
 this, his excellent papers on the falsity of protective 
 coloration are a good example, and did much to 
 controvert the crystallised opinions of theoretical 
 men of science, who for the most part had no 
 knowledge of the action of Nature on the spot. 
 
 On occasion, Roosevelt was inclined to be dog- 
 matic and, as I have remarked, somewhat incon- 
 sistent. I remember once, after he returned from 
 his African trip and his excellent book (African 
 Game-trails) had been published, he gave me a lecture 
 of about twenty minutes (with scarcely a pause to 
 take breath) on the superiority of pictures done on 
 the spot by a zoological artist over all forms of 
 instantaneous photography. At last, when I man- 
 aged to get a word in, it was impossible to refrain 
 from saying, " If these are your opinions, why 
 did you not take an artist with you instead of a 
 photographer? " " Well, you have got me there," 
 he admitted, laughing. " I could not have found the 
 right man, and if I had it is doubtful if he would 
 have come." " What was the matter with Carl 
 Rungius ? 1 Did you ask him?' 1 I suggested. 
 There was no answer to this, for had Roosevelt 
 taken Rungius to Africa with him we should have 
 had a magnificent pictorial record of the larger 
 mammals of Africa which would have made his 
 book one of permanent interest, and then we should 
 have been spared that dreadful series of bad por- 
 traits of the author standing in fatuous attitudes 
 
 1 Carl Rungius, the best artist of mammals in North America.
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 113 
 
 over mangled corpses of deceased hartebeests, lions, 
 and zebras. 
 
 Roosevelt probably knew this himself, but his 
 book was written for the man in the street, and so 
 he perhaps felt that those horrible portraits were 
 expected of him, but it only reminds us of Corney 
 Grain's 
 
 " Choir-boy whose voice o'er- topped the rest 
 Though very inartistic, the public like it best." 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt was certainly one of the most 
 remarkable men of this or any other time. In 
 person he was the embodiment of physical fitness, 
 being an expert rider and shot and skilled in most 
 games. Mentally he was a giant whose broad 
 vision ranged over a vast variety of subjects. At 
 one sitting I have heard him discuss big game 
 hunting, bimetallism, zoology, geography, national 
 policy, European history, botany, palaeontology, 
 archaeology, and ancient forms of religion, bringing 
 to each and all a thoroughness, accuracy, wealth of 
 detail and breadth of criticism that was astonishing 
 did we not know the extent of his reading and the 
 power of his memory. His active brain was a com- 
 plete bibliography of a thousand subjects, and at a 
 moment's notice he could give you chapter and 
 verse to which to refer in regard to any point at issue. 
 No man living could have produced two such diverse 
 volumes as Presidential Addresses and State Papers 
 and Through the Brazilian Wilderness, and if we 
 add to this his experience as a soldier, and exposition 
 of his New Bible, we can obtain some slight grasp 
 of his mental and physical activities. 1 
 
 1 " The man's memory was prodigious. I once spent some 
 ten days on two separate visits as his guest at the White 
 i
 
 114 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Amongst the successes of his life may be men- 
 tioned the impetus he gave to the research for the 
 elimination of yellow fever in the canal zone, and 
 what to naturalists was a work of great importance, 
 was his continuous advocacy of the preservation 
 of the fauna and flora of the North American 
 continent. In this he certainly achieved a great 
 measure of success, although in many instances 
 we fear his efforts came too late. 
 
 Personally he was a man of charming disposition, 
 full of thought for others, ever alive to better the lot 
 of the unfortunate, and possessed of that kindly 
 sympathy which we always associate with really 
 great men. His attitude to us during the Great 
 War was that of intense sympathy and under- 
 standing, and in him England has lost her best 
 advocate for future policy, as well as her best friend 
 amongst the statesmen of the world. 
 
 In the spring of 1917, I heard from Roosevelt 
 that he intended raising a Volunteer Corps in the 
 United States for service in France, and after 
 obtaining permission from the Admiralty, I offered 
 
 House in 1908. At one luncheon party the question of Mayne 
 Reid's novels came up. Roosevelt gave a precis of the more 
 remarkable of their plots, of their characters, their defects 
 and strong points. So he could with Dickens, Thackeray, 
 Jane Austen, Nathaniel Hawthorne and Mark Twain. When 
 I was setting out to study the negro in the New World he 
 gave me from memory an almost complete bibliography of 
 the works discussing the slavery question in the United States, 
 from the books of Anthony Benezet in 1762 to those of Olmsted 
 in 1861. Once, when the then Provost of Oriel called and 
 lunched, and was rather perversely Hellenistic in his lore, 
 Roosevelt, with a twinkle in his eye, turned the subject to the 
 Tartar invasion of Eastern Europe in the thirteenth century, 
 and gave us a really remarkable sketch of its chief incidents 
 and ultimate results." Sir H. H. Johnston, Nature, January 
 16th, 1919.
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 115 
 
 my services to him, which he was good enough to 
 accept. The progress of this movement was taken 
 up with enthusiasm by all his old comrades, but 
 when America saw that she would have to introduce 
 compulsory service to raise a sufficient army, a veto 
 was placed upon all Volunteers. With regret at the 
 collapse of his scheme Roosevelt thus writes : 
 
 "783 Fifth Avenue, 
 
 "New York, 
 "June 22nd, 1917. 
 " MY DEAR MlLLAIS, 
 
 " You have doubtless seen the President's 
 announcement wherein he refused to make use of 
 the Volunteer Forces which Congress had authorised 
 him to permit me to raise. 
 
 " Prior to this announcement by the President, 
 I had sent him a telegram as follows 
 
 " ' I respectfully ask permission immediately 
 to raise two divisions for immediate service at the 
 front under the bill which has just become law, 
 and hold myself ready to raise four divisions if 
 you so direct. I respectfully refer for details to 
 my last letters to the Secretary of War. If 
 granted permission, I earnestly ask that Cap- 
 tain Frank McCoy be directed to report to me 
 at once. Minister Fletcher has written me that 
 he is willing. Also, if permission to raise the 
 divisions is granted, I would like to come to 
 Washington as soon as the War Department is 
 willing, so that I may find what supplies are 
 available, and at once direct the regular officers 
 who are chosen for brigade and regimental 
 commands how and where to get to work.'
 
 116 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 " To this the President answered as follows 
 
 " ' I very much regret that I cannot comply 
 with the request in your telegram of yesterday. 
 The reasons I have stated in a public statement 
 made this morning, and I need not assure you 
 that my conclusions were based entirely upon 
 imperative considerations of public policy and 
 not upon personal or private choice.' 
 
 " Accordingly, I communicated with as many of 
 the men who had agreed to raise units for service 
 in this division as possible, and after consulting with 
 about twenty of them I issued a statement which 
 was made public through the Press. 
 
 " ' I now release you and all your men. I 
 wish to express my deep sense of obligation 
 to you and to all those who had volunteered 
 under, and in connection with this division. 
 
 " ' As you doubtless know, I am very proud 
 of the Rough Riders, the First Volunteer 
 Cavalry, with whom I served in the Spanish- 
 American War. I believe it is a just and 
 truthful statement of the facts when I say that 
 this regiment did as well as any of the admirable 
 regular regiments with which it served in the 
 Santiago campaign. It was raised, armed, 
 equipped, drilled, mounted, dismounted, kept 
 two weeks aboard transports, and put through 
 two victorious fights, in which it lost one-third 
 of the officers and one-fifth of the men all 
 within sixty days from the time I received my 
 commission. 
 
 " ' If the President had permitted me to raise
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 117 
 
 the four divisions, I am certain that they would 
 have equalled this record, only on a hundred- 
 fold larger scale. They would have all been 
 in the firing-line before, or shortly after, the 
 draft army had begun to assemble; and, 
 moreover, they could have been indefinitely 
 reinforced, so that they would have grown 
 continually stronger and more efficient. 
 
 " ' I regret from the standpoint of the country 
 that your services were not utilised. But the 
 country has every reason to be proud of the 
 zeal, patriotism and business-like efficiency with 
 which you came forward.' 
 
 " With all good wishes, 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 " THEODORE ROOSEVELT." 
 
 The following letter, too, is somewhat interesting 
 from the fact that it shows how inconsistent Presi- 
 dent Wilson's attitude was, when suggesting self- 
 determination for all local races, when he himself, 
 as representative of the American nation, was occupy- 
 ing Hayti without " the smallest regard to the 
 wishes of the Haytians." 
 
 " Metropolitan, 
 " 432 Fourth Avenue, New York, 
 
 January 23rd, 1918. 
 
 '* MY DEAR COMMANDER MILLAIS, 
 
 " Is the enclosed all right ? The irritating 
 thing is, that I am sure I have several of Selous' 
 letters ; but they are in the enormous mass of my 
 papers in the Congressional Library, and it would 
 literally take months of effort before I could fine! 
 them.
 
 118 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 u I wish my boys could get over to see you, but 
 they don't allow them out of the training trenches 
 for more than a day or two at a time, and then 
 very infrequently. Just at present I am devoting 
 every ounce of energy I have to the effort to hurry up 
 our action. If I ever meet you again I will tell you 
 some of the difficulties I have met with from your 
 own people, who have unwittingly contributed to 
 keep our administration fatuously complacent and 
 inactive. 
 
 " I grinned over Lloyd-George's proposal to 
 consult the natives about the government of the 
 African possessions. Our President gladly followed 
 suit, for it is the kind of preposterous fatuity that 
 appeals to him appeals to him as a matter of 
 oratory only, for in practice at this time he is occupy- 
 ing Hayti, without the smallest regard to the wishes 
 of the Haytians. There never was a more ludicrous 
 proposal than that of consulting those wild savages 
 as to whom they love best. It would literally be 
 quite as rational to get from them an expression of 
 opinion as to the nebular hypothesis. 
 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 " THEODORE ROOSEVELT." 
 
 In the lives of all men who have knocked about 
 the world as I have done, there must sometimes 
 occur circumstances which in our present state of 
 knowledge of the unseen world are both strange 
 and often unaccountable. Amongst the hundreds 
 of times in which I have sat at dinner with the 
 unlucky number thirteen, I have only once seen 
 an objection raised, and on that occasion Matthew 
 Arnold the poet, Edgar Seebohm the playwright,
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 119 
 
 and Edgar Dawson, an old personal friend, rose 
 together so as to defeat any evil influence. Within 
 six months Matthew Arnold died suddenly of heart 
 disease, Edgar Seebohm was murdered in New York, 
 and within the year Edgar Dawson was drowned in 
 the Quetta in Torres Straits on his way home 
 from Australia. We should have taken little notice 
 of the slight sensation caused by the alarm of a 
 certain lady at the dinner in question, which 
 occurred at Birnam Hall, but for the fact that she 
 was so much upset by the prospect of some impend- 
 ing calamity, and constantly referred to it after- 
 wards. The last time she had sat down to dinner 
 with thirteen guests the first person to rise had died 
 shortly afterwards, and nothing would induce her 
 to think that a similar catastrophe would not hap- 
 pen. Unfortunately she was right in her surmise. 
 The whole thing may have been pure coincidence, 
 but it was certainly very curious. That it should 
 happen again, and in this case with three apparently 
 healthy men, was all the more extraordinary. 
 
 Beyond the undoubted existence of such a thing 
 as " psychic force," which I think is now abund- 
 antly proved in the case of such a wonderful 
 exponent as Eusapia Palladino, a woman who can 
 slam shutters and knock over tables at a distance 
 in broad daylight in a room which she has just 
 entered for the first time, the exhibitions of so- 
 called " mediums " are, as a rule, easily explained, 
 or of so trivial a nature as to be devoid of interest, 
 but some of these people who profess to see into the 
 future do make remarkably good guesses, or what- 
 ever we like to call them, as to what will occur. 
 In January 1919, I went with my wife to see one of
 
 120 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 these gentry, who was said to possess extraordinary 
 powers. He seemed to be a very ignorant man, and 
 after a few moments' silence, he proceeded to talk 
 the most abject rubbish for some ten minutes. As I 
 was dressed in naval uniform (on purpose to mislead 
 him), he talked much of the sea, the war, and certain 
 friends (purely imaginary), so I was quite bored, and 
 made a sign to my wife that it was time to go, when 
 all at once he began to speak of our eldest boy, who 
 was killed in the big advance in 1918, and described 
 him so accurately, both his appearance and charac- 
 teristics, that I was at once interested. 
 
 Of what we may call the supernatural I have had 
 only one experience, and that a most unpleasant 
 one, and as the matter may be of interest to my 
 readers, I will put it down exactly as it happened. 1 
 
 In the year 1906 I resolved to continue my labours 
 in the mapping of the central part of Newfoundland, 
 which at that time was still uncharted owing to the 
 difficulty of reaching the interior. No one seemed 
 to have been in the Mount Sylvester region since 
 Cormack crossed the island in 1827, and the whole 
 district, from the south at Long Harbour to the 
 Gander River in the centre, and the east at Maelpeg 
 to eighty miles to the west of Mount Sylvester, was 
 quite unknown. I was, too, resolved to ascend the 
 Long Harbour River, practically a long series of 
 rapids and overfalls, because Howley, the Govern- 
 ment surveyor, and an excellent traveller, had failed 
 to do so, and said it was " impossible." 
 
 To accomplish this journey I reached Belloram 
 
 1 I did not refer to this matter in my work Newfoundland 
 and its Untrodden Ways, as Ryan was then still alive, and I 
 feared it might hurt his feelings.
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 121 
 
 in Fortune Bay in September 1906, and was there 
 met by Philip Ryan, who kept the store and tele- 
 graph office at the mouth of the Long Harbour and 
 traded with the Micmac Indians. 
 
 Philip Ryan was a remarkable man in some ways. 
 He was the soul of geniality, and as active as a cat 
 despite his sixty years. In quite a big sea he 
 would climb up the mast to adjust his sails, and 
 handled his cutter, the Caribou, with great skill. 
 Being a thorough Irishman, all his tackle was rotten, 
 and how he had escaped with his life for so long in 
 the squalls of Fortune Bay was difficult to imagine. 
 He was the only man on the south coast the Indians 
 trusted, and it was through him I got my Indian 
 guides for this trip. 
 
 After a rough and by no means safe voyage across 
 Fortune Bay, we reached Ryan's house at Long 
 Harbour, where I found one of my Indians. Ryan 
 lived alone in a two-storied wooden house, and the 
 whole place was one indescribable mass of stores, 
 furs, gunpowder, and truck of every description 
 piled in confusion in all the rooms. Everything 
 bespoke dirt and disorder, and the house did not 
 seem to have been swept out for years. About 
 11 p.m. Ryan conducted me upstairs to a large 
 bedroom and wished me good-night. Immediately 
 I entered the room I felt a deadly chill and sense 
 of unusual depression. Being a man of sanguine 
 temperament, the feeling was unusual, and dispens- 
 ing with a light I threw off most of my clothes and 
 jumped into a large bed, which seemed to be a litter 
 of clothes (unmade), and covered with what had 
 once been a whitish counterpane. 
 
 It was a cold night with frost, and the moon shone
 
 122 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 brightly outside. For hours I tossed about un- 
 easily, and whenever I tried to doze I sprang up 
 again with the idea that there was a woman moving 
 about the room. Presently the rays of the moon 
 penetrated to the room (there being no blinds) and 
 fell upon the bed. What now attracted my atten- 
 tion was the peculiar pattern on the counterpane 
 there were many dark, irregular patches all over it, 
 but the principal design in the centre seemed 
 exactly to fit the outline of my own figure as I lay 
 in bed. The hours crept slowly on, and at last, 
 being unable to sleep, and still half frozen, I arose 
 and got out my reindeer bag, which I placed on the 
 top of the bed and crept in. Even then sleep 
 refused to come, and the mysterious sounds of some 
 one moving close to the bed continued. I often 
 tried closing my eyes, and then, after gauging the 
 direction of what seemed like rustling skirts, I 
 opened them suddenly. There was nothing there. 
 
 So the night passed, and at about six I arose, 
 resolved to get out of that horrible room. No one 
 was stirring, so I started to get my kit in order and 
 remove it downstairs. The morning sun streamed 
 in, and as I lifted the reindeer bag from the bed 
 I saw plainly the central design on the counterpane. 
 It was the perfect outline of a woman in black, whilst 
 the stains around were blood red. 
 
 I can only say that I fled downstairs three steps 
 at a time, and out into the sunlight. An hour later 
 Steve Bernard, my Indian, fetched my kit from the 
 room, and after a hurried breakfast, at which Ryan 
 was as jolly and cheery as ever, we started on our 
 journey up the river. 
 
 Two nights afterwards, whilst sitting over the
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 123 
 
 camp fire, I told Steve and the other Indians my 
 experience in the bedroom, and asked them if they 
 could give any clue to the mystery. Their faces 
 showed strange emotion and horror, and at first 
 there was a long silence, in which no one spoke. 
 " Why ! did you not know ? " began Steve at last. 
 " I tell you. Two years ago Ryan's wife came to 
 the house at Long Harbour. At first she seemed 
 all right and was kind to us Indians. By and by 
 she seemed queer, and often said, when we passed 
 and brought furs, that the quiet would kill her. 
 She'd sit for hours on the porch looking out to sea 
 and saying nothing when you spoke to her. One 
 day las' winter I come in from Shoe Hill with my 
 furs, an' Ryan ask me to stay a day or two and help 
 clean up, so I did. Next morning I go to the boat 
 to get some things, when I see Mrs. Ryan come out 
 on the porch and look about. I go towards her, 
 when she pulled out a box of matches and lit one. 
 Then she walk along the front and throw the match 
 into a barrel of gunpowder standing there. There 
 was a great blow-up, and I ran and raised her up, 
 an' she was 'most dead. Ryan was standing on top 
 of stairs when the barrel went off, and was blown 
 to the bottom, but not much hurt. Together we 
 picked the woman up and carried her to the upstairs 
 room. There she soon died, and no one has been in 
 that room since" 
 
 Philip Ryan continued to live in his lonely house 
 at the mouth of the Long Harbour, where in after 
 years he entertained three of my hunting friends, 
 St. George Littledale, Captain Lumsden and Captain 
 the Hon. Gerald Legge, whom I sent to him, and 
 for whom he procured Indians. He went to Belloram
 
 124 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 again and again in spite of squalls and bad tackle, 
 till one night in 1916 the old Caribou capsized in a 
 heavy squall off Belloram " Back Cove," and Philip 
 Ryan was never seen again. The tragedy was 
 observed from Belloram, and old Doctor Fitzgerald 
 at once got out his boat, the Albatross, and with three 
 volunteers, Isaac Burke, George and Alec Tibbs, 
 went to the rescue. They were, however, too late, 
 and themselves met with disaster by collision with a 
 small steamer, the Hump., which they met in the 
 dark. The two Tibbs and the gallant doctor 
 escaped by a miracle, but Isaac Burke was swept 
 overboard and drowned. 
 
 What strange memories are recalled when we dive 
 into the drawers full of letters from correspondents 
 in all parts of the world ! I was turning over one 
 of these to-day, and find that the first three letters 
 alone contain little incidents that give something 
 of the romantic lives of other people in far-off 
 places. Here is the first. It is from a Micmac 
 Indian, Joe Teddore, in Newfoundland, and evidently 
 written by Ryan 
 
 "November 1909. 
 
 " I was very glad, and so was all the other Indians, 
 to hear you got over that sickness (in Alaska) and 
 got lots of bares. I think those big ones would 
 scare me. Some American fellers has been reading 
 your book, and got me to go in las' fall and see the 
 woods in your country about Hungry Grove Pond 
 and Shoe Hill Ridge. The Boss say to me, ' Now, 
 Joe, you give good report of the timber, and me give 
 you good present,' but me say, ' No use tell him good
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 125 
 
 woods in there, for he come to-morrow or next year 
 and see. 5 So I tell him true, and he look sour. I seen 
 no big heads like you kill on Gander and Shoe 
 Hill." 
 
 I think that the above shows that the rough 
 untutored savage has often a much cleaner sense of 
 honesty than the company promoter. 
 
 The next letter is a very curious one from a 
 Russian girl, and the reader must judge for himself 
 how much of it is genuine insouciance and how 
 much commercial instinct. Under any circum- 
 stances it is an interesting example of human 
 psychology 
 
 " June 30th, Jagory, 
 " (Hearopor), 
 
 " Martinishky, 
 " Gouvernement de Kozvno, 
 " Russie. 
 
 " DEAR MR. MILLAIS, 
 
 " Lettres from unknown people are often not 
 read, trown away, but as mine comes from so far from 
 Russia, perhaps you will read it to the end ? I was 
 so struck by the sketches in Pearson's made by you 
 (illustrating an article called a ' Breath from the 
 Veldt '), and spesially by the way in which they 
 were made, that involontarily I began to write to 
 you. There is one sketch which appealled to me 
 spesially, 4 Wildebeest cantering out to feed,' you 
 feel the poetry of it if you are an artist you will 
 understand what I mean by the poetry the effect 
 of the big thing, the animals and all seen and 
 understood without colours. I like the ' klipbucks
 
 126 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 descending a kopje ' less, there is not so much move- 
 ment in them, but the lighting is good, and I love 
 the ' wildebeests at play.' You need not be told 
 they are made from nature. How do you do it? 
 Do you remember the poses, or do you draw them 
 by bits, as fast as you can put in a leg or a shoulder 
 or a head? I beg your pardon, but I never liked 
 any sketches in my life as I liked those. I love draw- 
 ing more than anything else, I think, and next to 
 it travelling, everything related to travelling, 
 movement, that is why they appealled so to me. 
 I never heard of a life which seemed to me to ap- 
 proach more the ideal than the one you must have 
 lead in Africa sketching, beauty, breadth, wild- 
 ness, movement, danger perhaps, all that together. 
 Then I looked at your portrait; somehow the face, 
 as much as the sketches, made me write ; and then 
 a man who can draw and loves to draw as you do, 
 is a naturalist, has been in the desert, and is the 
 son of such a man as your father was cant be a 
 bad man. And when I think of it the worst you 
 can do to me is to forget my letter, and as you dont 
 know me, it is not an offence, so why should I not 
 try? Will you bye a wood for 4000 pound (in the 
 gouvernment of Kowno) which is worth much more ? 
 We must sell it before the 1st of August, that is 
 1.3th new style, otherwise we will be completely 
 ruined, it is the reason we sell it so cheaply. That 
 is not an appeal to your pity because if you dont 
 bye it, I daresay somebody else will but I am a 
 girl so I cant do anything, you can imagine the 
 pleasant position feeling that there is work to be 
 done, that one must ' agir,' that you cant do it 
 because you are a girl and not a man. So when I
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 127 
 
 saw your face and heard what you had done I 
 thought I should write. I daresay it is ' woman's 
 logic ' to connect drawing, a nice face (sic) and 
 the bying of the wood, but perhaps you will under- 
 stand what I mean. The story of the wood is 
 very long, I'll try to make it as short and as easy 
 to understand as I can. We bought an estate 
 3 years ago through the aid of the bank that 
 means that the bank pays part of the money for 
 you, and you have to pay per cent to the bank 
 every year. The only real value of the estate was 
 a very big wood, worth 10,000 pounds or about. 
 The estate belonged to jews. As we could not pay 
 the whole money to the jews, they made my mother 
 sign a paper, where it was said that the wood was 
 their's till she paid the remaining 30 thousand 
 roubles, but allowing her at the same time to sell 
 that same wood in part, or all, to pay them back. 
 That sounded very well, but they immediately 
 began to put the wood down and to send away the 
 people we wanted to sell to. Told them the woods 
 was their's and that they never meant to give it 
 back and so on. This spring we got a gendarme 
 to come, from the Emperor's own chancelerie, and 
 he made them sign that they are forced to give the 
 wood back for 3000 pounds, if we get the money 
 before the first of August (old style). There is only a 
 month left and we have not sold it yet, the jews 
 promised to go out of the wood, but they are still 
 there and still send our people out. I dont know 
 the prises, but I know my Mother would sell the 
 whole of the wood for 4000; then after giving the 
 jews their 3000 p. we would have 1000 for us and 
 we would be able to pay the per cent to bane for
 
 128 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 the estate, otherwise the estate goes. Our's cannot 
 pay itself, without the wood, any thing, and as we 
 cannot find 3000 p. to pay the jews, we must try 
 to sell the wood itself at least, and try to get a little 
 bit of money more than that we owe the jew, so as 
 to pay this years percents. It is such a horrid 
 envolved business, though the actual bying of the 
 wood would be simple enough, that I am ashamed 
 to write it to you, but I keep looking at your face, 
 and it gives me courage. I can't go about and look 
 for wood merchants, show them the wood, protect 
 them from the lies of the jews and do something 
 I must or I will suffocate. But it just struck me, 
 perhaps you dont believe me ? I never thought 
 of that ; and you have our address and my name, 
 you could come prove it yourself. I may be a bad 
 physiognomiste, but to me it seemed that you would 
 either think it an amusing adventure, or feel it 
 natural that people should appeal to you for sym- 
 pathy. Perhaps you know somebody who would 
 bye it, perhaps you would help and bye it yourself. 
 I should have liked to have send you photographs 
 of us, but it would not do if you like I can take 
 some photos of the wood for you ? If you have a 
 spare moment I should like an answer. I shall 
 not mind a no, because the request was so impossible, 
 but I should like to know if you got my letter and 
 if you read it to the end. The letter is very badly 
 written, but every day is valuable, so I cannot 
 rewrite it, no time, it must go like that. 
 
 "M.I. 
 
 "To come to us, one must first go to Riga, from 
 there there are 3 hours by the Mitau train, till the
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 129 
 
 station Behnen, and then 30 verstes with horses 
 till the estate Martinishky." l 
 
 One of the largest gaps in our knowledge of Euro- 
 pean birds was the life history of the various ducks 
 which frequent the Palaearctic regions, and to 
 gain a complete understanding of these birds and 
 their plumage I worked for many years, both in 
 amassing a collection of them and obtaining material. 
 Eventually I published two works entitled The 
 Natural History of the British Surface-feeding Ducks 
 and British Diving Ducks. The success of those 
 books led me to the more ambitious idea of pub- 
 lishing at some future time the monograph of the 
 ducks of the world, but when I came to work out 
 the cost, I found if the volumes were to be reproduced 
 in anything like the scale and quality to which 
 they were entitled, it would have involved a sum 
 of not less than 15,000 or 20,000. That such a 
 work would ever pay was out of the question, but 
 I would gladly have undertaken it if I could have 
 seen my way to reproduce the pictures and letter- 
 press on the lines of former works. This, however, 
 was not possible, and so, much to my regret, the 
 scheme was abandoned. My two most earnest 
 and unselfish co-operators in this venture were 
 Colonel Lord William Percy and Captain the Hon. 
 Gerald Legge. Both of these excellent field natural- 
 ists were ready to devote many years to help in 
 obtaining material and information in all parts 
 of the world of which our knowledge was deficient. 
 
 1 One cannot help wondering what has happened to that 
 poor girl and her mother, since Germans and Bolshevists have 
 overrun that part of Russia. 
 K
 
 130 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 The work was, in fact, begun, and Captain Legge 
 had already made an excellent collection of the 
 skins of African and European ducks, whilst Lord 
 William Percy spent a whole year in North America, 
 besides undertaking a very hazardous journey to 
 N.E. Asia to hunt various ducks, study their habits 
 on the spot and collect skins. 
 
 I think that the two following letters from far 
 distant places will give the reader some idea of the 
 difficulties, dangers and unceasing toil and grit 
 required to learn something first-hand of even one 
 genus of birds. Science and the elucidation of 
 truth are hard task-masters and ask their votaries 
 to give all even life itself without any monetary 
 reward or the prospect of fame. But, on the other 
 hand, England, and in fact all countries, possess 
 men of the " Selous " stamp, who reckon their 
 private interests as of small account. Such men 
 need no pity, rather the reverse, for they get their 
 reward in the Romance of the Unknown and the 
 fascination of the back o' beyond. 
 
 The first is from Captain Legge, when he was 
 trekking across the Great Thirstland 
 
 " Tsau, 
 "Ngamiland. 
 " September 27th, 1909. 
 
 " DEAR JOHNNY, 
 
 " I have been meaning to write to you for ever 
 so long, but have always put off till now, and now 
 I have so much to tell you that I don't know where 
 to begin or what would interest you. 
 
 " Our trek up here through the desert was very 
 long and monotonous. We came right through 
 the desert by an old route no one has used for years,
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 131 
 
 hoping by so doing to see a lot of game, but in that 
 we were disappointed. We came from Vryburg via 
 Kakia, Lehntitung, Okwa, Chanse and so to Tsau. 
 I think you could follow that route on Stanford's 
 map, but am not sure if he marks all the places I 
 mention. We had two thirsts of seven days each 
 to cover and several smaller ones of two, three or 
 four days, but by going hard and practically only 
 trekking at night we got through very well without 
 losing any horses, dogs or anything. 
 
 " That trek was not much fun it was real hard 
 work, and also rather anxious work, as we could 
 get no information of what was in front of us (I 
 don't like hard work), but we got through very well 
 all the same. 
 
 " There is, no doubt, a lot of game in the desert, 
 and I think it will remain there for many years 
 to come, owing to the difficulties of hunting in those 
 more waterless parts. I saw lots of spoor of Harte- 
 beest and Gemsbuck, but did not hunt much, as I 
 did not like to work the horses when they had to dc 
 without water, although they did just as well on 
 sama (wild melon) as water. In fact, after they 
 had not seen a drop of water for seven days, they 
 preferred to graze instead of drink when we got to 
 water. I had difficulty to make them eat sama, 
 but when once they took to it they would go and find 
 it for themselves. On the way up I shot two 
 Gemsbuck, one Koodoo, one Wildebeest, two Spring- 
 buck and two Hunting Dogs, but nothing big, the 
 best Gemsbuck was a very old bull with thick, short 
 horns of 33 inches. The Koodoo is a poor one of 
 36 inches in straight line. But still I am very 
 pleased with them, as it meant hunting all alone,
 
 132 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 I had no boys out with me, and did all the work and 
 had all the fun to myself. My great triumph was 
 spooring up a Koodoo all by myself, but I did not 
 shoot him, as he was small. I could have shot an 
 Eland bull, but he again was small and I spared 
 him. I rode him to a standstill, and I think I 
 enjoyed that hunt as much as any I have ever 
 had. 
 
 " But on our arrival here we both went nearly mad 
 with excitement, as after that abominable waterless 
 desert we suddenly turned up in a perfect heaven 
 on earth splendid water everywhere, beautiful 
 palm-trees, great papyrus swamps and a magnificent 
 game country. We got lost, and had a baddish 
 two days coming in here, and fetched up at a place 
 about twenty miles from Tsau on the marshes. 
 And there I saw more ducks than I could have 
 believed possible. Swarms of them in all directions 
 -Yellow Bills, Pink Bills, Spur-wing Geese, Knob- 
 billed Geese, Pigmy Geese, Cape Pochard, Whistling 
 Duck (Dendrocygna fulvd) and D. viduata, Hottentot 
 Teal, and White-backed Duck. Imagine my excite- 
 ment then ! Ducks everywhere and most of them 
 quite new to me. I had a great flight that night, 
 and skinned a pair of each sort. I am trying to get 
 all the ducks that are here, but some of them have 
 beat me till now. I have seen no Wigeon yet, a 
 bird I want badly. 
 
 " We stayed here for a time and collected a lot of 
 birds, fishes, etc., and then I went on a hunt with 
 the police officer here up the Tamerlakan to the 
 Mababe flats, and got everything I wanted, but again 
 no big heads. I got two fair sable 40 inches and 
 42J inches, two roan cows, both shot in mistake for
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 133 
 
 bulls I can't distinguish the sexes on the veldt 
 two Lechwe 27 inches, two Sassaby 16f inches, 
 one Pallah 21J inches, one Reed Buck 14| inches, 
 one Koodoo, one Warthog, and I lost a good roan 
 bull, which took away two bullets, and I followed 
 his spoor eight hours with bushmen and never came 
 up with him. On getting back here again the chief 
 wanted me to go with him on a lion hunt, so I went, 
 and have just returned. We saw no lion nor even 
 heard one, but I saw buffalo, and had the deuce 
 of a hunt, but alas and alas, lost a very big old bull 
 badly wounded. I stuck to him all day long, but 
 he did us in the end. I also shot another roan 
 cow, a very big one, 27 inches I could have sworn 
 it was a bull, but no, my luck is dead against me 
 with the roan a Warthog, a Pallah 22 inches, a 
 Reed Buck, and a Wildebeest cow. That leaves 
 only three things that I want from here still to be 
 got a Buffalo, a Hartebeest and a Sitatunga. 
 I have been out several mornings in the marshes for 
 a Sitatunga, but have not seen one yet. However, 
 I live in hopes, as when the young grass begins to 
 grow they leave the swamps and feed more on the 
 islands. A Sitatunga is a head one does not often 
 see in private collections, and here am I in the hope 
 of them. I must get one. Well, I am afraid this 
 is a dull letter. I am no good at correspondence, 
 but I shall have a lot to tell you when I get home. 
 I am now able to appreciate your Breath from the 
 Veldt, and I like the book much better now that I 
 know the life and the same sort of country, and the 
 game itself. Your pictures of sable are the beasts 
 themselves, and they are, as you say, the finest 
 beasts in Africa.
 
 134 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Well, good-bye now. Please give my kind regards 
 to Mrs. Millais. 
 
 " Yrs. ever, 
 
 "GERALD LEGGE." 
 
 Poor Gerald was killed in Gallipoli in August 1915 
 whilst bravely leading his men into action. It was 
 a fitting end for a modest and noble man. 
 
 Lord William Percy, too, gives an interesting 
 account of his wanderings in search of American 
 ducks 
 
 " Cosmos Club, 
 " Washington D. C., 
 " January 9th, 1914. 
 
 " MY DEAR JOHNNY, 
 
 " I wonder how and where you are and 
 Nvhether you have had a good trip and are home by 
 now. 1 I think you said you meant to be home 
 by Xmas. 
 
 "I'm not going to try and tell you about my 
 journey there's too much of it, and I don't know 
 where to begin but I will tell you that I have 
 collected every single N. American duck, with the 
 following exceptions, and of a good many I have 
 got some quite good series. I have not got Wood 
 Ducks (seen, but spared), Steller's and Fischer's 
 Eiders, Barrow's Golden-eye, and the three southern 
 forms of the Black Duck. I don't know what you 
 think, but I am very well satisfied with that record, 
 that is, if I get my things home safely. 
 
 " I may as well confess that I am now getting a 
 bit 4 stale.' I have never stopped going since I saw 
 
 1 I was in East Africa at this time.
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 135 
 
 you (except for between a fortnight and three weeks), 
 and some of it has been pretty tough work. Two 
 hundred duck skins is a lot of labour, as you know, 
 and it has all been hard collecting, as I have never 
 had a big shoot as we think of big shoots in England. 
 I wish I had some one with me this skinning is 
 the very devil when you come in tired in the evening. 
 
 " The interval I spoke of was spent in going 
 through private collections and the museums. 
 They are great collectors in this country. Private 
 collections of 5, 10, 15, 25 thousand skins, but 
 they are what I call ' accumulators.' They have 
 scores of duplicates, and seem much more proud of 
 mere numbers than a series of skins that tell you 
 something about the bird's life-history. 
 
 " I am now on my way to Florida to get that 
 A. fulvigula and see what northern ducks are in the 
 Everglades at this time of the year. I've got a 
 white man to take me in there. They say he is 
 a very queer fellow, but so long as he knows where 
 the ducks are, that is no great matter. Now look 
 you here. I shall arrive in England about the 5th 
 February, and I shall not have much longer there 
 than time to do my soldiering and start again, if 
 my arrangements work out as I hope. I have 
 taken an appointment from the American Museum 
 as ' field naturalist for the year 1914, with the option 
 to renew the appointment in subsequent years.' 
 They very kindly gave it to me in order to give me 
 some official position, which I required in order to 
 get permission to join the U.S. Revenue Cutter Bear, 
 that goes to Pt. Barrow in the spring, and also 
 leave to collect in that country and the Aleutians. 
 
 " Now I am particularly anxious to see you as
 
 136 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 soon as I can. I'd like to get you to Alnwick to 
 look at the things I have got this trip, and they will 
 almost all be there by the end of February. 
 
 " Write me a line to 2 Grosvenor Place and tell 
 me your plans and when you are free, and if you 
 won't come up there I must come and see you, if 
 you'll let me. 
 
 " I'm afraid Fischer's Eider is no certainty in 
 Alaska now. None have come out of the country 
 for eight years, and none have been seen by col- 
 lectors who before that got them regularly. I got 
 an old skin some time ago. It's a poor specimen, but 
 I think it will clean up. The duck that interests 
 me most in this country is the Ruddy. He hasn't 
 got any eclipse as far as I can make out, but moults 
 from his red breeding plumage into the brown he 
 spends the winter in, and about now he begins to 
 show signs of the red plumage again. He is a dear 
 little bird, too, I think, and I am most grateful to 
 him for the fact that his skin comes off like a glove ! 
 
 " What is really the state of things in England, I 
 wonder. Some of the papers here would make one 
 think we were on the brink of civil war, and others 
 say there's nothing in it, and it's all a storm in a 
 teacup. At any rate, I hope my valuable services 
 will be dispensed with. I fancy I shall do better 
 looking for stelleri than I should quelling the turbu- 
 lent Irishman. 
 
 " I put out this rotten shoulder of mine two days 
 ago, for the twentieth time, I should think, but it 
 made me as sore as can be and very stiff. However, 
 I think I can still hit Anas fulvigula if he gives me 
 the chance. 
 
 " Please remember me kindly to your wife and
 
 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS 137 
 
 Puss. I'm sending you on another sheet a rather 
 witty little poem I heard the other day from a man 
 who farms Terrapins for the market ! 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " WILLIAM PERCY. 
 
 " ' Oh, what becomes,' said Cloe fair, 
 ' Of all the pins that from my hair 
 I drop unheeded on the floor, 
 And never see or think of more ? ' 
 * My dear,' said Darwin, ' they all go 
 Into our Mother Earth below; 
 There their development begins, 
 And ending they are Terra-pins.' 
 
 " I killed seventeen varieties of ducks at that 
 man's place, and ate Terrapin for dinner (five dollars 
 apiece) they are better eating than the Gulls were 
 in Labrador."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN, PIONEER AND 
 ELEPHANT HUNTER 
 
 AMONGST the many good friends whom I have 
 lost of recent years was Arthur Neumann, the 
 elephant hunter, a most interesting and charming 
 man. Since no history of his life has appeared, 
 I trust that the following notes may be of interest 
 to my readers. 
 
 Arthur Neumann was born on June 12th, 1850, 
 at Hockliffe Rectory, Bedfordshire, his father being 
 the rector of the parish. In 1868 he left for Natal, 
 and took up the work of coffee-planting on an 
 estate near Verulam. During the following year 
 his brother Charles joined him, and together they 
 rented some Government grants of land on the 
 lower Umvoti, Natal, where for a time they cul- 
 tivated cotton and tobacco. As this venture did 
 not pay, Arthur then tried his hand as a gold-digger 
 in the Transvaal, but soon returned to Natal. 
 
 After knocking about for some time, he settled 
 in Swaziland, and established a trading-post there, 
 driving his own wagons with trade goods to and 
 fro in Natal. He soon became a favourite of the 
 Swazi king, Ubandeni, and learnt to speak the 
 language of the natives. In 1877 he spent most 
 of his time shooting in the Transvaal and Swaziland, 
 but at the outbreak of the Zulu War in 1879 he 
 
 138
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 139 
 
 joined one of the native contingents, and was 
 made a Captain. Later in the same year General 
 Dartnell introduced him to Captain MacLeod of 
 MacLeod (71st Highlanders), who was placed in 
 charge of the Swaziland police. Neumann acted 
 as native interpreter, and was most successful in 
 controlling the scouts and in helping his chief 
 to keep the Swazis quiet at a very critical period, 
 for Ubandeni had already expressed his view to 
 MacLeod, that " not all the white men in the world 
 could defeat the Zulus. They were too strong." 
 One day MacLeod and Neumann were riding near 
 the border when a white man was observed gallop- 
 ing at full speed towards them. He was a mounted 
 messenger from Shepstone bearing an autograph 
 letter from Lord Chelmsford with disastrous news : 
 " The Zulus have overwhelmed our forces at 
 Isandhlwana and all are killed. My son is dead. 
 On no account allow this news to reach the Swazis." 
 
 MacLeod, who understood the natives better 
 than Lord Chelmsford did, calculated that only 
 a very short period would elapse before the Swazis 
 knew the whole truth of the disaster, so he thought 
 the matter over and decided to act on his own respon- 
 sibility. He galloped at once to Ubandeni's kraal 
 and requested an immediate audience. Thousands 
 of Swazis began to arrive, and MacLeod knew that 
 his own and Neumann's life were in imminent peril, 
 for it was quite likely that after the news had been 
 related, he and his companion would be hacked 
 to pieces and the Swazis would at once join the 
 Zulus. MacLeod, however, being a brave man, 
 thus addressed the king 
 
 " Ubandeni, the whole Zulu army has attacked
 
 140 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 the British camp at Isandhlwana and destroyed 
 it. I come to tell you this because it is true, but 
 it matters nothing, for the English army will soon 
 come and utterly destroy the Zulu army." 
 
 There was complete silence, and the white men 
 were not molested. In a few hours native spies 
 came in and corroborated MacLeod's news, when 
 the king sent for him and said, " Mafu, you speak 
 the truth, and if it takes the whole Zulu army to 
 destroy an English camp then the English army 
 will win." After this Ubandeni and the Swazis 
 fought loyally on our side, both in this war and 
 the subsequent Basuto rising. 
 
 With natives of all kinds it is best to tell the 
 truth, for if MacLeod had acted on Lord Chelms- 
 ford's instructions, matters might have been greatly 
 complicated and the war prolonged. 
 
 In the Basuto War it was MacLeod's Swazis 
 who surrounded Secukuni in a cave and captured 
 him, although the credit was erroneously given to 
 Colonel Ferreira. At the conclusion of hostilities 
 Sir Garnet Wolseley offered MacLeod the Governor- 
 ship of Zululand, but the offer was declined. 
 
 In 1880 Arthur Neumann rejoined his brother 
 Charles, who had a farm near Maritzburg, and 
 during the first Boer War he went down to Swazi- 
 land to look after the fine herd of cattle he had 
 left there in charge of the king. To his disgust, 
 however, he found that the Boers had captured 
 and driven off the whole lot. 
 
 Between the years 1880-1887 he travelled and 
 hunted on the Limpopo and Sabi Rivers, where he 
 shot many buffaloes, and in 1888 went north to 
 Mombasa to make inquiries as to the possibilities
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 141 
 
 of hunting elephants in the new colony of British 
 East Africa. The cost of making such an expedition, 
 however, for the moment deterred him. Neverthe- 
 less, he returned to Mombasa in 1890 and took 
 service under the East African Company. His first 
 work was to travel inland with four other white 
 men to the Victoria Nyanza to find a route for the 
 projected railway. On his return from this journey, 
 which was conducted through the hostile Masai 
 country, he again went in with sixty men to try 
 and find an easier way. One night the Masai 
 attacked the camp, and Arthur, who had just risen 
 from his bed, and was in the act of unfastening 
 his rifle from the tent-pole, got a spear through his 
 forearm. 
 
 A good line over easy ground was, however, 
 found for the railway, and Neumann returned to 
 the coast, where he found a letter offering him a 
 magistracy in Zululand. This he accepted, but 
 in one year he was tired of the monotonous work, 
 and returned to Mombasa in 1893, where he 
 organised his first big expedition after elephants. 
 
 In the three following years he spent all his 
 time wandering in the far interior, then quite 
 unknown, amongst the Ndorobo savages, in the 
 neighbourhood of Mount Kenia and the Lorogi 
 Mountains. Here he occupied himself making 
 friends with the natives, trading, and hunting 
 elephants, with perhaps greater success than has 
 fallen to the lot of any English hunter. 
 
 First he made direct for Laiju and the Ndorobo 
 country, east of Mount Kenia. In February 1894 
 he reached the game country and killed his first 
 elephants. During April he traversed the Jambeni
 
 142 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Range, where he got a few more, and a rhinoceros 
 with a wonderful front horn of forty inches. 
 
 He mentions seeing later an even more remark- 
 able horn than this, killed in the same district, 
 which measured forty-eight and three-quarter inches 
 about a record for Black Rhinoceros. 
 
 The same day he met with three different small 
 herds of elephants, and killed eleven, getting three 
 right and lefts. 1 Once he had to beat a hasty 
 retreat, as a swarm of bees attacked him. 
 
 Elephant hunting was very difficult and dangerous 
 work in the dense leafy jungles of the Kenia forest, 
 and resulted in many blank days. 
 
 Then he went back to the Gwaso Nyiro River. 
 Here he shot a few cow elephants, and then went 
 back to Laiju, sent his ivory to the coast, and went 
 north to look for elephants, in July 1894, to the 
 Ndorobo country. His main camp was at El Bogoi, 
 in the Lorogi Mountains, head waters of the 
 Mackenzie River, a branch of the Tana. 
 
 From here he made his first trip to the waterless 
 country south of Rudolf, which was a failure, and 
 no elephants were killed. He then returned to El 
 Bogoi. 
 
 However, better luck ensued in September round 
 El Bogoi, where he killed several cows, and later, 
 on the Seya, some fine bulls. On November 15th, 
 1894, he returned to Laiju. 
 
 In December he went north to Lake Rudolph, and 
 struck it at the south-east corner on December 6th. 
 On the east side and far to the north-east of the 
 
 1 One day five bull elephants walked right up to him in the 
 open, and were within ten yards before they saw him and turned. 
 See Frontispiece.
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 143 
 
 lake at Bumi he found many fine old bull elephants. 
 Three bulls that he killed one day had tusks 113 Ibs. 
 and 111 Ibs.; 112J Ibs. and 108 Ibs.; 76J Ibs. and 
 66 Ibs. 
 
 On New Year's Day, 1896, his servant Shebame 
 was carried off before his eyes and eaten by a large 
 crocodile. It was at Bumi that he met with a 
 serious accident. An enraged cow elephant charged 
 him, the *303 missed fire, and Neumann was so 
 closely pursued he could not dodge. The cow 
 got him down and pummelled him with her head 
 and tusk, crushing in his ribs. He was then carried 
 to camp by his natives, who tended him with 
 all the care possible. Fortunately milk was pro- 
 curable, and he lived on nothing else for weeks. 
 It was two months before he could lie in any position 
 except on his back. Three months afterwards he 
 moved south, and having reorganised his caravan, 
 then returned to Rudolph, and was hunting again 
 in April. Soon he had another great day, killing 
 three bulls with wonderful tusks. One of these 
 had tusks nine feet long, one weighing 117 J Ibs., 
 the other 109 Ibs. 
 
 At last he left Rudolph, and reached El Bogoi on 
 June 3rd, 1896, returning to Mombasa again on 
 October 1st, 1896. Here he sold his ivory, which 
 realised a large sum of money. It was a great 
 disappointment to him to find on his arrival that 
 Count Teleki had already described the new Great 
 Lake of Rudolph, of which Neumann himself 
 thought he was the discoverer. 
 
 In 1896 I made the acquaintance of Arthur 
 Neumann, and we soon became close friends. From 
 this date till his death he constantly stayed with
 
 144 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 me and his great friend MacLeod of MacLeod (to 
 whom he dedicated his excellent book entitled 
 Elephant Hunting in East Equatorial Africa, and 
 published by Rowland Ward & Co. in 1897), and 
 also, when in Africa, he kept up a regular corre- 
 spondence. He was a man of an extremely shy, 
 hypersensitive nature, and subject to alternate 
 fits of gaiety or depression, but when happy was 
 of such a charming, lovable temperament to all 
 who knew him intimately that his society was a 
 continuous pleasure. In crowds he was like a 
 hunted fox, and it was indeed strange to see a man 
 who would cheerfully face a wounded lion or 
 elephant thrown into a very panic of nervousness 
 by the traffic of Piccadilly. It was certainly not 
 fear, but merely the hatred of noise and confusion 
 that obsessed him. In later years he imagined 
 that nearly every one disliked him, and this ob- 
 session grew upon him to such an extent that he 
 avoided all intercourse with people who were often 
 most anxious to be kind to him. 
 
 In November 1899 Neumann went to South 
 Africa to take part in the second Boer War, and 
 it can be no surprise to the reader, who may know 
 how some things were managed in that campaign, 
 to learn that such an efficient and highly experienced 
 man, knowing the country thoroughly, and speaking 
 both Boer-Dutch and Zulu, was refused a commis- 
 sion on the Staff, where his knowledge would have 
 been of the greatest value. 
 
 Colonel Bethune, however, knew him well, and 
 asked his help to raise an irregular, mounted infantry 
 force, and this was at once forthcoming. When 
 the corps was complete, and had undergone pre-
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 145 
 
 liminary training at Wynberg, it moved up to Natal, 
 and took part in all the battles in the neighbour- 
 hood of Ladysmith until the relief of that town. 
 Neumann had a very narrow escape at Spion Kop, 
 a bullet going through his hat and passing through 
 his hair, whilst a moment later his commanding 
 officer was shot dead at his side. He went in to 
 Ladysmith with the relief force, and at the con- 
 clusion of hostilities came home. 
 
 Early in 1902 he again returned to East Africa, 
 and went up to the Mount Kenia country, where he 
 intended to stay for some years. 
 
 The following is one of his characteristic letters, 
 which gives some account of his life at this time 
 
 "Mthara (E. of Kenid), 
 " E. Africa, 
 
 " July 20th, 1902. 
 " MY DEAR MlLLAIS, 
 
 " Would that you could drop in upon me 
 here in my ' boma ' and have a cup of tea and chat ! 
 I know that you have a kindly feeling towards me 
 and take some interest in my vagaries, but it would 
 be much easier to tell you what little there is to 
 tell that is worth hearing than to sit down and 
 write. Still it is a pleasure to send you a letter; 
 so, in your case, my now habitual repugnance to 
 writing when I am in the ' bara ' is overcome. I 
 often think of our last meeting at Ward's shoot. 
 It is curious how certain details, sometimes trifling, 
 stand out in one's memory of any particular ex- 
 perience after what might be supposed the more 
 important events have faded. Now the leading 
 impressions left on my mind from that visit were : 
 first, the failure of that old brute of a butler to
 
 146 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 bring me any early cup of tea to my bedroom in 
 the morning, by reason of which I (being an old 
 crank much addicted to my own habits) was more 
 or less upset for the whole day; second, being 
 dragged off for a beastly walk on the Sunday, when 
 I would much rather have pottered round with 
 you and Selous; third, my envying Selous going 
 off with you in the afternoon. As I am situated 
 I don't care for England. I feel generally like 
 a hunted fox in a strange country there, and now 
 I never hanker after it the least bit. But I often 
 have thought that if ever I could afford to have a 
 shooting good enough to ask you to, how delightful 
 it would be to have just two or three special friends 
 (I have but very few real ones) to come and stay 
 for a few days, if one could persuade them to spare 
 the time. But this will not interest you; you 
 would rather hear where I have been and what I 
 have poached since I got back to my own country. 
 Well, you know I came up the Tana; and of all 
 the poisonous, sweltering holes I ever was in, that 
 is far and away the most damnable. I wrote and 
 told Selous all about it as soon as I had an oppor- 
 tunity, after I had been right up the river, as I 
 promised him I would. I hope my letter was not 
 too late to be of any use, but I couldn't send him 
 the information he wanted any earlier you know 
 it takes a long time to do anything in Africa. It's 
 no good wearying you with particulars of all the 
 delays and worries there were before I at last 
 got back to my old haunts here. My headman 
 was a ' rotter ' (he is gone now, and good riddance), 
 and I have not such a useful lot of men as I used 
 to have formerly. But I got here at last, and have
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 147 
 
 now had my headquarters here for some time, 
 and I shall continue to for several months more. 
 My Beluchi friends, about whom I must have told 
 you, played me false, and I have never heard 
 anything of or from them, so I am now left to my 
 own resources. I am not equipped for so long a 
 journey into the wilds on my own, as it is, to the 
 country I hoped to reach not yet, that is so 
 for the present I am contenting myself with minor 
 expeditions, with this as my base. I have not 
 been far yet, though I have got a few elephants 
 (of which more anon) already ; but I am now about 
 to start on a somewhat longer cruise across the 
 Gwaso Nyiro, where I hope to come upon them in 
 some direction or other and get more and bigger. 
 I tell you what it is, Millais; I take but damned 
 little interest nowadays in shooting any other 
 beast but the elephant; but him I worship I 
 have become a true Ndorobo in that. Nothing 
 else thrills me; but the spell of the elephant is as 
 potent as ever. There is, between here and the 
 Gwaso Nyiro River, a lot of lava country. The 
 going is most cruel, especially when the grass covers 
 the stones, and it cuts one's boots to pieces in no 
 time. There is one part where the ground is 
 nothing but a mass of black, rough, broken lava 
 debris. It forms low ridges and hillocks, and is 
 overgrown with scrubby bush, but not very thick. 
 There is little or no grass generally in this part. 
 Here a herd of elephants often harbours. They 
 are safe from the Ndorobos, because they dare 
 not tackle them here, as it is impossible to run 
 away among the stones. The herd is a poor one 
 for ivory, and I toiled after it many a day, only
 
 148 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 to come back without doing anything, either 
 because the wind would not let me get up to them 
 with any chance of success, or because I could 
 not get at any that I thought worth shooting. 
 But twice I went for them. The first time, after 
 waiting about all day and trying in several directions, 
 I at last was lucky enough to get in and kill four 
 bulls, but poor ones the best only about 50 Ibs. 
 per tusk. There was no particular excitement 
 nothing much beyond the average, I mean ; though 
 there is, I truly tell you, always when you go for 
 them in earnest, and not merely pick off an odd 
 straggler when opportunity offers, a considerable 
 amount of risk about the business. I always feel 
 when I get back to camp, ' Safely through another 
 day.' The last time I got on terms with a herd, 
 after, as I say, many hard and fruitless days and 
 much forbearance, through a reluctance to shoot 
 anything not of good weight, I felt desperate, and 
 said to myself, ' Well, I mean to get some to-day, 
 anyhow; the best I can, of course, but I must go 
 for them and get all I can.' I went in, and I had 
 a hottish time. I killed ten all small ivory, I 
 regret to say but I wish some of those superior 
 sportsmen who call one ' butcher ' and ' slaughterer ' 
 and other pretty names when expressing (theoretical) 
 opinions on such work could have tried it for once. 
 I make no profession to be anything but a humble 
 hunter I rather dislike the title of 4 sportsman ' ; 
 I never know quite what is meant by it. But as 
 to butchery, one is just as likely to be made into 
 sausage-meat as the poor little elephants. Several 
 times was I nearly trampled on; and whether 
 accidentally or of malice prepense would make but
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 149 
 
 little difference to one's appreciation of the process 
 of being mashed into pulp. But I am more 
 cautious than I used to be, all the same, and try 
 not to run into unnecessary danger. I often think 
 now of the rash way in which I have often behaved 
 in times gone by, and wonder that I was not killed 
 over and over again. 
 
 " My Rigby -450 is wonderful. 1 If you should 
 be in town, look in and tell Rigby that really I feel 
 there is no credit left for me with it. All one has 
 to do is to carry the rifle up to the elephants and 
 pull the trigger; they are bound to go down before 
 it. I wish I had ordered a pair. I would give 
 anything to have a second; it would be invaluable 
 in many ways. I find, for one thing, that mine 
 gets so hot after two double shots in quick suc- 
 cession that if one were not obliged to do so in 
 self-defence one could not hold it. I got my left 
 hand unpleasantly burnt that day, and it unsteadies 
 one. I mean to use a glove now, but I doubt if 
 even that will be protection enough. It really 
 ought to have more wood, though, of course, it 
 would look unsightly. But two would be the 
 right thing; then one's gun-bearer would act as 
 loader, and one might often score an extra elephant 
 or two by the gain of time, and even be safer in an 
 emergency. But the gun is perfect as a weapon 
 for my poaching purposes. It is just what I 
 have always felt I wanted for the work. I never 
 waste a cartridge on any other game; my Mann- 
 licher is good enough for such trash as rhinos, etc. 
 
 1 Prior to this Neumann used a '577 by Gibbs and a double 
 10-bore by Holland and Holland. He then used a '303 Lee- 
 Metford, which used to jamb badly.
 
 150 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 I never even fired a trial shot. The first cartridge 
 I fired was at an elephant (the fifty-pounder). I 
 wasted the left on him too when he ran, to make 
 assurance doubly sure, as he was by himself; but 
 he didn't go more than 100 yards before he came 
 down with that glorious crash that is the acme 
 of the hunter's exaltation. 
 
 " Tell Rigby I will write to him myself later on, 
 when I have killed some monsters and can speak 
 from greater experience of the rifle's performances. 
 The only really big elephant I have shot yet was 
 one alone in quite another part of the country, 
 close to native kraals. It was sundown and he 
 had been alarmed, and I had to take a stern-on 
 shot, and only got the one in. It is a horribly over- 
 grown country, and he was not found for some 
 days. Then I had moved, and a blasted German, 
 who seems to live by preying upon the natives, 
 one of Eliot's proteges, bagged the tusks (a splendid 
 pair), pretending to claim it as an elephant he 
 had shot a month before. He won't give them up, 
 and I can't very well take them by force it would 
 be too disastrous an exhibition before the natives 
 of the country for two white men to go to war with 
 each other away here in the wilds. 
 
 " I don't apologise for the egotism of this 
 letter, because I have nothing else to write about, 
 and I believe you like to hear about my doings. 
 I got a rather nice lion one day, but there was 
 no excitement about the shooting of it, and I 
 don't feel the least elated at killing one rather 
 bored to have so much trouble with the skin. 
 
 " I hope you and yours are well and thriving. 
 Send me a line or two some day (to c/o Smith,
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 151 
 
 Mackenzie & Co., Mombasa). Give my love to 
 Selous when you see him again. 
 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " ARTHUR NEUMANN. 
 
 " I have fever pretty often (thanks to the Tana), 
 but between whiles am very well, as I am now 
 (though my liver is more self-assertive than is 
 desirable often), and as happy as possible not 
 the least lonely. 
 
 " P.S. Glancing through this production, I notice 
 what I say about that pleasant shooting-party 
 at Ward's seems to imply that I did not enjoy it, 
 and reads ungratefully to our kind host and hostess. 
 That is not what I meant to suggest though, at all. 
 I enjoyed myself very much there; and after you 
 and Selous left I still had a most interesting and 
 delightful companion in Abel Chapman, whose 
 acquaintance it gave me the greatest pleasure to 
 make. I only meant that it struck me as being 
 so jolly you and Selous going about together from 
 shoot to shoot. 
 
 " With regard to the Mannlicher, I do think, 
 beautiful weapon as it is, that it is rather in the 
 extreme of small in the bore for general purposes 
 in Africa. In spite of its high velocity it has not 
 great penetrative power, owing to the bullet being 
 so light there is really nothing of it. I have killed 
 all the big beasts with it (bar elephants, and of 
 course it would kill them too), but another time 
 I think I should prefer a double '400. 
 
 " Unless my health should break down I expect 
 to spend two or three years more out here."
 
 152 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 After this he killed many elephants, and brought 
 to Mombasa in March over a ton of ivory. 
 
 In March 1903 he came down to Mombasa to 
 refit and engage fresh porters. " This time I hope 
 to get further and fare better," he remarks. 
 
 He is pretty severe on a certain writer who thinks 
 shooting an elephant is mere slaughter and yet sees 
 no sin in killing a harmless giraffe 
 
 " I saw 's new book the other day. What an 
 
 old hypocrite he is ! Why, he actually gives a 
 photo of a dead giraffe. How a man who professes to 
 think the killing of an elephant a horrible crime 
 can shoot a poor harmless giraffe I fail to under- 
 stand. I suppose his definition of sport to be 
 whatever shooting he does, whilst everything else 
 is butchery. I should like to tackle him about 
 that dead giraffe. I do not think much of his 
 innumerable illustrations with telephoto lens. 
 Photography in books is overdone and wearisome. 
 The only way to get really good pictures is for 
 an artist to draw them from life." 
 
 In 1903 and 1904 he hunted in Turkana, the 
 northern Gwaso Nyiro, and the Lorian Swamp 
 and Turkwel. 
 
 " Camp on Gwaso Nyiro River, 
 
 " December 8th, 1904. 
 " MY DEAR MlLLAIS, 
 
 .... while your letter was on its way out, 
 I was making my way to the Turkana country. 
 You will have heard something of my doings there 
 from MacLeod, as I have written to him since 
 my return. But it may interest you to see the
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 
 
 153 
 
 weights of my teeth, so I will copy them from my 
 ivory book. Where there is a great difference 
 between the weight of a pair it is because of one 
 having been broken. 
 
 "Teeth, 1904 
 
 Jan. 19, 32 Ibs. and 30 Ibs. 
 
 
 20, 97 
 
 
 , 104 
 
 
 25, 43 
 
 
 , 46 
 
 
 31,94 
 
 
 , 104 
 
 
 31, 72 
 
 
 , 75 
 
 F 
 
 b. 4,63 
 
 
 , 84 
 
 
 9,70 
 
 
 78 
 
 
 9, 66 
 
 
 
 81 , 
 
 
 15,76 
 
 i 
 
 , 101 
 
 
 15, 96 
 
 
 103 
 
 Feb. 18, 57 Ib 
 
 March 2,72 
 
 
 2,81 
 
 
 12,63 
 
 
 12,94 
 
 
 12,24 
 
 
 21,59 
 
 
 21,92 
 
 April 3, 41 
 
 3, 53 
 
 79 
 101 
 
 67 
 one only) 
 
 112 Ibs. 
 
 68 
 94 
 79 
 57 , 
 
 " Those are the ' Turkana ' trip teeth. March 
 12th, you will notice, was a good day. It was 
 unlucky one having only a single tusk. Of course 
 I couldn't see that, it was in thick bush and raining ; 
 but I ought to have got another if I hadn't done 
 an unlucky thing. The first one I got by itself; 
 then I went on and found the others, as I said; 
 and after the first shot at the one I could see, one 
 rushed past me, almost over me. I had a con- 
 venient log to crouch behind, and as he ran past 
 on the other side of it I gave him, stupidly, both 
 barrels, almost touching him with the rifle, having 
 jumped up just as he was level with me. A second 
 later another followed; my rifle empty gunbearer 
 had fled with second gun ! But on my next trip 
 to Lorian, from which I have just returned, I scored 
 a double right and left. At dawn I was down by 
 the swamp. We got there before fully light, and 
 made out what looked at a distance in the dusk 
 like zebra (the zebra there are the big Grevy),
 
 154 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 but my Ndorobo said ' bulls ' and bulls they were, 
 ten of them in a clump, solemnly digging roots 
 with a curious, pendulum-like swinging backwards 
 and forwards of one forefoot, and flipping these 
 bulbs into their mouths with their trunks so 
 quick is this action that they don't seem to take 
 hold of the bulb, but merely to strike in. They 
 were within a few yards of the dense wall of high 
 bulrushes, but I had dropped in for what I call 
 a soft thing what one very rarely gets in elephant 
 hunting as they were in the open. Well, I was 
 lucky, and scored two with each rifle, and though 
 two had to be despatched, not one had been able 
 to go many yards into the swamp. I thought to 
 myself, ' If I could only do that with driven 
 partridges.' ... I got a longer tooth this last 
 trip than any yet, though not so heavy as many I 
 have killed; it tapes nine feet five inches along 
 the curve. I don't feel to have fallen off in my 
 hunting form yet, and I think my nerve is calmer 
 than ever, in spite of my advanced years. I don't 
 think I am as enduring as of yore. . . ." 
 
 Early in 1905 a big move in the direction of 
 game preservation in East Africa took place. In 
 the main these restrictions were both eminently 
 desirable and necessary if the magnificent fauna 
 of that country were to be preserved, but when 
 protection or limitation in the killing of elephants 
 especially in the " Hinterland," over which the 
 Game Preservation Society, as well as the Govern- 
 ment, had as yet still little power was to be 
 enforced, Neumann thought he saw in it the germ 
 of personal spite and jealousy. In this he was
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 155 
 
 not, perhaps, quite correct, but it galled him to 
 think that native hunters, and especially Arab 
 ivory traders, would in future be allowed to con- 
 tinue to kill, or employ others to kill, elephants, 
 whilst he, who had been a pioneer and a man who 
 had made many of the most recalcitrant tribes 
 peaceful, and had taken all risks, should be debarred 
 from killing elephants even far away in the wilder- 
 ness, where the Government still had no real 
 authority or could prove " occupation." In virile 
 language he thus describes the man whom he 
 considers his chief enemy : "It seems that your 
 intrepid, sanctimonious, giraffe-slaying, bastard- 
 missionary, self-appointed protector of beasts (other 
 than those defenceless ones he is able to pot himself) 
 and almighty law-giver for Africa in general, psalm- 
 smiter-in-chief, this stroll-through-the-country-and- 
 know-more-about-it-than-anybody-else coadjutator 
 of yours in the Game-Preserving Society has been 
 trying to put a spoke in the wheel of your humble 
 servant. May Allah reward him ! ' : 
 
 He then wrote a pamphlet for the consideration 
 of H.M.'s Deputy Commissioner (Sir F. Jackson), 
 setting forth the whole conditions of the ivory trade 
 and giving facts as to how the elephants were killed 
 by the natives. He recommended the prohibition 
 of killing all cow elephants, and personally offered 
 his services as " border agent " to control the out- 
 lying districts, with the proviso that he be allowed 
 to shoot old bulls to pay the expenses of his caravan. 
 
 Neumann was allowed to continue to hunt in 
 the wilderness for a short time, and reached Mom- 
 basa with his ivory in July 1906. (His expenses 
 for the three years' trip were over 3000), and as
 
 156 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 a better price was to be obtained in London, he 
 sent it there, and at a sale at the Docks it realised 
 4500. 1 
 
 Neumann was now forced to accept the fact 
 that his adventurous life as an elephant hunter 
 was finished, and that he would not be allowed to 
 return and hunt with the freedom he had previously 
 enjoyed. Thus he writes from Mombasa July 28th, 
 1906- 
 
 " It will sound strange to you, I daresay, and 
 if you were not a close friend I should not dare 
 to say it, but it would seem a poor compliment that 
 the prospect of leaving my country and giving 
 up the life I love makes me sad. I know so well 
 the misery of feeling like a fish out of water, with 
 neither part nor lot in anything at home. Here 
 in my ' nowhere' I have been happy, and never 
 suffered from those terrible fits of depression that 
 weigh me down there. ' Here shall ye find no 
 enemy but - and hot weather.' I fear I will 
 have to give it up for good, or at all events I shall 
 have to leave my own part and go, perhaps to the 
 Congo Free State. Now I am as well as ever, and 
 able to continue my pursuits in spite of increasing 
 years. If I am compelled to lead a life of stagnation 
 I shall soon get old." 
 
 He arrived home in October 1906, and soon after 
 landing he had a severe attack of influenza, which 
 left him weak and depressed. In April he came 
 to stay with me, and seemed to have quite recovered 
 his spirits and good health, and talked of returning 
 
 1 This was without four or five of the best tusks, which he 
 kept for himself as specimens.
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 157 
 
 shortly to Africa and building a small house on 
 the slopes of Mount Kenia, where it was my intention 
 to go and visit him in the following winter. He 
 then left to pay a visit in the West of England, and 
 returned at once to his rooms in London (on May 
 29th, 1907), where he died suddenly. 
 
 The following note in the Field, January 4th, 
 1908, gives some idea of Neumann's influence 
 with the natives 
 
 " The following is an extract from a letter 
 recently received from a traveller through the 
 wild district of the Samburu tribe to the north of 
 Kenia, in which the late A. H. Neumann lived 
 during his last visit to East Africa. It is of interest 
 to all who knew the charming personality of the 
 man, and shows how great a hold he had won over 
 the affections of the wildest savages by being both 
 a true sportsman and a true gentleman. The 
 name ' Nyama Yangu,' by which he was known 
 to the natives throughout the country, means 
 4 my meat,' and is said to have been given him 
 because when once he had marked down his game 
 he never missed it. 
 
 "J. J. WILSON. 
 
 " Mombasa, November 20th. 
 
 " ' (Extract). 
 
 " Ngongo, October 25th, 1907. 
 
 " 6 The first place I struck was a place called 
 Mbusketok. Here I was greeted by a very old 
 Samburu man with open arms and a shout of 
 " Nyama Yangu has returned to us ! " (interpreted 
 to me by my Masai boy). Whether I looked any-
 
 158 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 thing like Neumann or not I could not tell, as I 
 never had the pleasure of meeting him. After a 
 short conversation with the old man, and having 
 informed him I was not Neumann, he inquired 
 from me if I knew when Neumann was returning. 
 I told him I expected he would be back shortly. 
 
 " 'The first question put by any Samburu you 
 met was, " Why have Europeans imprisoned Nyama 
 Yango?' ; Having denied this, and told them it 
 was a lie, they seemed delighted at the hope of 
 his returning shortly. I asked them who had told 
 them this lie, and they said Neumann's Swahili 
 gun-bearer. It did not matter whom you met 
 Wanderobo, Samburu, Rendile their first question 
 was "When is Nyama Yangu returning?' 1 He 
 must have had an extraordinary influence among 
 them. They also told me he never accepted any 
 presents from them unless they would take their 
 equivalent value in what they wanted, such as 
 wire and Americani. On my way to Kenia I went 
 into one of Neumann's camps. His house, if 
 you could call it one, was a small grass -and-mud 
 hut, round which were a few shelves, a small, rickety 
 table, but no chair. What surprised one most was 
 his bed an exact copy of the native bed, made of 
 sticks tied lengthways and others tied crossways, 
 most hard and uncomfortable. He must have been 
 as hard as nails, for I should certainly have pre- 
 ferred to sleep on the ground rather than on his bed. 
 
 " ' From what I gathered from my interpreter, 
 when the Samburu are convinced that Neumann is 
 dead their intention is all to trek north. He must 
 have been a little god among them; he settled 
 their troubles and advised them when they came
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 159 
 
 to him for advice; and while he was among them 
 they were not afraid of being raided by other 
 tribes, for they said he would see that they were 
 not interfered with by anybody.' ' 
 
 Immediately after poor Neumann's death 
 occurred one of those strange events with which 
 we are occasionally confronted in life, and which 
 are as interesting as they are difficult to explain 
 even by scientific men who have made the subject 
 of spirit materialisation their especial study. We 
 may or may not believe in the communion of two 
 spirits who are so closely in sympathy with each 
 other that both thought transference and even 
 spirit manifestation between them is possible, 
 but that it does occur in rare instances seems to be 
 an undoubted fact. I will therefore make no 
 further comment on the following extraordinary 
 events, but merely state facts which I believe to 
 be quite above all suspicion either of fraud or 
 hallucination. 
 
 It would appear that about the year 1876 Arthur 
 Neumann and his brother Charles, whilst farming 
 in Natal, were intimately associated with a family 
 named Jackson, who had a little daughter named 
 Noomi, to whom Arthur was devotedly attached. 
 She was his godchild, and as she grew up Arthur, 
 who had considerable private means, asked leave 
 to adopt her, but this was refused. Between 
 Noomi and the hunter, however, there existed a 
 bond of affection which was so close and intimate 
 that neither time nor absence affected. She ad- 
 dressed him always as " Uncle Arthur," and wrote 
 to him constantly of all her childish hopes and
 
 160 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 ambitions. It was, in fact, a bond of sympathy 
 between two human beings in which even the dis- 
 parity of age could make no difference. At the 
 time of Neumann's death Noomi Jackson was at a 
 convent school in Belgium, and the whole account 
 of the appearance of Neumann to Noomi Jackson 
 is contained in the following letter from Mrs. 
 Jackson to Charles Neumann 
 
 " Kenilworth Court, 
 
 "Putney, S.W. 
 September 4th, 1907. 
 
 " DEAR MR. NEUMANN, 
 
 " Thank you so much for your kind letter 
 received this morning, which has been a great com- 
 fort to me. I shall now do my best to let N. con- 
 tinue her studies, which she is so anxious to do. 
 
 " In regard to the extraordinary incident I 
 mentioned to you, I will do my best to write it 
 down, and tell you all that happened. 
 
 " First of all, I must say that it was my earnest 
 desire that Noomi should not know how her Uncle 
 N. (as she always called him) met his death, so I 
 never mentioned anything about him until the 
 Tuesday following, in my usual weekly letter. My 
 few words were, ' I have very sad news for you. 
 Poor Uncle Neumann died suddenly on Wednesday 
 and was buried on Saturday.' That letter was 
 delayed three further days. When I met my 
 daughter at Charing Cross on the 6th of August, 
 almost her first words were, ' Mother, please tell 
 me the truth about Uncle N.' I said, 4 What do 
 you mean, dear ? ' She then said, ' You can't 
 deceive me, Mother; just tell me. Did he die
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 161 
 
 because a woman wouldn't love him ? ' I said, 
 ' Why do you ask such a question ? ' She replied, 
 4 Oh, Mother, tell me the truth. He came and told 
 me himself, and is suffering so terribly.' Then she 
 told me how the apparition took place. 
 
 " On the Wednesday following Arthur's death, 
 she was in the church with Mere Paul, helping to 
 clean and dust. She was up a ladder hard at work, 
 when she looked round and saw one of her school 
 friends (whom she knew to be away at the time) 
 coming towards her. She says she felt great 
 surprise and shock at seeing her friend in nun's 
 dress. The nun came up to her and beckoned to 
 her to come down from the ladder, and she tells 
 me it was with a ' curious, funny ' feeling she saw 
 herself on the ladder, and she was on the ground. 
 The nun then took her by the arm and led her 
 away through a side door of the church where she 
 had never been before, and through the nuns' 
 refectory, where no one is allowed, and into their 
 private chapel. She can describe everything and 
 the pictures on the walls. She was brought to one 
 of the pews, where she knelt down, and felt some 
 one near her. She looked up, and she says there 
 was Uncle Neumann standing by her. Her first 
 thoughts were, c Mother never told me he was coming 
 to Belgium.' But she felt something was wrong, 
 his face bore such terrible suffering. He came up 
 and placed his hand in hers and said, ' N., my life 
 has now passed away. A woman wouldn't love 
 me, and my sufferings are terrible. I never believed 
 what I ought to have on earth. Pray for me.' 
 Earthly prayers, he told her, helped him more. 
 After that the same nun came and led her out of 
 
 M
 
 162 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 the church, and she found herself on the ladder, 
 dazed. She managed to get down. Mere Paul 
 noticed she looked very white and ill, so took her 
 away, and she laid down for some hours. 
 
 " Since then he has appeared to her every morning 
 early, about three or four, but only for a moment. 
 He has never spoken again, but each time his 
 expression is changing and a happier look is on 
 his face. Her words to me were, ' Oh, Mother, I 
 have prayed so ! I want to forget the awful suffering 
 on his face when I first saw him. That look is 
 going now.' He came to her as usual the day she 
 left, but nothing has been seen here. I am told 
 that in all probability she will see him again on 
 her return; the atmospheric conditions are against 
 it here. 
 
 " The child seems to take it very calmly. What 
 worried her so dreadfully was not knowing the 
 truth, as she says she dared not write and ask me 
 about it, as all their letters are read, so she had to 
 wait until she came home. She told Mere Paul 
 about it in confidence, otherwise she could not 
 have borne it. You will understand how worried 
 I have been. I feared so for her, whether it might 
 affect her. I have never in my life known of a 
 more extraordinary thing. One cannot explain 
 away the fact that she was told everything all 
 I had intended she should never know by him. 
 There is no one over there who knows anything 
 about him or ourselves. 
 
 " Each morning between the two bells he stands, 
 by her bedside and makes her understand he is 
 happier, but he never speaks now. I should like 
 you to meet my daughter. She returns to school
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 163 
 
 on the 2nd of October. She tells me she does not 
 mind at all seeing him again, otherwise I should 
 not allow her to go back, but her heart is in her 
 work. My mind is relieved now I have told you 
 all, and if we all add our prayers to the child's 
 they will help to bring comfort to the sorrowing 
 one. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 "B. JACKSON." 
 
 Selous~was very much interested in this account, 
 a copy of which I sent him, and thus writes (October 
 25th, 1907)- 
 
 " MY DEAR JOHNNY, 
 
 " The letter you sent has interested me very 
 much. My father was a great friend of Alfred 
 Russell Wallace, who was, and is, a confirmed 
 spiritualist, and when I was a boy I often heard 
 Dr. Wallace tell my father and mother of what 
 he considered well-authenticated cases of houses 
 being haunted and the spirits of dead people 
 appearing to the living. But this case of the 
 apparition of poor Neumann to Noomi Jackson 
 presents some most remarkable features. In the 
 first place, the verbal communication was very 
 curious, for apparitions are, I think, always, or 
 nearly always, silent. The second curious fact 
 is that when Noomi looked round whilst standing 
 on the ladder she saw one of her school friends, 
 whom she knew to be away at the time, coming towards 
 her. This figure was dressed in nun's dress, and 
 led her to the chapel where Neumann's spirit 
 appeared to her.
 
 164 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 "Another very significant fact is that Noomi, 
 when on the ground beside the nun, experienced 
 a curious, funny feeling, and saw herself still on 
 the ladder. Now it would be most interesting to 
 learn, and we ought to try and find out, whether 
 Noomi's school friend, who was supposed to be 
 away at the time, really came to Noomi in bodily 
 form dressed as a nun and led her to the private 
 chapel where she saw the apparition of Arthur 
 Neumann. We ought also to try and find out 
 whether Mere Paul, who was in the chapel with 
 Noomi, and must have been near her when she 
 was working on the ladder, ever saw her get down 
 from the ladder and meet her school friend in 
 nun's dress, then leave the chapel with her, and 
 after a time return to the church and again get 
 up the ladder, for when she got down in bodily 
 form Mere Paul at once noticed that she looked 
 very pale and ill. Now I believe that Noomi's 
 body never left the ladder at all. Neumann's 
 spirit probably could not get en rapport directly 
 with hers, but was able in some way to cause the 
 spirit of her school friend to quit its bodily case 
 and communicate with the spirit of Noomi, and 
 bring it to the chapel, where he was able to appear 
 to, and to make a communication to it. You 
 may not be able to understand this, but I believe 
 that it will be proved that Noomi's friend knows 
 nothing about having visited the church in nun's 
 dress. I believe that the figure in nun's dress 
 that called Noomi was as much a spirit as the 
 apparition of Neumann the one was a spirit 
 of the living, the other a spirit of the dead. Both 
 would probably be invisible to Mere Paul, or to
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 165 
 
 all but a few exceptionally organised people. That 
 is my explanation. The spiritual essence of Noomi, 
 which will survive the death of her body, saw and 
 recognised another disembodied spirit of the living 
 and obeyed its summons, leaving its own body 
 as it were in a trance on the ladder. All that 
 subsequently happened before the spirit again 
 returned to its bodily case may have happened 
 in the briefest possible space of time, as in a dream. 
 After all, how can such things be explained ? That 
 they sometimes occur when two souls are in deep 
 sympathy with one another I firmly believe. I 
 hope to see you again and talk over this very curious 
 experience." 
 
 On the receipt of this latter MacLeod and I 
 went at once to Putney and had an interesting 
 interview with Mrs. Jackson and her daughter, 
 who corroborated in every detail the circumstances 
 already narrated. Noomi Jackson impressed me 
 as a singularly charming girl of a spirituelle char- 
 acter, and yet full of abundant common sense. The 
 clarity and truthfulness of her story is unquestion- 
 able, and she could under no circumstances have 
 known of the facts of Neumann's death, even if 
 she had been informed in some way (which was 
 not the case) that he was dead. It only remains 
 to state that all Selous' reasoning was, as usual, 
 absolutely sound. Mere Paul 1 knew nothing of 
 Noomi's experience until she told it herself, whilst 
 no one but Noomi seems to have seen the apparition 
 of the absent friend who led her to the chapel, 
 
 1 Shortly after this event Mre Paul died.
 
 166 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 neither did this friend herself know that she had 
 appeared in the chapel to Noomi. Who then 
 shall judge of these things, or even deny that we 
 possess a spirit, as well as a material body ? 
 
 The whole facts of this case were laid before 
 the Society of Psychical Research, and published 
 in their Journal, May 1908. Miss Noomi Jackson 
 was present at this meeting, and submitted to 
 cross-examination by members. In this report 
 Miss Jackson is referred to as " Miss Wilson," 
 Arthur Neumann as " Captain Oldham " and Mere 
 Paul as " Mere Columba." Professor Barrett 
 remarked that it was the most interesting 
 and impressive case that had come under his 
 notice. 
 
 In this age of celebrated mediocrities England 
 always ignores her best men, and gives them no 
 help at the time when they most need it. Our 
 pioneers succeed in doing great things, not with 
 her help, but in spite of it, for the British Foreign 
 and Colonial Offices are both the most colossally 
 ignorant as well as unimaginative bodies in existence, 
 and would rather place a ban on individual explora- 
 tion than assist it. 1 Great things have been done 
 in Africa by quiet, unpretentious men like Selous, 
 Livingstone, Speke, Grant, Thomson, Burton and 
 
 1 As an instance of this the following may be cited : Prior 
 to 1914 the Indian Government, whilst placing a veto on all 
 English explorers, gave every assistance to such foreigners 
 as Sven Hedin, a Swede, who did everything to foster German 
 propaganda and vilify England in the Great War, and another 
 person of German extraction. These men explored and mapped 
 the Hinterland of Thibet, the Pamirs and the route to Mongolia, 
 and received honours and distinctions from our Geographical 
 Society. We seem to have a perfect genius for nursing vipers 
 in our bosom.
 
 ARTHUR NEUMANN 167 
 
 Neumann, who cared nothing for worldly applause, 
 but were only bent on gaining a knowledge of the 
 Great Unknown, and at the same time making 
 peace with the savages, so that all who came after 
 might have an easy road. It is our pioneers who 
 really conquered the great interior and gave to us 
 our African Empire. Their victory lasts beyond 
 their little day, for that initial spear-head of 
 courage and noble conduct is the apex of all 
 future advancement, and if these men were not 
 our very best gentlemen in the true sense of the 
 word progress would have been delayed for a 
 generation, and other nations would have taken 
 our place. 
 
 Up on the ramparts of Quebec stands a magnifi- 
 cent monument to Champlain, who was the first 
 explorer to plunge into the Canadian wilderness 
 in olden days. That statue, by far the finest 
 in the New World, is of a Frenchman by a 
 Frenchman, but then our Gallic neighbours have 
 enthusiasm and imagination, and it needed their 
 romantic outlook to place it there in a beautiful 
 position above the St. Lawrence in a British 
 town. 
 
 Some day that rare combination a rich man 
 with fine ideas will get to work and put up a 
 statue to Arthur Neumann in Nairobi, for the 
 so-called elephant hunter did as much, and more, 
 than Champlain ever did to explore Canada. 
 But Arthur Neumann was only an Englishman, 
 so we may have to wait a long time, despite the 
 fact that 25,000 settlers are to-day (July 10th, 1919) 
 waiting to take up land on East African highlands 
 about Mount Kenia, which country Neumann
 
 168 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 made it possible for us to enter without firing a 
 shot at a native. 1 
 
 1 About the time that Neumann was living up amongst the 
 natives of Kenia, John Boyes went and lived amongst the 
 Kikuyu, at that time a dangerous lot of caravan raiders 
 whom no white man dared to approach. Boyes was much 
 trusted by certain sections of the Kikuyu, and did a great deal 
 to keep them quiet, although he went there purely as a trader 
 on his own account. But when certain Kikuyu attacked 
 British outposts Boyes was held responsible, and prosecuted 
 by the East African Government a gross outrage. After 
 being confined for some months he was acquitted. John 
 Boyes, " King of the Kikuyu," is a gallant fellow of the old 
 adventurer type, and I take my hat off to him as one who has 
 been greatly misrepresented. Now he lives quietly on his 
 farm near Nairobi, where I had the pleasure of meeting him in 
 1913.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 
 
 IT is somewhat painful to admit the fact, but 
 from time immemorial the proverbial fisherman is 
 supposed to inherit the taint of Ananias. So rooted 
 is this conception that even exact records of facts 
 are apt to be received with incredulity. We of the 
 old school who crossed the North Sea in the good 
 ships Tasso, Eldorado and Sappho of a truth listened 
 to fish tales in the smoking-room that fairly made 
 us gasp. The man who, on being asked the size 
 of a monster salmon he had landed, replied that 
 " he did not know, but it must have been immense, 
 since on its capture he noticed the river had fallen 
 a foot," was regarded as a poor creature in com- 
 parison with the giant who asserted that the steamers 
 on the Eraser River often threw with their paddles 
 on the deck such a quantity of salmon that the ship 
 was in danger of being submerged. As a matter 
 of fact, an audience of fishers love these old romances, 
 not only because they add to the joy of life, but 
 because they enable each and every one to tell 
 his own story of some marvellous happening, and 
 know that (true or otherwise) it will be accepted in 
 its proper ratio. 
 
 Truth is often fiction and fiction truth, since 
 many novels are more true to life than ponderous 
 blue books, and it is indeed a curiously unobservant 
 
 169
 
 170 .WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 fellow who has not some tale to tell within the 
 ken of his own experience that savours of the 
 marvellous, even though it may be perfectly true. 
 
 We have, for instance, the story of Captain 
 Campbell, who, fishing one day with minnow in 
 the Taupo River, New Zealand, played and lost a 
 large trout which broke him. Being tired of fishing 
 he wandered for a mile along the side of the Taupo 
 Lake, where he saw Lord Lewisham engaged in 
 playing a good fish which he had hooked with a 
 " dry " fly. Captain Campbell got out his net and 
 landed the fish, in whose jaw was the identical 
 minnow he had lost twenty minutes before. It 
 appears the trout, after breaking Captain Campbell, 
 had left the river and passed straight for a mile 
 out into the lake, where he had at once taken Lord 
 Lewisham's fly. Now both actors in this curious 
 incident only tell this extraordinary story to such 
 as they hope will believe it. But incredible as it 
 may seem, it is perfectly true. 
 
 Taking into consideration, therefore, the fact that 
 our most veracious tales may be liable to miscon- 
 struction, it requires a certain courage to lay before 
 a public, which I hope is kind, any stories of the 
 lake and river that are slightly out of the normal. 
 
 Andrew Lang used to think there was a great deal 
 of disinterested malevolence in the man who ques- 
 tioned " What have you caught? " when he knew 
 well that the subject was painful to you and that 
 you had caught nothing, and yet the poet himself 
 seems to have caught some of this spirit of malevo- 
 lence when he asserts that the unsuccessful angler 
 in which category he places himself is happiest 
 when " watching the skill, or deriving a perverse
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 171 
 
 consolation from the failures of some more accom- 
 plished friend." On the other hand, let us hope 
 there are a few sympathetic souls who have some- 
 times toiled hard and caught nothing themselves, 
 and who when you have achieved some success 
 will rejoice with you. It is to these nice people 
 I address the following little tales of the river. 
 
 Every man who is a devotee of some sport, once 
 he has mastered a few of its technicalities, is apt to 
 indulge in superlatives. He has conquered perhaps 
 some of its finer points, and therefore is apt to place 
 that particular form of amusement on what may be 
 a higher pinnacle than it is entitled to. My son, 
 aged seventeen, with the certainty and compre- 
 hensiveness of youth, having caught one black and 
 ugly monster in the River Tilt, tells me that salmon- 
 fishing is the finest sport in the world. Perhaps 
 he is right and perhaps not. At any rate, it is a 
 mean creature who will cavil at such enthusiasm. 
 Yet there are many fine points in most sports, and 
 the more we excel at anything, or better still, as in 
 the case of salmon-fishing, if we have good luck the 
 more we are disposed to eliminate superlatives 
 and thank our stars for those golden days when 
 fortune smiles upon us. 
 
 Having fished for trout and salmon for more than 
 forty years, I can truthfully say that good luck 
 in the latter sport is often more important than 
 skill. There are many days, even on the best rivers, 
 when no matter what your experience may be with 
 the fly, minnow, prawn or worm, you will never 
 move a fin, whereas there are other days when the 
 veriest tyro, unable to cast ten yards, and who 
 simply trails a fly at the end of the boat, will catch
 
 172 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 four or five salmon. It is, of course, true that the 
 superior fisherman, especially when he knows any 
 particular river, and has comprehension of where 
 the fish will lie in spate or drought, will always 
 catch two or three times as many fish as the indiffer- 
 ent, angler, but then that is what must always be. 
 Whereas, however, it takes exceptional skill to kill 
 the slowest-moving trout, the expert salmon angler 
 has fewer chances of doing wonderful things, because 
 it is only on rare occasions that salmon are plentiful 
 and the river just in that condition when they will 
 rise, and even then a duffer may do as well as an 
 expert. I remember such a day at Stobhall about 
 the year 1887, when Mr. Murray of Taymount, an 
 excellent fisherman, thought he had done well when 
 he had killed nine good fish, but on one beat higher 
 up on the same day, a boy of eighteen, the son of 
 the clergyman of Birnam this being his first day's 
 salmon-fishing killed nineteen salmon. 1 He was, 
 in fact, playing fish all day. The next day, too, 
 my aunt, Mrs. Stibbard, who is a good angler, 
 killed sixteen in Burnmouth, no mean physical 
 feat for a lady, as they were all big fish. Thus 
 salmon-fishing being so much a matter of chance in 
 getting plenty of fish and suitable water just at 
 the right time, we have to pray that it may be our 
 luck to be there on such fortunate occasions. But 
 no matter how hard we work or how often we go the 
 occasions will be rare sometimes dishearteningly so. 
 From the foregoing it may seem that my con- 
 clusions lead to the point that no special skill is 
 required to kill salmon. That is far from being 
 
 1 It must be explained that in this instance all these fish 
 were caught " harling."
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 173 
 
 the case. Personally I have never used anything 
 but the fly, but that does not blind me to the fact 
 that an extraordinary amount of skill is required 
 both to cast and work properly the minnow and the 
 prawn. Such a man as Captain Campbell, who 
 will go any time in the autumn and take out fish 
 from the free waters above Perth when other anglers 
 just look on in amazement, knows something more 
 about minnows, how to use and change them 
 according to light and temperature of the water, 
 and depth at which to float them, than the ordinary 
 angler. He understands fully the finer points of 
 this class of fishing, and his exceptional skill will 
 have its just reward. I have seen, too, men using 
 prawn, both in Ireland and on the Tay, in a manner 
 that excited my admiration. They also had reached 
 a high level in this particular branch of fishing, 
 though I must confess it never appealed to me, 
 even when they hooked fish which I knew would 
 never rise to my fly. 
 
 Perhaps, therefore, this very " chancey " nature 
 of salmon-fishing may account for its great popu- 
 larity, for the duffer knows that given the best 
 conditions he too may do as great things as the 
 expert. Moreover, it is in the nature of man to 
 desire some unusual reward for his labour and 
 casting all day with a nineteen-foot rod is certainly 
 labour and this is ever present, for having once 
 killed a twenty-pounder, there is always a hope 
 that the very next fish may be a thirty-pounder, 
 and so on, till even the more or less mythical fifty- 
 pounder comes within the ken of possibilities. Yet 
 these big things are given to the few, in Scotland, at 
 any rate. I remember Mr. Charles Murray, who
 
 174 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 has killed more fish on the Tay than any other 
 living man, telling me that until he was sixty-three 
 his largest salmon was 35 Ibs. Yet after this he 
 landed one of 42 Ibs. At different times I have 
 fished most of the Highland salmon rivers, from the 
 Tweed to the Thurso, but have never had any good 
 sport except on the Tay, where I know every yard 
 of the river from Killin to Glencarse, below Perth. 
 For twenty-five years, from 1870 to 1896, my father, 
 who was a very keen and expert angler, rented 
 various beats. His earliest experience, after rent- 
 ing different rivers in Sutherland, notably the 
 Helmsdale and Shin (where he had wonderful 
 sport in the 'fifties and 'sixties), was on the Stanley 
 Water when John Leech was his guest. The views 
 of the latter in his first essays in salmon-fishing, 
 seen in the amusing pictures of the adventures of 
 Mr. Briggs, are well known to readers of Punch. 
 After the year 1870 my father rented various beats 
 on the river, but had little good sport until he took 
 the Murthly Water in 1883. This excellent piece 
 of the river then at its best in autumn he retained 
 until the new proprietor, wishing to fish there him- 
 self, came to live at Murthly. Then he took 
 Stobhall, possibly the best beat in Scotland, for 
 a few years, and afterwards fished Ballathine, 
 Benchil and other beats until his death in 1896. 
 My father loved to fill his house with his friends in 
 autumn, and so in the nature of things the oppor- 
 tunities of good salmon-fishing usually crowded 
 within the dates September 25th to October 18th 
 were seldom realised by his own sons. There were 
 always, too, many keen fishermen in the house. On 
 the six miles of water my father allowed only two
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 175 
 
 boats, i. e. two rods, so that those who could enjoy 
 the best sport were really few. Wherefore my 
 brothers and I as often as not sought our sport in 
 other waters. Nevertheless, there was always an 
 odd day to be had, even at the " crowded " time, 
 and so it fell to my lot to experience some grand 
 days of sport with the big fish. 
 
 I think the best three days I ever had were October 
 9th to llth, 1889, when I killed twenty- one salmon, 
 averaging 21 Ibs. The first two days were on the 
 lower beat of Murthly, when I caught seven and 
 six respectively, and the third day on Burnmouth, 
 when I captured eight. The average of these fish 
 was exceptional even for the Tay, but the fish ran 
 big that year, and we caught one hundred and 
 twenty between August 22nd and October 10th, yet 
 the largest fish of the season was only 32 Ibs. 
 
 My father was always hoping to kill one of those 
 monsters which usually appeared about October 1st 
 and seldom looked at a fly, but one day in 1887 he 
 rose and hooked a very big fish in the still water in 
 front of Miller's house, and after a gallant struggle 
 of an hour he landed his prize. It was a clean- 
 run fish of 44 Ibs., and his joy was great. In 1895 
 an enormous fish was seen jumping several times 
 at Ballathine. Father tried for him several times, 
 and at last rose and hooked him. Haggart, the 
 fisherman at Stobhall, who was one of the few men 
 who had actually killed a veritable sixty-pounder, 
 told me afterwards that this was the biggest fish he 
 had ever seen on the Tay, and was as excited as my 
 father when the great struggle began and the giant 
 leaped clear of the water. The fight lasted for two 
 hours, and then the fish suddenly dashed up-stream,
 
 176 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 ran on to a dead tree and broke the cast. It was a 
 veritable tragedy, and one which my unfortunate 
 parent could never refer to afterwards without 
 emotion. Yet if the biggest fish always get away, 
 he had some compensation in knowing that he had 
 killed five fish over 40 Ibs. between the years 1886 
 and 1896, and that might be sufficient reward to 
 most anglers. But who indeed let alone fishermen 
 is ever satisfied in this world ? 
 
 The mere description of salmon-fishing and salmon 
 killing is apt to become monotonous. Nearly 
 every fish plays just in the same way with more or 
 less vigour according to place, power of water and 
 freshness of arrival from the sea, so I will not trouble 
 my readers with anything except just those little 
 incidents of sport which are somewhat exceptional. 
 Personally I always liked fishing in certain spots 
 on the Tay where I knew fish frequented and were 
 difficult to lure. There is one such place, known as 
 Thistlebrig stream, under the cliffs below Stanley, 
 which always gave me particular joy. This is one 
 of the few runs on the Tay where by wading it is 
 possible to kill a good fish when the river is dead 
 low. At such times the river is forced into a narrow 
 channel, where the stream is so broken and swift 
 that it is very difficult to work a boat. Accordingly 
 I used to fish it by wading in from the north bank. 
 Its peculiar attraction lay in the fact that if you 
 hooked a fish above the size of a grilse it invariably 
 dashed straight down-stream to a great still pool on 
 Benchil, a distance of two to three hundred yards. 
 The time given to the angler to turn round and 
 hurry ashore, whilst letting the fish run, was only 
 half a minute, and by the time you had got over
 
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 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 177 
 
 the slippery rocks to sound footing probably the 
 greater part of your line was out and you had to 
 run at full speed. I lost certainly more fish than 
 I killed, but when one did happen to gain the 
 advantage, usually when the fish hesitated before his 
 first run, the subsequent run and fight were some- 
 thing worth living for. I remember in particular 
 killing a stout twenty-five-pounder that had me 
 out twice to the last turn of the line on the reel, 
 and yet each time, by getting below him by hard 
 racing, I was at Benchill pool first, and he was mine. 
 
 Another favourite run at dead low water in August 
 is the Eels-brig stream on Stobhall. This is even 
 swifter than Thistlebrig, but it can be worked by 
 casting from a boat at the side. It was here, on 
 August 12th, that I killed what I consider to be 
 the best fighting salmon I have ever seen. August 
 the 12th was certainly a curious day to go salmon- 
 fishing, for when in Scotland I seldom missed the 
 first day at the grouse, but on this occasion our 
 party had fallen through for some reason, and, meet- 
 ing Mr. James Pullar, he asked me if I cared to fish 
 Stobhall on that day, so I gladly accepted. My 
 old friend Haggart met me at Stanley station, and 
 said what I thought myself that the only chance 
 was to try the Eels-brig stream, where he had seen 
 a fish or two jumping. 
 
 I put on a fine cast and a small grilse-sized " Dusty 
 Miller," the best fly on the Tay for late evening or 
 dead low water. At almost the first cast I rose 
 and hooked a small grilse of 5 Ibs., and killed him in 
 a few minutes. We worked down the stream until 
 it was going at racing pace just over the fall and 
 it was no longer possible to hold the boat. 
 
 M
 
 178 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 " You're over it, Maister John," remarked Hag- 
 gart as I gave a final cast. 
 
 At this moment the rod was nearly torn from my 
 hand, and the reel screamed as a fish took the fly 
 and dashed down-stream to a great pool below. 
 It was possible to follow him, so down we went 
 in one mighty swoop. Then suddenly the fish made 
 for the north bank, whirled upwards to the re- 
 entering angle of the pool, whilst the line sagged 
 badly with this quick manoeuvre. For a moment 
 I thought we had hold of an ordinary fish, and 
 told Haggart to work in-shore so that I could jump 
 out and try to prevent it getting back to the strong 
 current. We had, however, hardly touched the 
 stones when the salmon made a most magnificent 
 rush right across the river, a distance of a hundred and 
 twenty yards. It was all my experienced boatman 
 could do to keep pace with this movement and 
 prevent a complete run-out, and when at the end 
 of the effort the salmon leaped, as they often do, 
 I saw at once that we had hold of something unusual. 
 It was evidently a fish somewhere about 40 Ibs., and 
 shone like silver. 
 
 We now crossed the river as I took in line, and 
 had just got on fighting terms again when once 
 more this gallant fish went straight across the river 
 to the south bank. It was more difficult to hold 
 him this time, as the course taken was slightly up- 
 stream and we had to fight current and fish at the 
 same time. But the good " Malloch " cast and fly 
 held in spite of the unusual strain, and, with a few 
 rounds of line to spare, we crossed and worked up 
 swiftly through the slack water till I was once more 
 opposite my fish and could get some command of
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 179 
 
 him. After several gallant rushes this virile fish 
 again took another run to the north bank, but this 
 time we followed him more easily, and the subse- 
 quent strain was sufficient for a time to prevent 
 him from getting back into the main current in the 
 centre of the river, where he could do as he liked. 
 For three-quarters of an hour this gallant salmon 
 never rested for a moment. Unlike most big fish, 
 he absolutely scorned to be sulky, and continued 
 to battle until the very last moment. At least 
 twenty times I thought I had him done, and yet 
 there was always another spurt, and out I had to 
 let him go. But even the powers of such a warrior 
 have their limits, and at last Haggart, who was a 
 skilled gaffer, and not averse to " wettin' his feet," 
 ran into the river and got his cleek home. Though 
 perhaps not as large as we had hoped, it weighed 
 36| Ibs. The freshness of its advent from the sea 
 had accounted for the great fight this fish put up. 
 I have killed many salmon, from the little fellows 
 of the Flekkefjord of Norway to the giant Tyee of 
 British Columbia, but never have I seen one fight 
 so continuously or so fiercely without a moment's 
 pause as did that Eels-brig fellow. I sent the fish 
 to my wife, to whom I was then engaged, in a little 
 village in Lincolnshire. She wrote, " Your big 
 salmon made a sensation here. The entire village 
 turned out to see it, and the miller arrived with his 
 scales in a cart to weigh it, for such a creature had 
 never been seen before, and they couldn't believe 
 it was a salmon. Nearly every one in the place 
 had a piece." 
 
 Although very fond of a day at the salmon, 
 most of my time was spent in shooting, so I hardly
 
 180 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 deserved to come within the category of those 
 fortunate or misguided beings who spend all their 
 days on the river and hope to achieve the angler's 
 triumph. But we never know our luck. The 
 season of 1888 had nearly gone, and as the last day 
 of my vacation from Cambridge had arrived and 
 hardly a fish had come to my rod, my father gener- 
 ously gave me his beat on the upper water at Murthly, 
 and also came in the boat to have a chat. It was 
 one of those rare days when only big fish are rising. 
 In the first stream I killed two splendid salmon, 
 25 Ibs. and 27 Ibs., and in the next another of 25 Ibs. 
 Since fish of the first quality were rising, I wished 
 to try the quiet water in front of Miller's house, 
 where one of the monsters had been seen jumping 
 every day for the past week. There was little 
 chance of moving him, as my father had offered 
 him half the flies in the book during this time, but 
 there was just a possibility he might be in a taking 
 humour. This beat is probably the most difficult 
 to fish in the whole river, as the water is almost 
 still, and it is necessary to throw a very long line. 
 We had passed the best of it, and my father had 
 already told Miller to go in, and that we would 
 have lunch. But that last cast is often the fateful 
 one, and in this case it was so, for just as I 
 raised the rod to take in line there was a slow 
 boil, and I struck. A slight jerking of the line 
 after tightening suggested a small or badly hooked 
 fish. 
 
 " I expect that is a grilse," remarked my father. 
 " Let us go ashore and kill him." 
 
 It seemed as if the fish had heard such an insult 
 to his proportions, for with one mighty rush he was
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 181 
 
 halfway across the river and out of the water in 
 a great spasmodic effort. 
 
 " The Calf, by all that is wonderful ! " we all 
 exclaimed, as the great body hurled itself into view. 
 
 " Age doth not wither nor custom stale " the 
 minds of anglers when they see a really big fish 
 hooked. For years their imagination has pic- 
 tured just this one moment, so we may be for- 
 given if the actors in this exciting drama were all 
 suddenly changed from phlegmatic humans wanting 
 their lunch to crazy enthusiasts tearing at the oars 
 to follow the retreating monster, and praying that 
 the hook " had a good hud." The boat fairly leapt 
 across the river, until the line seemed quite short. 
 It was, however, only a momentary pause, for 
 away the fish went up-stream, making the line hiss 
 on the sleeping current. Backwards and forwards 
 he fought for a full quarter of an hour, and then 
 came to the usual " sulks." Stones dropped about 
 him at last aroused him to action, rather too furious 
 to be pleasant at first, and then more sulking 
 amongst big rocks in the centre of the river. This 
 time it took quite a long time to move him, as I 
 dared not be too hard, since only a single gut cast 
 and a grilse-sized " Jock Scott " had to bear the 
 strain. But he moved out, and the usual tiring-out 
 process began. Yet so heavy was the fish that 
 we simply had to follow where he wished, and, as 
 he kept boring across the river, once more we let 
 him go, till I had him in quite still water opposite 
 the fisherman's house. Here he gave endless 
 trouble, and I began to fear that with such repeated 
 turns and twists the head of the fly might become 
 worn out and part. He absolutely refused to come
 
 182 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 near the bank, even where the water was deep, so 
 we got the boat fixed with her stern out in the 
 river, and here Miller watched in the depths with 
 gaff ready, whilst every time the salmon showed 
 side and a consequent weakening, I tried to swing 
 him with the stream to the gaffing point. At last 
 salmon nature was exhausted, and I worked the 
 vanquished hull across the area of capture. There 
 was a quick plunge of the steel. Miller's broad 
 back shook and heaved, and then there was a crash, 
 and the fisherman measured his length across the 
 seat of the boat. At the same moment the great 
 head and shoulders of the salmon rolled over the 
 edge of the gunwale, and giving itself an extra 
 heave, the fish fell into the boat as the broken gaff 
 fell out of its side. Thus was victory achieved. 
 This was certainly the biggest salmon any of us 
 had seen at Murthly. Our weighing machine being 
 out of order, the fish was not put on the scales until 
 two days afterwards in Malloch's shop where I 
 had sent it to be cast and then it turned the scale 
 at 46 Ibs., but I think it must have been about 2 Ibs. 
 heavier at the time of capture. 
 
 Nearly all salmon-fishing with the fly is alike, 
 and ninety-nine fish out of a hundred behave in 
 exactly the same manner. The small ones have a 
 way of coming to the gaff and the big ones possess 
 a nasty habit of getting off at the last minute. 
 Two big fellows always remain in my memory 
 with some soreness, for in neither case should 
 they have escaped had I possessed an efficient 
 companion on those particular days. I was fishing 
 for sea-trout one cold March day on the lower 
 reaches of the Beauly River, as the guest of Major
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 183 
 
 Cameron, using a trout rod and a small " March 
 brown." I had landed a few " Whitling," when a 
 large salmon made a beautiful head and tail rise at 
 my fly. He missed it, and I gave him ten minutes 
 and got over him again. This time he came boldly, 
 and I had him well hooked. He did not fight with 
 any special vigour, and after an hour and a half of 
 careful handling I had him fairly well done, and saw 
 that he was a bright and beautiful fish of exceptional 
 size for the northern river, and must have weighed 
 about 35 Ibs. at least. Fraser, the fisherman, at last 
 got the net under him, and we stood regarding our 
 captive lolloping on the shore. Major Cameron 
 said he was a " clean " fish. To me he certainly 
 looked all right, but Fraser was doubtful, and 
 without uttering another word threw him back in 
 the river. I was naturally more than a little 
 disappointed when an hour later he said, " Well, 
 I think I made a mistake. I believe he was clean 
 after all." What more was there to be said ? 
 
 On some of these northern rivers, notably the 
 Spey in early spring, it is most difficult to tell a 
 well-mended kelt from a fresh-run fish. Both are 
 clean and silvery, play quite well and are indis- 
 tinguishable to any but the expert. I remember 
 once at Craigellachie on the opening day of the season 
 catching no fewer than eleven so-called kelts and 
 finally one clean fish, but though the fisherman 
 explained to me the difference, for the life of me I 
 could not see it. 
 
 Another big fish that gave me some heartburnings 
 was one I hooked one autumn day on the Kilbary 
 water. This beat is situated next to the famous 
 Carysville fishing on the Blackwater in Ireland,
 
 184 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 A brother officer, Captain Barlow, and I had taken 
 it for the season, and had had very good sport 
 getting a fish or two every day in September. 
 On the last day of the season I hooked a monster 
 and had him on for an hour. At length I got him 
 into a still pool close to the bank, where he had 
 just sufficient strength left to give one or two final 
 rolls. Sweeny, our fisherman, and a proper rascal, 
 would not wet his feet, and was under any circum- 
 stances an arrant bungler with the gaff. I had 
 brought the exhausted fish past him at least four 
 times when he ought to have gaffed it. Once more 
 I essayed the same manoeuvre, when suddenly 
 away came the hook. Even then the fish, one of 
 at least 40 Ibs., lay exhausted on the surface, and a 
 clever gillie would have had time to dash in and 
 get him. Not so Sweeny, who just stared until 
 the salmon righted itself and disappeared. 
 
 In the following spring Captain Barlow and I 
 again took Kilbary, and noted plenty of fish in the 
 river, but on the two opening days we never had a 
 rise. I had noticed, however, certain heavily in- 
 dented marks at the casting places, and as these 
 seemed to coincide with the form of Sweeny's boot, 
 which was of remarkable size, I suspected some 
 dirty work. Accordingly my friend and I drove 
 to the river, which we could approach without 
 being seen, on the third day, having told Sweeny 
 that we should be unable to come on that morning. 
 It was a cold morning in February, but we had not 
 long to wait before our dishonest keeper emerged 
 from his cottage, brought out his rod, and going to 
 the head of the best pool, commenced fishing. We 
 administered some stern threats to the poacher,
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 185 
 
 with the result that he did not fish again that season, 
 and we did well during the following days. But 
 habit is too strong in the typical Irishman. Sweeny 
 was cunning, and knew how we had caught him, 
 so next year he only poached from his boat, moored 
 at intervals on the stream. But a day of retribution 
 was at hand. One morning, having taken a little 
 too much whisky, he tried casting from his cranky 
 craft, and so toppled out of the boat and was 
 drowned. 
 
 Looking back on all those pleasant days on the 
 Tay and other rivers, I can only recall one other 
 incident that is worth recording, but as it involved 
 a struggle such as I believe has fallen to no other 
 angler on the Tay, or perhaps even in Scotland, I 
 may be pardoned giving the adventure in full. 
 
 In the autumn of 1891 I was doing duty at the 
 depot of my regiment, the Seaforth Highlanders, 
 at Fort George. Amongst my good comrades there 
 was a certain Captain (now General) Stockwell, 
 who had more than once expressed to me a burning 
 desire to kill a salmon. I promised him that his 
 wish should be realised provided he was able to throw 
 a line out for a distance of ten or fifteen yards. 
 Then I waited to hear from Murthly that the river 
 was in condition and full of fish. The expected 
 news came at last on October 5th, and we took the 
 first train for Dunkeld. Next day, as there were 
 other guests in the house, we drove to the lowest 
 beat of all a stretch of river embracing the slow- 
 moving water below Caputh Bridge and Burn Bend 
 stream, and at once got to work. My friend was 
 given the boat with the two keepers, Haggart and 
 Conacher, whilst I went a few hundred yards lower
 
 186 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 down on the east bank, taking Keay, the head 
 keeper, to gaff for me. 
 
 This smooth water below Caputh Bridge had never 
 been fished before, as it was very rarely in " ply," 
 but on this particular day it seemed to be full of 
 fish, which were leaping in every direction. More- 
 over, the water was just in that perfect condition 
 for salmon -fishing which is, unfortunately, not too 
 common namely, slightly clear and falling after 
 a big spate. It was one of those days when you 
 had simply to make a cast and up they came. I 
 had hardly commenced when I was " in " to a good 
 fish, and had the satisfaction of seeing my friend 
 similarly engaged and evidently somewhat confused 
 with the multitudinous advice being thrust upon 
 him by the more experienced boatmen. At one 
 o'clock we met for lunch, and I had killed three 
 good fish, whilst Captain Stockwell also had three 
 and had lost four others. He was, however, very 
 happy, and said he had never had such a day in 
 his life. After a hurried meal I thought it better 
 to allow Captain Stockwell to work the same water 
 again, as Burn Bend was only a short stream and 
 in big water difficult to manage a boat. So Keay 
 and I crossed the river and went to the top of the 
 new water. 
 
 To understand subsequent events I must say a 
 few words of Burn Bend and its natural features. 
 The upper part of the stream is rapid, and this 
 gradually falls away into a smooth, boiling " flat," 
 which extends to the Meiklow boundary about 
 half a mile below. On the east side is the large 
 stony beach of Delvine and on the west is a high 
 bank, all open and easy to cast from for about
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 187 
 
 one hundred and fifty yards, when high woods with 
 deep water below cut the angler off from further 
 work on shore. Therefore from the Murthly side the 
 fishing area is short, and a salmon hooked there 
 must either be killed within its limit or a boat 
 procured and the fish followed on the Del vine side 
 until it is exhausted. 
 
 I commenced fishing at the head of the stream, 
 and at the second cast was " in " to what appeared 
 to be a big fish. The river here being narrow and 
 my reel having plenty of line (one hundred and 
 twenty yards), I easily controlled the movements 
 of my quarry for some ten minutes, and then he 
 commenced to " bore " down-stream in a discon- 
 certing manner. He was so strong I could not check 
 him, till at last, when within thirty yards of the 
 wood at the end of the bank, I told Keay to run 
 up-stream as quickly as possible and fetch the boat. 
 
 " A'll no gang unless ye promise no to gang in 
 the river," remarked the cautious Keay. 
 
 "All right," I replied hurriedly, "but for 
 Heaven's sake run ! " 
 
 The old keeper disappeared in a twinkling, and 
 I heard him shouting for my friends, who were 
 some seven hundred yards away. Meanwhile the 
 salmon continued to bore down-stream, taking out 
 every moment more and more line, and forcing me 
 step by step towards the wood. Once its great tail 
 showed, and feeling sure I had hold of a fish of the 
 first quality, I resolved to follow him somehow if 
 the cast would only stand the strain. I do not 
 know how long a time actually elapsed before I 
 found myself hanging on like grim death to the 
 great tree-roots with one hand, whilst with the
 
 188 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 other I grasped the rod, bent nearly double, and 
 practically all the line gone. I was up to my neck 
 in the river, and had even made some way down the 
 river by quickly shifting my right hand from root 
 to root. The trees were thickly laced overhead, 
 and my rod was on a level with the water to keep 
 my movements free, but the terrific strain on the 
 line was almost over. It could not have lasted 
 another minute, when I heard a sound behind me, 
 and looking up, saw Haggart and Captain Stockwell 
 with outstretched hands waiting to catch me as the 
 boat swept down. In another moment, dripping 
 but triumphant, I found myself on the floor of the 
 boat with the rod still bent double in my left hand, 
 and, best of all, the fish still " on." 
 
 " Put me on the Delvine bank and I'll soon kill 
 him now," I said, for I felt that if ever a salmon 
 was well hooked that one was. A few sharp strokes 
 and we were there, and as I jumped ashore the 
 fish, now scared, made off on the longest run I have 
 ever seen a salmon make. He went off at full speed 
 too, and I ran along the shingle for at least four 
 hundred yards without a single halt. This was 
 something like salmon fishing, and I fondly imagined 
 that such a run would exhaust him, and the rest 
 would be easy. Not a bit of it. The boat came up 
 ready to be of assistance, and the men were in time 
 to take a rest whilst the fish sulked for a few minutes, 
 then off he went again at a full run for another 
 five or six hundred yards before halting. We were 
 now close to the end of the Delvine beach, and as 
 I did not wish to be caught napping again with 
 trees or obstacles to block the passage, I got into the 
 boat and crossed to the west bank on Meiklour,
 
 SCOTTISH SALMON-FISHING 180 
 
 where the country was open. Here, too, was a 
 small semi-backwater, and I thought that if I could 
 force the fish into this calm area he would no longer 
 have the dead weight of the stream to help him. 
 An attempt at such methods, however, only seemed 
 to arouse the devil in this extraordinary fish, and 
 again he took fright, and so the men had to pull 
 at full speed to keep on terms with him at all. In the 
 last three big runs he had taken us fully a mile 
 and a half below the spot where I had hooked him, 
 and in the stream itself he did just what he liked, 
 setting the pace and direction. 
 
 " Mechty me, he gaen to tak us ower the Linn o' 
 Campsie," ejaculated the nervous Jimmy. 
 
 " Na, na," said the phlegmatic Haggart. " We'll 
 hae him before he's doon tae Stobhall." 
 
 But pull him out of the stream I could not without 
 the risk of a break, and so the hours went by, and 
 more and more slowly we continued our descent of 
 the river, till we reached the bottom of the Meiklour 
 water, and evening came on. 
 
 Here at last I got some force to bear on my 
 gallant opponent, and letting him go into the 
 stream, we rushed the boat till nearly level with the 
 fish, and then, applying force, swung him nolens- 
 volens into a big, slow-moving side-swirl. He tried 
 to regain the current, but I just managed to head 
 him back. Again and again he sought the centre 
 of the river, and each time his runs became less 
 frequent and with less power. Even then he 
 remained in this pool for over an hour and a half, 
 until after one final spurt the top of the rod did its 
 work, and up to the surface came a great tail. A 
 groan escaped us all, for we knew then the reason
 
 190 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 of all our trouble. He was foul hooked. In a 
 few moments Keay had the gaff into him, and we 
 stood in the semi-darkness surveying a thirty-four- 
 pounder that filled us all with hopeless disappoint- 
 ment. The hook was firmly buried in the skin of 
 the shoulder of the left fore-fin, and under such 
 circumstances it was really a wonder I had killed 
 him at all. If he had escaped I feel sure I should 
 have imagined I had lost a sixty-pounder. At any 
 rate he had nearly killed me. I was shivering 
 with cold and quite exhausted, for I had fought, 
 with the salmon continuously running, sulking, 
 and boring, from a quarter to two till a quarter to 
 eight, and such work, even to a young man in the 
 prime of life, is a pretty severe physical strain. 
 Anyway, I shall never forget what dear old Jimmy 
 always referred to afterwards as " the wild fush."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 
 
 ON the evening of October 16th, 1913, we reached 
 the Amala x River after a long trek of sixteen miles 
 across the open Lemik plain, where we saw a few 
 Wildebeest, Topi, Thomson's Gazelle and Grant's 
 Gazelle. Since October 6th, when we left Kijabe 
 on the Uganda railway, we had been going hard, 
 mostly over a waterless and somewhat gameless 
 country, except in the Kedong and when we had 
 crossed the Loita plains, where Thomson's and 
 Grant's Gazelle and Ostrich were very abundant. 
 We had not stopped to hunt, but on the way my 
 friend H. Pullar had killed a couple of splendid 
 Grants in the Kedong, one a beauty almost twenty- 
 nine inches, and I had shot a couple of good Thom- 
 son's Gazelle and an Abyssinian Duiker. Crossing 
 the high Mau escarpment, I had suffered consider- 
 able pain in the walls of my right lung the result 
 of an old trouble in Alaska and feared that I 
 was in for a bad time, but as we descended to the 
 Amala and the warmer region of the Victoria 
 Nyanza these symptoms disappeared, and I was 
 soon in the best of health, and able to enjoy the 
 hunting. H. Pullar' s hunter, William Judd, one 
 of the most charming of men and best of hunters, 
 
 1 Sometimes called the Mara. 
 191
 
 192 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 had told us that we should see game in quantity 
 once we reached the Amala, since hunting parties 
 seldom went there, it being too far to reach without 
 the aid of wagons, which we possessed. Accord- 
 ingly it was with high hopes that we left Judd's 
 trading store on the river and trekked south through 
 park-like forest country on the morning of October 
 17th. As we advanced, Pullar and I, riding in 
 front, saw troops of Zebras, Topi, Pallah, Wildebeest 
 and other game in increasing quantity, and by the 
 time we had reached our first hunting-camp in 
 the late afternoon, we experienced the joy of having 
 at last met the Great Game in East Africa, and seen 
 it in such abundance as we had been led to hope. 
 On the way one Pallah with an exceptional head 
 tempted me to try a long shot, but he only stood 
 for a moment between two trees at about 250 yards, 
 and I missed him. 
 
 It is one of the charms of East African hunting 
 that when you have arrived in camp and possess 
 so excellent a camp manager as Judd you have 
 nothing to do but just to hunt and enjoy yourself. 
 Some men object to the so-called " white " hunter, 
 who, except in the case of the complete novice, 
 does little actual hunting, but when the arrange- 
 ments of the safari are in the hands of such a 
 thoroughly experienced man, the hunter is relieved 
 of all camp worries and arrangements, and can 
 come and go at will. Personally I prefer to hunt 
 alone, with one black follower, so after a hasty 
 meal, as there were yet two or three hours of day- 
 light, I wandered in to the bush, accompanied 
 by my gun-bearer, Mabruki, a silent and keen-eyed 
 Wakamba savage, who in his youth had been a
 
 CO 
 
 ON 
 
 O 
 
 u 
 O
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 193 
 
 cannibal. As we left the camp, situated about 
 200 yards from the river, we immediately encoun- 
 tered a great herd of Thomson's Gazelle, numbering 
 at least two hundred. There were some good heads 
 amongst them, far better than are ever seen in the 
 northern plains, but as I passed them slowly in review 
 they drifted with little runs to either side. I made 
 for a high ant-hill close by, from which I could 
 secure a view of the game in front. What a 
 wonderful sight it was ! We have often read of 
 the marvellous assemblage of animals in the Free 
 State plains once seen by the hunter, but now gone, 
 and some people seem to think that all that was 
 best has vanished for ever. But that is not the 
 case. Could some pessimists have seen, as we 
 did during the next month, the great herds of 
 game found between the Amala River and the 
 old German border, they would have had cause to 
 alter their dismal views. Here was Africa un- 
 touched, and still as prolific in wild life as it was a 
 hundred years ago. Man the destroyer had not 
 yet made his mark. There were no natives, except 
 a few wandering Masai, who never touched the 
 game, and perhaps only once a year some wandering 
 hunter came for a month or two and shot a few 
 heads. It was just Africa, as we who love the 
 wilds and its game had wished to see it. Every- 
 thing was as we had hoped, and for once our dreams 
 came true. 
 
 One day, some weeks later, when on trek, Pullar, 
 Judd and I sat on the slope of some lovely hills 
 near the old German border and looked over the 
 exquisite landscape of hill and plain, now fresh 
 
 and green from recent showers, 
 o
 
 194 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Wherever we looked there was game game in 
 herds, battalions and individuals, stretching away 
 in thousands over to the billowing uplands. One 
 herd of five hundred Zebra were at the moment 
 emerging from the open forest on our left, and 
 the whole country seemed to be moving with animals 
 attracted by the succulent pasture. 
 
 " Did you ever see more game, Judd ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Well," he replied, " I have often seen as much 
 down here, but never more." 
 
 " Let us count for a bit," I suggested, and we each 
 took an area for a different front, with the result 
 that in half an hour our total was nine thousand 
 head. 1 
 
 But let us return to my ant-heap, where I sat 
 entranced for an hour, enjoying for the first time 
 in life Africa's Wonderland of Game. About 200 
 yards away were a small herd of Coke's Hartebeest, 
 here somewhat uncommon. To the right were no 
 fewer than three large herds of Pallah, one of which 
 numbered over a hundred animals, feeding along the 
 edge of the bush that fringed the denser forest 
 towards the river. To the south, as far as the 
 thorn-trees that blocked the horizon line, were 
 hundreds of Topi, glistening now brown, now purple 
 in the evening sun. In the centre stood an old 
 Waterbuck bull, and on the left were three large 
 herds of White-bearded Gnu, flanked by numerous 
 Thomson's Gazelle and scattered Zebras. It was 
 
 1 This, it must be remembered, was purely the amount of 
 game actually under view. There must have been many 
 hundreds hidden under shoulders of the ground and lying 
 scattered in the open bush.
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 195 
 
 lovely just to sit and watch all these delightful 
 creatures, so quiet and undisturbed that it was 
 evident we were far from the ken of civilisation. 
 
 There was yet a good hour of daylight, so I 
 mounted my old horse " Kongoni " and went 
 south, and then circled back towards camp as 
 the sun came near the horizon. As we proceeded 
 quietly, the game seemed in no way alarmed. They 
 just stopped feeding and moved slowly aside for a 
 hundred yards or so, and then settled again. I 
 saw nothing to tempt me to fire a shot until near 
 the camp, when a big herd of Wildebeest galloped 
 past and then stopped. The master bull seemed 
 a good one, so I resolved to try him, although he 
 was a fairly long shot 250 yards. I heard the 
 bullet tell loudly on his side, and he ran some 
 twenty yards, wheeled round in the cloud of dust 
 once or twice and fell dead. This was fortunate, 
 as I hoped to find a lion at the carcase at 
 daybreak. 
 
 On arriving within a few hundred yards of 
 camp again I encountered the big herd of Thomson's 
 Gazelle usually found on the flat above the river. 
 The light was going fast, but there was enough 
 to see a wonderful male with a head such as I had 
 never seen before. I tried hard to get a shot at 
 him, but presently he got amongst the mass of 
 animals standing against the dark bush, when I 
 completely failed to see him. I marked him for 
 next morning, but never saw him again. 1 
 
 Arrived in camp, I handed over my Wildebeest 
 
 1 There is little doubt that this was the same animal Baron 
 de Rothschild shot about six months later. The horns measured 
 16| inches, which is the record for Thomson's Gazelle.
 
 196 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 head to our skinner, " Lord Delamere," x and found 
 that Pullar, who had been out with Judd, had 
 killed some Wildebeest as bait for lions, which 
 we hoped to find at the carcases next morning. 
 After an excellent dinner served by our " chef," 
 Mahomed, a real artist of the frying-pan, we smoked 
 our pipes to the pleasant rumblings 2 of three 
 different troops of lions and the weird cries of birds 
 and game, and felt we had come at last to the best 
 place in East Africa. 
 
 In preparation for an early start next morning 
 we soon dived under the mosquito curtains and 
 went to bed. Somehow I could not sleep, and lay 
 for long listening to the continuous snarls and 
 grunts of the lions, which had evidently found 
 the dead Wildebeest near the camp. Now and 
 again the night air was rent by the agonised yells 
 of the hyaenas, who were being kept off their dinner 
 by the feeding lions, and these cries continued 
 the whole night long, till I sank into a troubled 
 sleep, shortly before the dawn. It was still 
 dark when my Uganda boy, bringing hot water, 
 gently touched me and announced the hour as a 
 quarter to five. Not a sound was to be heard 
 
 1 I never knew what his real name was, but he always 
 called himself " Lord Delamere," and was very particular 
 about the " Lord." I fancy that at some time he had been 
 with the real owner of this name, and like many other natives 
 had adopted the title of his former master (a common occur- 
 rence amongst East African natives who wish to perpetuate 
 the nomenclature of some one they admire). 
 
 2 Lions seldom roar well in East Africa, as I used to hear 
 them in South Africa. Only twice during this trip did I hear 
 a lion " let himself go " in that magnificent thunder which is 
 the grandest of all earthly sounds. Once I heard a lion roar 
 loudly at 10 a.m. and ran at top speed to try and cut him off ; 
 but he got into the bush and I lost him.
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 197 
 
 as we stood and drank our coffee in the darkness. 
 An hour passed ere it was light enough to see an 
 object at 100 yards, and then Pullar, Judd and 
 I loaded our rifles and crept silently out towards 
 the palm-trees from which we hoped to view the 
 carcases of the Wildebeest and find the lions still 
 on feed. Over the last fifty yards we crawled 
 in complete silence, and then, looking through 
 a low bastion of stunted bushes, surveyed the scene. 
 There was nothing there except a few disconsolate- 
 looking vultures and two or three Marabout Storks 
 pecking fitfully at the shank-bones of the vanished 
 Wildebeests. The lions had finished their meal 
 and gone. 
 
 Few people know how completely nocturnal 
 lions have become in nearly all parts of Africa. 
 It is now possible to live for years in some lion- 
 haunted districts and yet never to see a single 
 one in broad daylight. Only a few years ago on the 
 Gwas N'gishu plateau or the Athi, for instance, lions 
 could be seen almost any morning, returning over 
 the open country to lie up in bush for the day. 
 Nearly all these lions were ridden down and killed, 
 and in other parts, especially in forest and bush 
 countries, it is now very rare to see one in broad 
 daylight, except in the very wildest and least- 
 frequented places. Lions soon learn it is not safe 
 to be abroad after sun up, and make for the dense 
 bush by the rivers or lie up in dongas, where they 
 are seldom surprised or seen, unless stumbled upon 
 by chance. 
 
 Here on the Amala, certainly one of the best 
 lion places in all Africa, a lion feeding late in the 
 morning or coming home from some foray might
 
 198 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 be viewed, but in spite of their abundance, it was 
 just a chance, and though we hunted early and 
 late during subsequent days close to the river, 
 where their recent kills were scattered in all 
 directions, we seldom saw them, and even then 
 always in the vicinity of dense bush, to which 
 they quickly retreated. 
 
 How wonderful is the African morning in the 
 wilds, and the coming of day with all its manifold 
 sights and sounds ! This, indeed, is the place above 
 all others in which it is good to be a naturalist 
 and to appreciate the marvellous pageant of Nature 
 as the dawn unfolds. 
 
 It is at this hour that the infinite variety of 
 tropical life can be seen. From 5.30 to 9.30 there 
 is a delicious atmosphere of coolness and activity, 
 when birds and mammals are on the move to 
 feed and travel, and though for the most part ever 
 watchful, they are as yet not prone to hide them- 
 selves. If we are out very early we may see a 
 Bushbuck with his wife creeping slowly along on 
 feed at the very edge of the forest a Ratel, a 
 Mongoose, a Jackal or a Hyaena, night wanderers, 
 generally speaking, trotting home to lie up for the 
 day. There is a whole world of activity in the 
 forest whilst we sleep, and if we could only have 
 the power of sight at night what wonderful scenes 
 could we record ! It is only the tail-end of the 
 habits of night dwellers we view, and then not 
 always the most interesting ones. 
 
 If we except the purely night movers, whose 
 cries extend often until the dawn, the first bird 
 to raise his voice is the Bush Cuckoo, sometimes 
 known as the " Water-bottle " bird, owing to his
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 199 
 
 mellifluous bubbling notes. The sound is one 
 that gets into the African traveller's mind and 
 remains with him long after he has left the land 
 of sunshine. Another dawn sound is the flapping 
 of Fischer's Bush Lark, as he mounts into the 
 heavens in aerial display to charm his mate. 
 
 Then in the grey dawn wherever you go great 
 ghost-like forms of large vultures pass and vanish 
 amid the shadows, and in the Sotik country troops 
 of the white Wood Ibis (Pseudo-tantalus ibis), 
 with its curved orange bill and red face, float by 
 on their way to search for food, whilst a rush of 
 swiftly beaten pinions overhead reminds you of 
 home, when the Teal or Mallard are in flight, though 
 here it is the African Mallard (Anas undulata), 
 Pintail, or Shoveller on the move. When more 
 light comes, a common sound throughout the 
 forest and river country is the loud chatter of a 
 pair of Barbets as they meet and greet one another. 
 It is like nothing but the noise made by an old 
 cartwheel that wants greasing. 
 
 If one wished to collect or study birds in this 
 wonderful region, the best way to see them, especi- 
 ally all the small species, is to select a single tree 
 apart from the rest, and yet standing in the line 
 of trees that fringe a water-course. All perching 
 birds here seem to have a habit of following the 
 course of a river or donga, and sooner or later they 
 will come to you. 
 
 One morning I counted twenty-two different 
 species of perching birds that alighted in the branches 
 of a thorn-tree over my head, and though many of 
 the species were unknown to me, I noticed Lesser 
 Kestrel (Cerchnois naumanni), Malachite King-
 
 200 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 fisher (Corythornis cyanostigma) passing by; Lilac- 
 breasted Roller (C. caudatus) ; two species of Bee- 
 eater; a flock of Colies (Colius); Touraco (Turacus 
 hartlaubi) ; a small Woodpecker (probably Thripias 
 schoensis); Flycatchers; two species of Shrike; 
 Sun-birds, perhaps the most gorgeous of all the 
 little birds of Africa, and Barbets. Out in the 
 open, park-like forest from the Mau to the old 
 German border, Hornbills, Bycanistes buccinator, 
 B. cristatus, L. melanoleucus, and Lophoceros fas- 
 ciatus, are very common, and their long, undulating 
 flight is very noticeable. We often, too, heard the 
 Great Ground Hornbill in the early morning, and 
 I surprised a party of these great birds feeding 
 out in a small " open " one morning. The long 
 tail is very conspicuous in flight, and they are always 
 very shy. 
 
 But perhaps the most lovely bird of the open 
 country is the Lilac-breasted Roller (Coracius 
 caudatus), 1 a wonderful harmony of exquisite colours, 
 and when he falls to ground from a high tree to 
 seize a beetle all the colours of the prism are 
 displayed. 
 
 Another charming bird of the bush country is 
 the Fork-tailed Drongo (Dicrurus musicus), one 
 of the Wood-Shrikes who often bursts into a sweet 
 little song as you come near. From the Kedong 
 southwards through all the open country four 
 species of Bustard were very common, especially 
 the large Kori, which were seen in Kedong in 
 hundreds in November. This Bustard often lies 
 
 1 I noticed a big migration of these birds between Simba 
 and Makindu in December. With them were a few of the 
 Common Roller (C. garrulus).
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 201 
 
 down and takes a siesta at midday under a spreading 
 thorn-tree, and one day on the Lemik I passed 
 one within forty yards without its moving or 
 showing any alarm. Lovat's Bustard (Otis lovati) 
 was not uncommon on the high parts of the Mau, 
 where I shot four one morning, as well as a species 
 closely allied to the Vaal-Khorhan of South Africa. 
 Another common bird of the Sotik forest country 
 is the Olive or Spotted Wood-pigeon (Columba 
 arquatrix), which often comes in great numbers 
 to drink at some favourite pool at dawn or sunset. 
 But it was by the river that we saw most of the 
 birds, or in the woods and " opens " adjoining water. 
 Here there are always numbers of spur-winged, 
 RuppelPs or Crowned Plover, the latter a bird of 
 the dry country and a noisy, obsequious fellow. 
 
 Herons are everywhere abundant along the river 
 itself, and I noticed the great Goliath Heron (Ardea 
 goliath) twice, whilst Purple, Black-headed, Buff- 
 backed, Squacco and Night Herons were abundant. 
 
 Various kinds of Storks, too, are very numerous, 
 including the beautiful great Jabiru and the ugly 
 Marabou, as great a scavenger as the vulture 
 himself, and the master of the feast after the lions 
 and hyaenas have gone. One day I saw what I 
 believed to be a new species of Stork, grey in colour, 
 and with a large bill like a Jabiru. 
 
 At another time I noticed a big migration of 
 the Common Stork (ciconia alba), which came in 
 hundreds over the Mau and settled in the open 
 plain of the Kedong. Perhaps the loveliest birds I 
 saw on the Amala were a pair of the gorgeous Violet 
 Touracos, which came within a few yards of me 
 one morning shortly after dawn, and made a most
 
 202 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 exquisite courtship display close to my perch (I 
 was up a tree waiting for lions). The sun just 
 caught the marvellous colours on the shot-purple 
 wings as they spread them to show their beauty. 
 Elevating their crests they hopped round one 
 another, uttering a low guttural call, and seemed 
 to understand the effect that their brilliant plumage 
 would create. 1 
 
 More humble, but none the less welcome, was the 
 advent one morning in November of one of our 
 own little Willow Warblers from England. It 
 sang a subdued little song, something like the 
 one it utters just before leaving our shores in 
 September, and seemed as if it had brought a 
 message of love from home. As I watched it, 
 I wondered if it had come from my garden in 
 Sussex. Various species of African Swallows, too, 
 were very common near the border to the south, 
 especially the chestnut-bellied one with the long 
 tail, and these, with the rare White-headed Swallow, 
 I found breeding in the caverns of the cliffs in the 
 hills to the south. Swifts, including our Swift 
 and the Chinese Swift, were also noted in large 
 numbers, flying high in the heavens, whilst I 
 observed the nests of the Palm Swift in some fringed 
 palms growing on the banks of the Amala, and 
 watched the birds going in and out of their domed 
 nests. Here, too, were also colonies of Weaver- 
 birds, often hung over the water itself, whilst 
 other species nested out in the open park-lands on 
 stunted thorn-trees. 
 
 One of the strangest and most interesting birds 
 
 1 Sir H. Johnston has a good illustration of this bird in his 
 work on Uganda and East Africa.
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 203 
 
 of East Africa is Fischer's Bush-Lark (Mirafra 
 fischeri), which is common both in the Kedong 
 and the open country to the south of the southern 
 Gwas N'yro. 1 In November it makes an interesting 
 flight courtship, which I have often witnessed soon 
 after dawn. The bird soars up into the air to 
 300 feet, and then makes two or three falls, and 
 rises again before descending in headlong dive 
 to the summit of a tree, much after the manner 
 of our Tree-Pipit. During this flight the bird 
 makes a curious rattling noise when on the upgrade, 
 the sound being audible at a great distance. 2 
 
 The day was just beginning, so I left Pullar 
 and Judd to hunt along the river, which was the 
 best chance for lions, and went south out into the 
 park-like country to view the quantities of game 
 I had seen the evening before, in the hope of getting 
 a good head or two of some of the Antelopes. 
 We all wish to get good specimens, and this looking 
 for exceptional ones where game is abundant 
 has in itself a great charm, for, as numbers are 
 passed in review, it is wonderful how soon one can 
 appreciate the additional inch or two of horn that 
 constitutes the desirable trophy. Record heads 
 are generally obtained by flukes, often without 
 any special skill on the part of the hunter, and 
 occur even to the experienced just once or twice 
 in a lifetime, but when animals are really as abun- 
 dant as they are here, it is necessary to be selective, 
 and not shoot at any beast that just for the moment 
 seems to carry good horns. There are hundreds 
 
 1 I have also seen it in Mashonaland. 
 
 2 A diagram of this flight is well figured in my friend Abel 
 Chapman's On Safari, p. 333.
 
 204 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 of most of the common kinds, and as we look them 
 over with the glass, and at last see that one individual 
 with an exceptional trophy, it is our object to kill 
 him, even if it takes all day to do so. I rode on 
 for some ten minutes, till the whole landscape 
 in front seemed dotted with troops of Topi, Pallah, 
 Wildebeest, Zebra and Thomson's Gazelle, whilst 
 here and there could be seen a few Sing-Sing Water- 
 buck, and one small herd of Coke's Hartebeest 
 and a few small Wart-hog. Topi were literally 
 in hundreds, and mostly scattered or in small 
 groups. 
 
 I saw nothing with an exceptional head, and was 
 about to put away my glass, when at about 600 
 yards I noticed a large yellow beast standing in front 
 of a dark bush. It seemed to carry no horns, so 
 I put the glass on it. A thrill of excitement passed 
 through me when I saw it was a big lioness. She 
 seemed to be watching me closely, and as I lowered 
 the glass and said " Simba " to Mabruki she trotted 
 out of the bush, closely followed by two other 
 lionesses as large as herself. 
 
 Luckily the lions made for the open park-lands, 
 and not towards the river bush, which was close 
 at hand, so I set old " Kongoni " on the move at 
 a gentle canter, whilst Mabruki ran alongside me, 
 at a good pace, with my second gun. My object was 
 to cut off the lions in their advance and bring them 
 to bay without, if possible, making them too much 
 annoyed, and so get in a quiet shot. The leading 
 lioness, however, became alarmed and dashed 
 forward at a good gallop, leaving the two others 
 trotting quietly in the rear. Soon she was 200 yards 
 ahead of the others, and disappeared in a dry water-
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 205 
 
 course covered with stunted thorn-trees, but as I 
 made a spurt between this place and the two 
 lionesses following, they suddenly threw up their 
 heads and stood looking at me, at the same time 
 uttering two or three angry grunts of disapproval. 
 
 My old horse " Kongoni," though a good enough 
 animal for hunting, had no turn of speed, and if 
 chased by a lion would most certainly have been 
 caught, so I determined to see the rest of the fight 
 out on foot. Wherefore I jumped off and ran for- 
 ward till within 250 yards of the lions, whose 
 demonstrations now became so alarming that I saw 
 the moment for action had arrived. 
 
 Most unfortunately, the ground was covered with 
 longish grass and stunted bush where I could neither 
 sit nor lie down, so was obliged to take my shot 
 from the shoulder, always a bad position for a long 
 shot. Sighting carefully, I saw the bullet strike 
 an ant-heap about 200 yards beyond the lioness, 
 but in a good line, perhaps two or three inches too 
 high. The beast I fired at stood perfectly still, 
 but the second lioness now lay down and began 
 switching her tail, afterwards uttering a loud roar. 
 I fired again, and this time hit the lioness in the 
 centre of the shoulder. She raised her foreleg and 
 bit it fiercely, and then ran about thirty yards, 
 swung round once or twice and fell. 
 
 At this moment I heard the sounds of galloping 
 behind me, and knew that Pullar and Judd were 
 coming up at full speed. Glancing towards the 
 second lioness, I now saw she had charged up within 
 100 yards of me, and was lying flat out on the 
 ground, switching her tail from side to side and 
 uttering low growls. I covered her with my
 
 206 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 sight, but as she was apparently more excited by 
 the advent of the galloping horses, and was looking 
 towards them, I thought I would risk her charge 
 and allow Pullar to have the shot, since, more than 
 once, he had expressed his wish to kill a lion. 
 
 I kept my sight on her chest, however, and must 
 confess that the moment when Pullar to my right 
 jumped off his horse and got into position was 
 a very anxious one. Every moment I thought 
 she would charge, when at last bang went the 
 powerful '416 Rigby, and the lioness seemed to be 
 bodily lifted from the ground and placed hors de 
 combat. I breathed a sigh of relief, but although 
 done for, she still showed fight the shot was rather 
 low, but had raked her through the stomach. Yet 
 the gallant beast still came on. Pullar's second 
 shot missed, and the third laid her out, appar- 
 ently dead, whilst the fourth caused instantaneous 
 death. In the excitement of the moment both my 
 friend and Judd had a shot at my lioness, which did 
 not seem to require it. I need not describe the joy 
 with which we surveyed our prizes two full-grown 
 lionesses in the prime of life. Apparently Pullar 
 and Judd had also seen the lions, and came at full 
 speed before they heard my shots, being unaware of 
 my presence until I fired, but it was splendid that 
 Pullar should have arrived in time to get his first 
 lion. Indeed, it was a great day for him, as shall 
 be detailed later. 
 
 I was very pleased with Mabruki and Simba 
 Maten, my second gun-bearer, who had stuck close 
 to me in attacking the lions, and neither of these 
 men betrayed the smallest symptom of fear when it 
 came to action. Mabruki stood like a rock, with
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 207 
 
 my second rifle pressed against my right leg and 
 ready for immediate use in case of trouble, and only 
 his eyes glistened with the scent of battle. He had 
 the best eyesight of any man I ever hunted with, 
 and was about the worst hand on a spoor even a 
 heavy blood spoor that could be imagined. In 
 fact, in two cases when I had wounded and lost 
 two animals both Pallah rams he was perfectly 
 hopeless, and I had to make out the trail myself, 
 in both cases fortunately with success. This 
 deficiency in the power of tracking seems to be a 
 common characteristic of all the East African 
 natives, and though they are generally keen, brave, 
 long-sighted, enduring and devoted to their masters 
 if they think they can shoot their powers of 
 following wounded game are of the feeblest descrip- 
 tion. Of East African tribes only the N'dorobo 
 seem to be the real hunters, and these are not always 
 easy to get. 
 
 When we had skinned the lions we all returned to 
 camp, where news of our success had already arrived. 
 On the way Pullar killed a very good male Thom- 
 son's Gazelle with fine horns. Then took place the 
 usual procession and dance, with branch-waving 
 and blowing on oryx horns, in which all the porters 
 joined and sang our praises an exhibition of 
 enthusiasm all the more popular because it entailed 
 a certain amount of additional " backsheesh " and 
 " posho." After an excellent dinner I found Mab- 
 ruki boiling the eyes of my lioness, which he subse- 
 quently ate. In spite of his excellent powers of 
 vision, he said that he felt assured " he would now 
 see better." 
 
 We were just leaving for the afternoon hunt
 
 208 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 when a herd of Topi came within 200 yards of the 
 camp, and I dropped a good bull with seven teen -inch 
 horns almost from the tent door. Then I saw a 
 Zebra just in the right place to drop a " kill," and 
 hit him rather low with a long shot. He took me 
 some little distance from camp and then stood 
 under a thorn-tree. By making a circuit I got 
 within 150 yards, and lay down to give him a 
 finishing shot, when I felt suddenly as if a pair of 
 pincers had nipped me in the chest. Almost 
 immediately I was on my feet, tearing at my shirt, 
 for twenty devils of some sort were biting me all 
 over. I had lain down amongst a swarm of the 
 big black driver ants. I do not know when I have 
 been so sore as I was during the next five minutes, 
 when I had removed all my clothes except boots and 
 puttees to rid myself of the enemy. These ferocious 
 insects, four times the size of our ants, bite so 
 fiercely and with such strength as must be realised 
 to be appreciated. So intense is their attack that 
 as you pull their bodies off their heads and nippers 
 remain embedded in the flesh, and the skin is sore 
 for a day or two afterwards. 
 
 The Zebra meanwhile had moved on another few 
 hundred yards ere I resumed my clothes, and then 
 after another stalk (this time I looked carefully 
 at the ground before I lay down) I gave him a 
 shoulder shot that finished him. 
 
 Moving to the south, I passed an old Masai kraal 
 recently deserted by those nomads, and shortly 
 afterwards met a Masai warrior stalking along with 
 his long spear, followed by two women bearing 
 heavy loads, and three donkeys even more heavily 
 laden. The man returned my salutation, but passed
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 209 
 
 on with a certain dignity, as is the way with these 
 proud folk, who care nothing for intercourse with 
 the white race (and with good reason) unless forced 
 to acknowledge them, or anxious to obtain help in 
 sickness. 1 
 
 Once the greatest warriors, and formidable as 
 the Zulus themselves in organisation, the Masai 
 are now a simple pastoral people, living on the 
 produce of their flocks and herds. They do not 
 kill game, and are, in consequence, ideal settlers 
 in the game reserves, for game to them is of no 
 account as food. The buffalo is of interest to them, 
 as it is from these fierce animals they make their 
 shields, and occasionally they kill a giraffe for 
 the tail-hairs, which they use for sewing the 
 ornamental pattern on their gourds and dresses. 
 
 Even lions are not molested by them, unless 
 individuals take to cattle-killing, and then the 
 young warriors band together and hunt up the lion, 
 finishing it with spears alone. In these en- 
 counters many of the Masai are killed or injured, 
 but this circumstance is of little matter to them, and 
 far inferior in importance to the loss of a cow or 
 donkey. It is curious to note that injuries from 
 lions soon heal up in their case, for they seldom 
 suffer from blood-poisoning or gangrene, so common 
 in Europeans. 
 
 Every warrior's ambition seems to be to obtain 
 the head and shoulder mane of a lion to use as a 
 head-dress, and from the number of these to be 
 
 1 At times several miserable Masai suffering from various 
 diseases came in our camp and asked for treatment, but as 
 a rule they took no notice of us, even when we passed their 
 kraals.
 
 210 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 seen the Masai must in the course of time kill a 
 very large number of lions. Being so absolutely 
 indifferent to the game, the Masai leave any country 
 exactly as they found it, except for the fact that the 
 grass is all eaten off by their cattle, and so they 
 wander about from place to place according to season 
 or the presence of rains, but are always careful 
 never to stand too close to the " fly." Where no 
 Masai are to be found, it is well to be careful, for 
 the " fly " is near. We had to advance carefully 
 near the old border-line, and eventually were forced 
 to leave our cattle and wagons and go into the forest 
 zone with porters only. 
 
 The organisation of the Masai people under their 
 paramount chief, the Lunana, is excellent, and all 
 the various tribes and clans obey him. Some of the 
 petty chiefs possess as many as five to ten thousand 
 head of cattle, and cannot be induced to sell one. 
 They go on accumulating, till some great scourge like 
 the Rinderpest of 1892-1896 occurs and sweeps 
 90 per cent, away, and then they start again. 
 Many white men envy their grazing grounds and 
 wealth of cattle, and would like to see them swept 
 away or relegated to the desert lands, but this is 
 grossly unfair, especially so in view of the fact that 
 they behaved exceedingly well in the old days, 
 when East Africa was the caravan route to Uganda. 
 Then they could, if they had wished it, have given 
 us an infinity of trouble. 
 
 One of the best and fairest of Governors who have 
 ruled in British East Africa was Sir Donald Stewart, 
 and he evolved the scheme of placing this nation 
 in what were called the " Masai Reserves." These 
 areas were given unreservedly to the Masai for all
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 211 
 
 time, with the right to wander and graze their 
 herds. No other natives nor white men were 
 allowed to settle there. These districts, coincidental 
 with the Northern and Southern Game Reserves, 
 were well placed, as well as being of great extent, 
 and as they contain nearly the whole of the various 
 species of game of East Africa, it was a plan that 
 made a happy adjustment from more than one 
 point of view. But the arrangements and so-called 
 irrefutable promises of one Government are always 
 fragile things, and liable to be upset by another, and 
 so to-day we have seen the Likipia and other 
 northern lands, once given by the British Govern- 
 ment to the Masai " for all time," already taken from 
 them and handed over to the settlers. It is, there- 
 fore, only a matter of time when further areas 
 suitable to white settlement will be taken away, and 
 the Masai driven into the " back o' beyond." 
 
 To-day the Southern Game Reserve, practically 
 stretching from the line to the old German border, 
 i. e. from Kilimanjaro to the forest country beyond 
 Kissi, where " fly " begins, is the great Masai 
 Reserve, and supports some thousands of Masai 
 with their flocks and herds, and there are only one 
 or two white settlers in the Kedong, with a trading 
 store on the Amala and one on the Narossara (Van 
 der Weyer's). 
 
 In the western portions game is as plentiful as 
 in the reserve itself, and safaris are allowed to go 
 and hunt, but few, except those possessed of wagons 
 like ourselves, ever go beyond the Loita plains, 
 where the mass of game begins, owing to the 
 difficulties of food and transport. 
 
 Here the Masai live in their little cow-dung-
 
 212 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 covered huts surrounding the kraals in which the 
 cattle sleep at night. Their food consists of blood 
 and milk, with an occasional sheep or sickly ox 
 killed by the young El-Moran on special occasions. 1 
 
 Their low huts are snug and warm, and are entered 
 by a small, low door near the ground, the window 
 being about two inches wide. Inside they are 
 absolutely dark on the brightest day, and usually 
 full of smoke from a stick-and-cow-dung fire. As 
 the Arctic tribes live almost exclusively on the 
 reindeer, so the Masai live on the products of their 
 animals, and the wealth of a man is coincidental 
 with the number of his herds. Money means 
 nothing to them, and their only purchases from 
 other tribes are brass and iron wire, iron for their 
 spears, and tobacco-snuff. 
 
 In times of drought and disease, some of the 
 Masai are forced into the forest to join the ranks 
 of the Ogeig or N'dorobo, who are purely hunters 
 of the forest. The language of the last-named 
 tribe is somewhat similar to that of the Masai, so 
 they are supposed to have had a common origin, 
 although this is quite uncertain. At any rate they 
 are a handsome non-Bantu race, and may at some 
 remote date have come from the north. 
 
 If there is one animal that is characteristic of the 
 Amala River and its environs it is the Pallah. From 
 here to the old German border it is very abundant, 
 and herds of two hundred were often seen. More- 
 over, in this part of Africa it grows, I think, to a 
 larger size than in any other district in the continent. 
 At any rate the average of the horns of males is 
 very large, and I secured some splendid specimens 
 
 1 I noticed that the women were allowed to eat the offal 
 and remains after the young bucks had finished their meal.
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 213 
 
 of 27, 27 J, 28 J, 28f, and 30J inches, whilst Judd shot 
 a magnificent specimen of 31 J inches, practically 
 equalling the record. Pallah are amongst the most 
 interesting and beautiful of all the African antelopes. 
 They are always just sufficiently wild to make good 
 stalking necessary, and when one good ram is mixed 
 up with fifty or a hundred females and small beasts 
 it is not always easy to secure him, especially if the 
 first shot (always the best) is missed. The herd then 
 becomes " kittle " and restive, starting into little 
 leaps and runs whenever the hunter gets within 
 200 yards and tries another shot. Sometimes the 
 herd must be followed for hours without a chance 
 being given, and then patience is sometimes 
 rewarded and another chance results in a kill. 
 Even when but slightly alarmed Pallah have a 
 very retentive memory, and though apparently 
 " settled " and suitable for a fresh stalk, the 
 hunter is often nonplussed by sudden movements 
 of a single beast (generally an old female), who gets 
 all the rest on the move by some sudden paroxysm 
 of fear. This one alarmist has often a very sure 
 idea of judging distance, setting the figure of danger 
 at about 250 yards, so that whilst it is quite easy 
 to walk openly to within this range, any further 
 advance will start the one beast with a good 
 memory, and then there is a rush, the whole herd 
 leaping gracefully in the air over the backs of 
 others. At such times it is well to sit beneath a 
 tree for an hour and allow the herd to settle, although 
 keeping them within view, and then start on a fresh 
 stalk. 
 
 This evening I found a very large herd near the 
 river about a mile from camp, and noticed that it 
 contained one fine male with a good wide head.
 
 214 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 By obtaining the cover of some low thorn -trees, 
 I got within 200 yards, and hit him rather too low. 
 Unfortunately he kept with the herd, and led me a 
 long chase before he finally left it and lay down, 
 when, after giving him half an hour, I made a 
 fresh stalk, and killed him at 100 yards when he 
 stood up. He had a nice head of 27 inches, but, 
 being very wide, I was somewhat deceived in the 
 matter of length. 
 
 After sending the head home I mounted " Kon- 
 goni " and went south for a few miles, seeing a 
 great quantity of game, including two good Sing- 
 Sing Waterbuck. One of these seemed to carry 
 a good head, but was rather shy, having caught a 
 glimpse of me in the preliminary stalk. However, 
 after moving away to some distance, the best male 
 entered some thin acacia forest, and I was able to 
 advance quickly and catch a sight of him as he 
 walked slowly away at about 200 yards. I then 
 gave a loud whistle, and he turned round at gaze, 
 with his gallant head held high. At such a time 
 the Sing-Sing bull looks very fine, and bears himself 
 with more dignity than most of the antelopes. 
 His glance was fleeting, so I put the sight upon him 
 at once and let go. He fell to the shot, but re- 
 covered and ran some fifty yards before coming to 
 the earth in a cloud of dust. He was a fine specimen 
 with 28j-inch horns, but not as good as one I killed 
 a few days later with horns of 30} inches an 
 unusual length for East Africa. 1 
 
 1 At this camp I also shot a good specimen of the common 
 Waterbuck (C. elipsiprimmis), a rare animal in this district, 
 and seldom found south of the Uganda Railway in this part 
 of Africa.
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 215 
 
 I then stalked a Wart-hog boar, who was rooting 
 in the open park-lands, and whose tusks I could 
 not see, until a close inspection showed them to be 
 old and worn down. The wind was good, so I got 
 within forty yards of my quarry before he heard me, 
 erected his tail and dashed off in a cloud of dust. 
 One Grant's Gazelle, a rare animal on the Amala, 
 was also seen, but its horns were poor, thin and wide 
 and of the Lemik plain type, much inferior to the 
 splendid specimens found in the Kodong. Topi 
 and Zebra were in hundreds in every direction, and 
 near the river, where the lions usually killed at 
 night, were the remains of many victims being 
 pecked at by numerous vultures and Marabout 
 Storks. 
 
 I wandered for an hour amidst a large belt of 
 trees that fringed the river, which was covered with 
 longish grass, but otherwise open, and put up three 
 pairs of Ward's Reedbuck. At one of these, as 
 it had a good head, I tried to obtain a shot, but, 
 contrary to the usual experience, it was very wild, 
 and dashed off with a loud whistle, and never halted 
 till it plunged in some dense bush beside the river, 
 where I could not follow it. 
 
 Then, as the evening was coming on, I made a 
 wide circuit over the park-lands, turning towards 
 camp as the sun neared the horizon. Here I 
 encountered some low, stony hills where Oribi were 
 very numerous. 
 
 These little antelopes always live together in 
 pairs, and dash away for some fifty yards before 
 rising perpendicularly on their hind-legs a curious 
 habit. In works of Natural History and sport 
 dealing with African game I do not see it stated
 
 216 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 that the female is invariably larger than the male, 
 but this is the case, and as the horns are difficult 
 to see unless the buck is on the sky-line, or outlined 
 against light grass, the hunter can easily make the 
 mistake of killing the female instead of the male. 
 I did this with the first pair I ever encountered, 
 but on future occasions always used the glass before 
 shooting. To-day I did not fire at one, as no 
 exceptional head was seen, but passed on home- 
 wards until I encountered another herd of Pallah 
 about half a mile from camp. 
 
 There was no one in camp when I arrived there, 
 and as there was yet an hour before sunset, I took 
 a stroll by myself up the river towards the spot 
 where I had seen the big wide Pallah two days 
 ago. Here I encountered three small herds, which 
 each contained fine rams, but nothing exceptional, 
 so I circled homewards again, and had come within 
 600 yards of the camp when a herd of White- 
 bearded Gnus galloped past me and stood at about 
 150 yards. The master bull was a good one, so 
 I gave him a heart shot which caused immediate 
 collapse. By the time I had offskinned the head 
 and neck it was nearly dark, so I made homewards, 
 to find Pullar and Judd all smiles, standing over 
 the skin of a fine male lion the former had just 
 killed. 
 
 Pullar's own account of the evening's hunt is as 
 follows 
 
 " In the afternoon Judd and I mounted and went 
 towards the river for Waterbuck. I missed a good 
 Impalla by shooting over it, and with one leap as 
 high as a tent it bounded off into the bush. Emerg-
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 217 
 
 ing carefully from dense jungle, Judd noticed a 
 herd of Waterbuck grazing, and to ascertain 
 whether there was a bull with good horns amongst 
 them, he whistled loudly several times to make them 
 put up their heads. As they were all females we 
 went on, and soon noticed a fine Waterbuck, but 
 in a very unapproachable position in open ground 
 600 yards off down -wind. 
 
 " We decided that Judd and the gun-bearers 
 should halt where they were, and I stalked forward 
 about 200 yards through the grass, till I could see 
 the bull grazing about 200 yards off. I heard 
 whistling behind, but thinking that Judd was again 
 trying to get the beast to raise his head, I went on, 
 and eventually fired a shot, which missed. On 
 looking back, as I should probably have done 
 earlier, I noticed Judd and the gun-bearers hastening 
 forward on my left and beckoning me to come. 
 
 " It seems that a lion and five lionesses had come 
 out of the bush and were also stalking my buck, 
 but from the east. 
 
 " On hearing my shot they returned leisurely to 
 the bush, and we were disappointed to think that 
 a good chance at lion had been lost, but I was pretty 
 hot and blown, and told Judd that I could probably 
 not have hit the lion anyhow. 
 
 " After a few minutes' rest we went forward, and 
 had just decided to stalk a Reedbuck, which was, 
 as Judd said, ' coming from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous,' when we again saw the lion alone, 
 about 220 yards off, and facing our way. He was 
 swinging his tail up over his back, as if rather 
 annoyed at being interrupted in his stalk. 
 
 " I had plenty of time to get into a comfortable
 
 218 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 position on an ant-heap, and we waited till he should 
 advance within closer range. However, he lay 
 down in the long yellow grass, and we could see 
 him yawn with great open jaws in a bored manner. 
 Then he got up and turned as if to go back to the 
 jungle, so I had to take the shot at once. I fired 
 at his shoulder, and by great good luck knocked 
 him over at 208 yards. 
 
 " He rose, turned about, and came on only a few 
 yards when I hit him again with the "416 expanding 
 bullet, and to my joy I saw he was done for. 
 
 " As a precaution Judd fired two shots into the 
 bush in case the females thought of coming at us, 
 for it is a well-known fact that the lioness frequently 
 charges when the lion is down, although he does not 
 do so for a lioness ! 
 
 " It was quite exciting work, as the lion was half 
 lying with his forepart up and only a few yards from 
 the edge of the bush. At 100 yards I hit him again, 
 and finally, to avoid damaging the skin, gave him 
 a finishing shot in the neck at fifteen yards with the 
 light rifle. 
 
 " It is quite an impressive sight to see the ' King 
 of Beasts ' breathe his last, and much more satis- 
 factory to kill him in the open than from behind 
 a fence or with lamps at night. This lion turned 
 out to be a fully -grown young beast, but smaller 
 than the lioness killed this morning, and practically 
 maneless, as is usual in bush. 
 
 " Of carnivorous animals that I have seen skinned 
 this lion had the most repulsive smell quite 
 different from the antelopes. 
 
 " Now that I have succeeded in getting a lion 
 and a lioness, I am not very keen to kill more
 
 ONE AFRICAN DAY 219 
 
 except a really large and heavily-maned lion if the 
 chance occurs. Altogether it was a lucky day for 
 us in getting two lionesses in the morning and a 
 lion in the afternoon. The headman and porters 
 in camp again celebrated the occasion, and one 
 native, with his face painted white, danced about 
 brandishing a club to represent the powers of the 
 white man ! The latter would, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, rather tackle a lion with a hard-hitting 
 modern rifle than with a club or spear ! " 
 
 Thus ended a day of great success, and one that 
 will live in the memory. 
 
 As we sat at night over the camp fire and heard 
 the lions rumbling in all directions, it seemed as 
 if we had for the moment reached the acme of human 
 enjoyment. Just to be in Africa's Wonderland 
 and in the very best of it free from all the cares 
 and worries of human civilisation, with the power 
 to roam at will into the great lands beyond where 
 no man passes, was in itself, to lovers of the wilder- 
 ness, an experience many strive for and few ex- 
 perience. When we add to this the delights of 
 big-game hunting surely the finest sport in the 
 world in a land that is still quite unspoilt, and 
 where anything may turn up from an Elephant to 
 a Dik-dik, life could hold nothing better, for it 
 is the man's life above all others which nothing 
 in existence could surpass. 
 
 " My brain likes London," once remarked a lady 
 to me, " but my body prefers the country." That 
 exhibits a certain wisdom which all healthy and 
 intelligent people understand. To enjoy our little 
 day here on earth there should be a happy com-
 
 220 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 bination of practice for the intellect as well as exer- 
 cise for the body, and when we can devote to each 
 its due measure of evolution, neither the brain nor 
 our physical powers will rust, for to experience the 
 pleasures of the chase and the beauties of Nature, a 
 certain time must be spent in mental work and 
 conversation with bright intellects. Then shall we 
 experience what is best in life.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS, 1915 
 
 FIVE days after leaving England the traveller 
 passes the Norwegian town of " Bodo " and arrives 
 at the Vestfjord, from which, just to the north, the 
 jagged, tooth-like peaks of the central Lofoden 
 Islands come into view. Away to the west is 
 Norkemaes, at whose southern extremity lies the 
 " maelstrom," long since celebrated in the sensa- 
 tional works of Jules Verne and Edgar Allan Poe, 
 a tumbling mass of meeting currents whose waters 
 are now scarcely regarded as a bar to navigation 
 or even a danger to small craft. Two days before 
 our advent the auxiliary cruiser India had been sunk 
 by a German submarine with a loss of a hundred and 
 twenty men of her gallant crew, and some of the 
 crippled survivors, saved by the Gothaland, were at 
 that moment struggling for life in the houses of 
 kindly fishermen. In the great World War the 
 Norwegians to a certain extent had enlisted their 
 sympathies on the side of their old friends, the 
 English, but the whole country had been so flooded 
 with German news of victory, and explanations of 
 German greatness and " kultur," that there were 
 not only many admirers, but active adherents to 
 the Teutonic cause. We had evidence that in all 
 towns, especially in the far Arctic regions, agents 
 German and Norwegian were industriously at work 
 
 221
 
 222 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 spreading the paean of future German triumph and 
 vilifying the hated English and their command of 
 the seas. Spies lurked in every village, and move- 
 ments of any travelling Englishman were watched 
 with sleuth-hound thoroughness. " All Norway 
 has eyes and ears this year," remarked our keeper, 
 Ericksen, one day, and we soon found how true this 
 was, even in the remotest valleys of the outer 
 islands. At Bodo I recognised an old enemy of 
 mine, one Juell, formerly German Consul at Namsos, 
 who had once played me a dirty trick, and I saw 
 him come swiftly on board and search the luggage 
 to see what sort of strangers there were travelling 
 north, but I took good care he did not see me, 
 though he may have ascertained that certain stupid 
 Englishmen, who regarded war as a mere side-issue, 
 were on their way to Lango to shoot as they had 
 always done, for he left the vessel after a very 
 cursory survey. At midnight we entered the lovely 
 port of Solvaer in the island of Vaago. It was still 
 but 1.30 a.m., but quite light, when we changed into 
 a tiny coasting steamer, and then worked north- 
 west through the beautiful Raft-sund, a narrow 
 strait enclosed by jagged mountains, whose tops 
 showed green and violet in the growing light. We 
 touched at little fishing ports, where boats came in 
 from the great herring fishing. The edges of the 
 Raft-sund and the islands of Vaago, Hindo, Hadsel 
 and Lango support a large population, now all 
 aboat at the fishing of herring in the sea to the west. 
 In winter the main fjord is the centre of another 
 great industry for the capture of cod, and the people 
 are fortunate in possessing two distinct periods in 
 which to do their work and make a living. In
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 223 
 
 summer the women and boys and girls attend to 
 the croft, for small cattle and sheep flourish, and 
 they can grow fine crops of rough cereals, potatoes 
 and hay. (The cattle and potatoes seem to live 
 a life of chronic disappointment. They have 
 hardly recovered from the severities of the climate 
 when another winter is upon them.) 
 
 It took seven hours to reach the little port at 
 Skagen, on the island of Lango. Here we were met 
 by our keeper, Emil Ericksen, who afterwards 
 proved an excellent friend and helper in more ways 
 than one. Ericksen was a nervous, highly-strung 
 creature of some fifty-seven years. Like many 
 Norwegians, he was very excitable, but possessed 
 a large share of intelligence and buoyancy of spirits 
 (in spite of the fact that he possessed thirteen 
 children). In him I found a sympathetic friend, as 
 he loved Natural History. He spoke English quite 
 well, and was fond of attaching weird adjectives 
 to a multitude of subjects. Most things that 
 excited his imagination were described as " curioos " 
 or " mystarioos." The fact that a certain person 
 was the son of a clergyman, that cartridges could 
 be made damp-proof, that the weather was about 
 to change, that people came from other lands, and 
 a host of normal matters, were all " mystarioos," 
 whilst the fact that my companion was about to be 
 married was only " curioos." It was all very 
 strange and wonderful. Yet his observation of 
 Nature was, for the most part, accurate and in- 
 telligent. The Hooded Crow was aptly designated 
 as " the baddest of birds of all place." Occasion- 
 ally he lapsed into strange comparisons. A certain 
 German agent whom we were engaged in out-
 
 224 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 witting was described as a " man of many bottoms," 
 a curious simile that reminded one of certain lines 
 in the " Pink 'Un " about Mr. Gladstone. 
 
 There was no carriole available at Skagen, so 
 my companion, Captain Bennett, and I mounted 
 bicycles and rode six miles along a level road to 
 Foro, where we found a simple farmhouse, kept by 
 one Fru Larsen, which was to be our home for some 
 time. The house stands on rising ground above a 
 beautiful fresh-water lake known as " Henderson's," 
 the home of numerous brown trout. Over the hill 
 about 600 yards away is a large lake of brackish 
 water known as the " Salt Lake," which connects 
 with the sea by means of a stream. Immediately 
 below this lake is a sea wall, which blocks the tide 
 from coming further. To the west another strip 
 of land almost encloses a large bay, which at low 
 tide is a series of great pools covered with rocks, 
 seaweed and sand. Through the centre of this runs 
 the stream from the Salt Lake to the sea, and 
 at the narrow channel where it emerges to the 
 ocean there is a considerable rush of water at low 
 tide. Here we sometimes had excellent sport with 
 the sea-trout until early September, when a great 
 spate allowed the majority of the fish to run up 
 to the fresh-water lakes and streams. The estuary 
 and sea-lakes and adjacent fresh- water marshes 
 were a favourite feeding-ground for many species 
 of waders now on migration. The most abundant 
 species were the Ruffs, which flew in all directions, 
 sometimes in large flocks. As a rule, they were 
 very tame, but became nervous and unsettled in 
 rough or wet weather. Common Redshank, Curlew, 
 Whimbrel, Snipe, were also plentiful, and an
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 225 
 
 interesting bird, the Dusky Redshank, was by no 
 means rare. These uttered a curious cry, " Tuh- 
 wheet," which at once called attention to their 
 presence. They went about singly or in pairs, 
 sometimes in company with Ruffs or common 
 Redshank, and were not very shy. All the speci- 
 mens I noticed were young birds of the year. There 
 were a few Oyster-Catchers, and only one flock of 
 Dunlins. Several large flocks of Little Stints were 
 noticed on August 20th. These remained with us 
 for three weeks. On August 24th, walking on the 
 shore, I put up a small wader whose cry I was not 
 acquainted with. I killed it with a long shot, and 
 found it to be a specimen of Temminck's Stint. 
 It uttered a call like " Skerveek," quite different 
 from the cry of the Little Stint, which is a long- 
 drawn, peeping call. 
 
 Golden Plover were scarce, though I killed a brace 
 on August 25th still in full summer plumage. On 
 August 26th two parties of Wigeon visited us and 
 a family of four Graylag Geese, which, however, 
 only remained for two days. Eleven old male 
 Golden-eyes in eclipse plumage were a special 
 object of the chase. They were extremely shy, 
 and could only be approached on the rare occasions 
 when they fed within shot of the shore. One 
 morning I spied one so feeding on the Salt Lake, 
 and by three advance runs, made when the bird was 
 under water, I got within range of a long shot. As 
 the duck appeared I fired, and he lay kicking on 
 his back. I made sure he was mine, and walked 
 some fifty yards down-wind so as to reach a point 
 where I expected the body to drift in. But alas ! 
 I had not gone twenty yards when the tenacious
 
 226 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 duck righted himself, commenced to dive and was 
 at once out of shot of the shore. To row a boat and 
 shoot a diving Golden-eye is a physical impossi- 
 bility, so I went to a cottage close by and found a 
 very small friend of mine one Veders who agreed 
 to come and assist in the capture of the wounded 
 bird. By this time the duck had swum far into 
 the lake, but I soon found him with the aid of the 
 glass. My little friend was not, however, strong 
 enough to row the pace of the wounded Golden-eye, 
 and after several ineffectual attempts to come within 
 a shot we eventually lost our quarry. 
 
 The bird of all others that excited me was the 
 Goosander male in eclipse plumage. So far as I 
 know, there is not a specimen of the male Goosander 
 in its plumage like the female in Great Britain. 
 The only two known examples are in the collection 
 of Mr. Schoeler at Copenhagen, and he kindly lent 
 them to me to figure in my work on the British 
 Diving Ducks. Altogether twelve of these fine 
 birds frequented the sea bay and Salt Lake. They 
 constantly passed at half tide from the sea to the 
 lake. I know of no bird that possesses such 
 wonderful eyesight as the Goosander, or is at this 
 season so shy and cunning. The sight of a man at 
 half a mile is sufficient to put it on the wing, and it 
 is at all times most difficult to stalk or to lie in 
 wait for, for it chooses very open spaces of water 
 which are not commanded by projecting head- 
 lands. Unlike the Red-breasted Merganser, which 
 is common and easily outmanoeuvred, the Goosander 
 only offers the gunner a chance when it is forced 
 to cross some neck of land in its passage from one 
 sheet of water to another, and occasionally when
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 227 
 
 feeding in-shore. Between two fresh-water lakes 
 it generally flies out of shot, but coming in from the 
 sea, especially if there is a head wind, it often comes 
 over low. The great difficulty in securing one of 
 these birds in the present locality was that the 
 Goosander passed at points on the long sea wall and 
 the inner lake barrier which varied from day to day. 
 It is easy to command a neck, but it is not easy to 
 fix the exact place in a wall some 500 yards long 
 over which birds may pass at any point. After 
 two failures, when the faithful Ericksen tried to 
 drive the Goosanders (which I had previously spied 
 feeding in the Salt Lake) over the lake barrier, I 
 made observation of the passage of the birds across 
 the sea wall on their advent from the sea itself. 
 After seeing them pass up and down for several 
 days, I noticed that they generally crossed at one 
 of two points. The most likely of these was at a 
 spot in the centre of the wall where a convex band 
 brought sea and inner estuary close together. Sea 
 ducks always choose such a place to fly over. On 
 August 22nd I walked across the lake barrier and 
 ascertained that no Goosanders were on the lake 
 itself. This meant that they would come up at 
 half tide. A walk of a mile took me to my point 
 on the sea wall, and I had hardly got there and 
 settled myself in a nice declivity, when to my 
 intense disappointment I saw no fewer than ten 
 male Goosanders pass over the sea wall some 
 200 yards to my right and go up-wind to the Salt 
 Lake. I thought that those birds constituted the 
 stock in the district, but about ten minutes later 
 a single old male crossed the barrier only just 
 out of shot to my right. An hour went by and the
 
 228 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 evening was closing in. In a short time the flight 
 to feeding-grounds would have passed and it would 
 be useless to remain longer, when, looking out to 
 sea, I noticed some tiny dots coming from the 
 south. I at once got under cover. At first they 
 inclined towards the coast to the right, and then, 
 as they came nearer, I saw them turn and point 
 straight in my direction. They were two Goos- 
 anders, both going very fast, with a slight following 
 wind. Fortunately they were not high, and as 
 they came up over me I killed both with a quick 
 right and left, when they fell dead almost at my 
 feet. 
 
 I tried the Goosanders again several times after 
 this lucky evening, as I was anxious to get a speci- 
 men for the British Museum and some of my 
 friends who are keen duck enthusiasts, but no 
 chance again presented itself for some time. 
 
 The Goosanders usually fed in the shallows on the 
 far side of the lake, where, owing to its open nature, 
 their feeding-ground was impregnable. However, 
 on September 1st they came to our side of the lake, 
 and frequented the exit of the fresh- water stream 
 that flowed from " Henderson's." Here I observed 
 them one morning, and after waiting an hour they 
 worked in to the stones in shallow water within 
 fifty yards of my hiding-place. If they had been 
 diving, a successful shot would have been a cer- 
 tainty, but in very shallow water Goosander feed 
 in a peculiar fashion and do not dive. They swim 
 swiftly to and fro amongst the rocks with the head 
 under water. When a small flounder, sea-trout or 
 other fish is spied, they dash headlong in pursuit. 
 The head is then raised at once, whether the pursuit
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 229 
 
 is successful or not, so that the bird has time to 
 look about and survey its surroundings. On this 
 occasion the two Goosanders were actually chasing 
 a small fish when I dashed from my perch, a huge 
 rock on the high road, but they raised their heads 
 before I had travelled far and caught me in the open 
 at forty-five yards, when a long shot was unsuccess- 
 ful. Two days later I noticed two Goosanders come 
 to the fresh-water burn and start fishing. With 
 some trouble I got to my former position, within 100 
 yards, and lay there, watching some chance to occur 
 whereby I could steal a further advance. I saw 
 the birds catch numerous small trout by swift 
 pursuit in the shallow water, their bodies being 
 still above water. Then they suddenly left the 
 burn mouth and commenced fishing along the lake- 
 edge. On my left was a large mound of heather, 
 and by running quickly round this I knew that if 
 the birds continued to feed on their present line 
 I should probably get an easy shot. So swiftly, 
 however, does the Goosander swim, that I had just 
 reached the water's edge under cover of the hill 
 when I saw one of the birds approaching within 
 easy shot. The second bird was far in the rear, 
 so I knew I must be content with one of them. My 
 quarry came on, hunting the shallows by dipping 
 his head to survey the bottom, and gave me an 
 easy chance at twenty-five yards, which resulted 
 in his immediate death. This was another old male 
 in full eclipse. 
 
 On September 7th I lay behind a rock which 
 Golden-eyes often approached as they fed along 
 the Salt Lake shore. About two in the after- 
 noon two Goosanders came in from the sea and
 
 approached my position. They hunted a shallow 
 within 100 yards of me for some time, until one of 
 them caught a sea-trout of nearly half a pound. 
 Immediately he caught his prey the other bird 
 dashed at him and endeavoured to tear it out of 
 his mouth. Accordingly he swam away, swiftly 
 pursued by his companion, and the chase lasted a 
 long time, the owner of the fish twisting and turning 
 to escape his greedy comrade, who made frequent 
 dives to come up alongside and wrest the fish from 
 him. Meanwhile the successful fisherman kept 
 shaking the fish and beating it on the water so as 
 to kill it and make it more easy to swallow. At last 
 the attentions of the pursuer became so assiduous 
 that the captor of the fish began to swallow his 
 prey. He got it down all except the tail-end, and 
 this the other bird seized, so that for a time it was 
 a case of " pull devil, pull baker." In the end the 
 owner of the fish struggled free, and the last of the 
 disputed feast vanished from sight. Much water 
 was swallowed, and it was a long time before the fish 
 disappeared down the gullet. The bird then drifted 
 out on to the lake to digest his prey, whilst the 
 unsuccessful fisherman returned to the lake-edge 
 to continue his fishing. 
 
 Having exhausted the possibilities of the shallows, 
 this Goosander commenced diving. He soon passed 
 along to a small promontory, and as his dives were 
 of some duration and the distance was not more 
 than 150 yards, I chanced being detected and ran 
 on to the promontory. The bird then came up 
 just as I arrived there, and at once sprang to wing. 
 He was well within shot, and I laid him dead on 
 the water before he had gone any distance. This
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 231 
 
 completed my collection of Goosanders, and I 
 considered myself lucky to have secured four old 
 males in the rare plumage of eclipse. The old male 
 Golden-eyes in eclipse gave me almost as much 
 trouble to secure. But at last I found a point at 
 the corner of " Henderson's " where they occasionally 
 " broke " for the sea lake and crossed a narrow 
 piece of land. Here I secured two old males by 
 long shots, whilst my friend, Mr. Leaf, shot another 
 as it passed his boat whilst engaged in driving the 
 birds. 
 
 Our work on matters I need not discuss occupied 
 a good part of our time, but occasionally we were 
 able to take a day at the ripa, which were here 
 more abundant than in any place in Norway. We 
 had four setters, all very moderate but useful, and 
 with these we worked the hillsides and birch woods 
 which clothed the lower slopes of the mountains. 
 Sometimes we found the birds numerous and at 
 others " patchy," but some excellent days yielded 
 bags of twenty to thirty brace. On one occasion 
 when a number of birds were driven up into a 
 wooded corrie we sent the men round and had a 
 little drive, which yielded ten brace, but it was very 
 difficult to recover dead birds, owing to the mass 
 of rocks and thick undergrowth. On two occasions 
 I shot twenty-three and twenty-five brace, and 
 enjoyed the shooting even more than grouse in 
 Scotland, as one has to shoot quickly and straight 
 to ensure success, the birds often being out of view 
 almost as soon as they rise. The great charm of 
 Lango shooting and fishing was its variety. One 
 could always go out for a short time and be sure 
 of some excellent sport with rod or gun within an
 
 232 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 hour or two of the house. With one boy it is 
 possible to drive little places for duck, which were 
 numerous, whilst a couple of hours on "Henderson's " 
 usually meant a dozen or two nice yellow trout, 
 with a sea-trout or two to add variety. One evening 
 I got hold of a beautiful sea-trout, which, having 
 just come from the sea, fought with especial vigour 
 for ten minutes. At last he gave in and was success- 
 fully brought to the net, and proved to be over 
 4 Ibs. Another day on the sea stream I lost two 
 similar fish, both of which made a dash for the sea 
 and got round the masses of floating sea-weed. 
 As they jumped when hooked, I feel sure they were 
 both over 6 Ibs., but then they got away, so I may 
 have been mistaken. At any rate none of us killed 
 a fish over 5 Ibs., though we saw several up to 8 Ibs. 
 or 9 Ibs. leaping in the stream. 
 
 Previous to this visit to Norway I had made 
 some study of the German spy system, as it was 
 necessary to do so concerning certain work which I 
 had undertaken. The German system was far 
 more elaborate than ours, but not necessarily better. 
 In every country, neutral and otherwise, both 
 prior to and during the Great War, the Germans 
 had organised large bodies of men (60,000) to help 
 their Intelligence Departments, and these in neutral 
 countries were not casual visitors, but mostly men 
 engaged in some business where their activities 
 would the least be suspected. In many instances 
 they were invalided soldiers, or men incapable of 
 serving in the army owing to defective eyesight, 
 and in consequence it was easy to detect them, 
 because (1) nearly all wore glasses or pince-nez; 
 (2) nearly all carried a German book under their
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 233 
 
 arm to read at dull moments ; (3) all, almost without 
 exception, wore German boots and clothes, which 
 are easily recognised by their cut. 
 
 Early in the war Germany had in neutral countries 
 probably ten spies to our one, but though so 
 numerous now receiving a regular retaining fee 
 they were not a particularly intelligent body of 
 men. They nearly always hunted in couples, and, 
 apart from the points of recognition I have already 
 enumerated, had a way of standing about aimlessly 
 or whispering in corners much after the manner of 
 spies in the cinematograph. 
 
 Since the majority of these men were engaged in 
 some business in Norway, and the people of that 
 country were, from the years 1914-1917, in a con- 
 stant state of blithering terror of what the Germans 
 would do to them if any severe restrictions were 
 placed on their people, and also since during all 
 this period the Norwegians believed that it was 
 impossible for the Allies to break the power of 
 Germany, nothing was ever done to clear the 
 country of a system which daily produced results 
 highly detrimental to Norwegian interests. These 
 German spies notified (by means of carefully hidden 
 wireless telegraphy) the advent and departure of 
 all Norwegian and foreign ships, and were respon- 
 sible for the sinking of a great part of the Norwegian 
 ships. Though the Norwegian Government was 
 well aware of these activities, they did absolutely 
 nothing to prevent this leakage of news until 1917, 
 when one-third of their whole tonnage (3,000,000 
 tons) had been destroyed. The owners of steam- 
 and sailing-ships were as much to blame as any one, 
 for they really did not seem to care if their ships
 
 234 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 were sunk or not, since the insurance money was 
 always forthcoming, and in most instances (until 
 1917) the German U-boats treated the crews with 
 humanity, and generally helped or allowed them to 
 escape. When, however, the insurance companies 
 refused further insurance, and nearly all the pas- 
 senger steamers, as well as other ships, were sunk 
 and the crews maltreated, the Government at last 
 took steps to clear out the nests of spies that made 
 Bergen and other ports a byword. 
 
 When Captain Bennett and I arrived at Christi- 
 ania by the steamship Bessheim, in August 1915, 
 we were met by two German spies. These gentle- 
 men kindly shadowed us to the railway station and 
 handed us over to two others, who doubtless wired 
 our departure to Trondhjem, where two more 
 " stage- villains " met us and conducted us to the 
 ship leaving for the north. In the Lofodens we 
 thought we had shaken them off, but inquiries 
 elicited the fact that " a Russian " had on the 
 previous day arrived at Lango, and was domiciled 
 on a farm close at hand. I need not state all the 
 methods we took to get rid of this gentleman, but 
 having discovered that he was a German (without 
 passports), his ejection by the local " lendsman " 
 was only a matter of hours. 
 
 Our subsequent experience with German spies 
 may be of interest to the reader, as it was to us. 
 Having successfully completed our work in the 
 Lofodens, we left in October for the mainland, and 
 caught the coasting steamer at Solvaer. I sat in 
 the saloon carefully surveying our fellow-passengers, 
 who for the most part were young Norwegian officers 
 returning from manoeuvres on the high-fjelds.
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 235 
 
 There were, however, two men I could not place. 
 Neither wore glasses, but were reading Norwegian 
 literature (Ibsen's plays), and both wore Norwegian 
 clothes and boots. If they were German spies, 
 as I suspected, they were men out of the ordinary, 
 and would therefore require watching, for I was 
 convinced they would do us some mischief if given 
 the opportunity. It so happened that a Norwegian 
 gentleman, connected with the oil industry, and a 
 friend I had known in former years, was on board, 
 and to him I applied for help, as I found him devoted 
 to our cause. I asked him to study these two men 
 and to talk to them and to find out their nationality, 
 but to use extreme caution. After two days his 
 conclusions were that they were undoubtedly Ger- 
 mans, but men who had lived so long in Norway 
 that they made but few mistakes to prove that they 
 were not actually Norwegians. Their behaviour 
 was most correct, and whilst on board ship little 
 was to be feared except a search of our papers, 
 which in this case would have been futile. It 
 was on our arrival at Trondhjem that they made 
 their mistake. As soon as the vessel came to the 
 quay they both hurried off and, placing their 
 luggage on a carriole, stood behind it whispering 
 and looking up at the deck, where I was resting on 
 the bulwarks and apparently taking no notice of 
 them. All the other passengers descended from 
 the ship and departed on their several ways, but 
 still the two spies stood behind the carriole watching. 
 A sudden inspiration caused me to call Bennett, who 
 was below, and requesting him to go down on the 
 quay, and to attach no importance to what I said, 
 I called loudly to him, "Go up to the Jernbahn
 
 236 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 (station), old chap, and book our luggage to 
 Christiania." On giving these directions the two 
 spies at once smiled, whispered together for a 
 moment, sprang into the carriole and went off, 
 doubtless to the station to send a telegram. 
 
 " What fool business are you up to now ? " quoth 
 my friend when he came up on deck. " Well, it 
 is just this," I replied. " Those fellows are up to 
 no good, and if we go by the Bessheim we shall 
 probably find ourselves in a mess. I for one am 
 going to Bergen." Argument is easy with normal 
 creatures, but my friend was about to be married, 
 and so in his case it required some very urgent 
 reasons to make him see the point, but at last he 
 gave in and went south by the slower route. Three 
 days later we steamed into Bergen, and the first 
 news that met us was that the Bessheim had been 
 stopped in the Christiania Fjord a pretty good 
 piece of impudence by a U-boat, and the Captain 
 requested at once to deliver up two Englishmen 
 whose names and appearance coincided exactly 
 with our own. The Captain shouted that no such 
 persons were on board, and as he was in territorial 
 waters he refused to allow his ship to be searched. 
 The Hun officer, however, would take no refusal, 
 and threatened to sink the ship unless his orders 
 were obeyed, and so when an examination of the 
 passengers was being made, an unfortunate English- 
 man, who must have borne some slight resemblance 
 to one of us, was ordered on board the U-boat and 
 taken to Germany. He was detained there in 
 prison for six months, and then released as not 
 being the person wanted, and if ever he reads this 
 will, I fear, bear us no special affection. All this
 
 THE LOFODEN ISLANDS 237 
 
 I heard afterwards at the offices of the Norwegian 
 Company which owned the Bessheim, and it was 
 certainly fortunate that we had escaped from the 
 net so carefully woven by the German spies. 
 
 One of the most curious things about cleverness 
 is its stupidity, and the more intelligent any people 
 become the more prone are they to fall into folly. 
 Germany proclaimed herself to the world as the 
 most highly civilised of all races, and yet she com- 
 mitted the most appalling errors any nation could 
 commit. Her scientists invented poison gas, for- 
 getting that this sword was double-edged, and in 
 their conceit they imagined there were no chemists 
 in England. To-day thousands of German homes 
 are mourning their lost sons in consequence. But 
 of all the foolish things they did, perhaps the most 
 utterly stupid was the killing of Edith Cavell and 
 Captain Fryatt, for it added immense strength in 
 recruits to the armies of England and America. 
 The whole world was shocked at these crimes, and 
 to-day two imperishable figures sit on high in 
 judgment over their murderers. No incidents of 
 the war stirred the English people as did the 
 killing of these two humble people. Their deaths 
 were the acts of angry bullies who imagined them- 
 selves safe from reprisal. Such people must win, or 
 suffer terrible punishment themselves. And so we 
 have the reckoning, and Germany has only proved 
 how stupid she was, after all.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE, 1916 
 
 HAMMERFEST is the most northern town in the 
 world, further to the north, in fact, even than the 
 Bering Straits, and for seven months in the year 
 it lies silent in the grip of the Arctic winter. It 
 is a gloomy spot, locked in on the northern Finmark 
 coast, and sheltered by a barrier of islands which 
 do little to check the constant snow-storms that 
 sweep down from Spitzbergen, only a short distance 
 to the north, in the Polar Sea. In ordinary times 
 the place is far beyond the ken of the average 
 tourist. But in the year 1916 Hammerfest was 
 of some importance, being the central point of the 
 main cod industry of Norway. Day and night 
 from April till October the " chuff-chuff " of the 
 petrol engines of the fishing-fleet echoed through 
 the mountain walls that enclosed the little harbour. 
 Though so small a port, as many as 5000 oil-driven 
 sea-going fishing-boats make Hammerfest their 
 base, and to-day it is the chief distributing centre 
 of Northern Europe, where numerous coasting 
 boats come to collect the salted fish and carry 
 it away to the various markets of the south, as 
 well as to Russia. In early spring Solvaer, the 
 base of the great Lofoden cod fishery, is a greater 
 hive of industry, but from early May onwards 
 Hammerfest teems with life and work. 
 
 238
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 239 
 
 Its importance in 1916 was due to the fact that 
 the large food supply furnished by the northern 
 seas was for the most part being collected, and sent 
 through neutral waters to Germany, It is true 
 that at this date we had established a blockade 
 of our chief enemy, but in point of fact before 
 America came in to the war, and made our grip 
 on the Central Empires a more or less real one, 
 the numerous back-doors of import and export 
 between Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Holland and 
 Germany were to all intents and purposes open, 
 and used to the utmost extent that was possible 
 by neutrals whose sole purpose was not the triumph 
 of Right over Wrong, but personal gain. 
 
 There is an old sentiment in England unfor- 
 tunately a wholly erroneous one that in the 
 Great War Norway was heart and soul with the 
 Allies. This view in the first place is gathered 
 partly from the experience of tourists and sportsmen, 
 who are, as a rule, incapable of judging the race 
 as a whole, owing to their want of knowledge of 
 the language, and the fact that hotel-keepers, 
 peasants, and hunters of the interior have a pre- 
 ference for Englishmen, who had always spent their 
 money freely in those northern towns and wilds. 
 In the second place, our people thought that the 
 views expressed in such excellent papers as the 
 Aftenposten and the Tidens Tegn always largely 
 quoted by our own newspapers represented the 
 national opinion, whereas it only voiced the senti- 
 ment of the people of Christiania and small scattered 
 groups of the more intellectual in various coast 
 towns, such as Christiansund and Trondhjem. 
 
 The true facts of the case, as well known to the
 
 240 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 British Consuls, who almost alone understood the 
 basic opinions of the Norwegians as a whole during 
 the war, were that views favourable to the Allies 
 were centred in the intelligent and broad-minded 
 people of Christiania, together with a few isolated 
 individuals in various ports, as well as in the more 
 thinly populated interior, the small Army and 
 Navy, and the personnel of the Norwegian mercan- 
 tile fleet, who had every cause to loathe the German 
 barbarians. On the other hand, the main popu- 
 lation of Norway, settled on an immense coast-line 
 from Arendal in the south to remote Vardo on the 
 Finmark coast of the Polar Sea, were actively 
 or passively pro-German. This feeling was sporadic, 
 and seldom openly expressed as far as Trond- 
 hjem, owing to fear of our counter-measures, but 
 north of this point the people of the coast-line 
 were more and more active in their work and 
 sympathies to help Germany. This the traveller 
 found as he went north and the fishing interests 
 became more important. Moreover, the constant 
 fear that Germany was invincible and would 
 certainly take reprisals in the future if her demands 
 were not met, was another potent factor in all 
 Norwegian acts. The reasons for this are quite 
 easily defined. Germany before the war had 
 " collared " the greater part of the northern fish 
 industry. She bought nearly the whole of her fish, 
 and her commercial travellers (all speaking Nor- 
 wegian fluently) travelled everywhere on the coast- 
 line and sold their goods. Nearly everything in 
 the shops was German. No English commercial 
 traveller ever touched these remote regions. Almost 
 the only imports from our islands were Manchester
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 241 
 
 goods, coal, salt, and fishing material. Thus, 
 without going further into the commercial and 
 political aspects of the case, it will be seen that the 
 Germans had an almost unassailable grip on the 
 Norwegian fish industry, practically the chief busi- 
 ness of Norway, and that only by threats of reprisals 
 could we prevent nearly the whole of the produce 
 going to Germany, since a free and safe waterway 
 existed between Kirkanaes and the Baltic German 
 ports. Moreover, the Germans were paying the 
 Norwegians something like a 600 per cent, advance 
 on the price of their fish, whilst we, who only began 
 to buy fish on a large scale in 1916, were offering 
 only something like a 200 per cent, advance. The 
 results were therefore obvious, even at the risk 
 to the merchants of being put on the " black list " 
 or threatened with deprivation of coal or salt. 
 These penalties, however, for the most part, were 
 only laughed at, as they were seldom carried into 
 effect. 
 
 Hammerfest lies on the Arctic coast of Norway, 
 160 miles south of Bear Island and 450 miles from 
 Spitzbergen. As a rule its climate is vile, but 
 it has intervals of good behaviour, when mosquitoes, 
 " the size of humming-birds," some sufferers say, 
 arise from the soil and render life insupportable. 
 Winter lasts for eight months in the year, so the 
 brief summer which officially begins about June 
 6th, sometimes in July, and sometimes not at all 
 is always hailed with delight. In 1914 there were 
 but three fine days in the year. This Arctic 
 severity, alternating with rain and fog, is due to the 
 proximity of the perpetual Polar ice-pack, which 
 is never much further away than 120 miles. When
 
 242 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 the wind blows from the north it is always cold, 
 and one is glad of a greatcoat. However, in 1916 
 we were lucky, and experienced spells of lovely 
 warm weather in late May, June and July, with 
 gentle breezes from the south-west. 
 
 Hammerfest itself lies snugly in the quiet bay, 
 surrounded on three sides by mountains covered 
 in May with snow-fields ten to twelve feet deep. 
 To the west it is more or less open, but protected 
 by the long island of Soro, on which are high moun- 
 tains four or five miles distant. The harbour is 
 deep to the quay sides, and in spring is crammed 
 with the small motor fishing-boats, whose crews 
 are ever coming back, getting ready again, or going 
 north to fish. In my quiet room in the hotel, 
 facing the west, one was never, day or night, out of 
 the sound of the passing boats, the croak of the 
 raven, or the screams of amorous Herring-Gulls. 
 
 The fishermen prepare their long, deep sea-lines 
 in harbour, some of their lines carrying as many as 
 15,000 hooks. They bait with small fresh herring 
 caught by special bait steamers at the mouth of 
 the Alten Fjord. Women are employed at baiting, 
 and some of them earn as much as forty kroners 
 a day at this job, although it only lasts a short time. 
 The boats are at sea for from three to four days, 
 and then return with their catch and sell the fish 
 to local merchants, or to sailing vessels, who gut 
 and salt them, and, when full, go south to Bergen 
 and Aalesund. 
 
 In spring the fish usually caught are cod, but 
 numbers of halibut, hake, haddock, red fish, 
 coal fish, and flounders are also taken. The 
 spring fishing of 1916 was more or less a failure,
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 243 
 
 owing to immense numbers of Bearded Seal (erigna- 
 thus barbatus), which pursued the cod and drove 
 them into deep waters. In consequence two-thirds 
 of the boats had left Hammerfest by the end of the 
 first week in June, going to their homes in South 
 Finmark, the Lofodens, and Vesteraalen. Here 
 the men work on their small farms for three weeks, 
 and then many of them return to take part in 
 the netting of saithe (coal fish) in late June and 
 July. These inferior fish are caught in large nets 
 near the surface, and they are split and dried or 
 salted, and sold to the Russians who come here 
 in the summer with cargoes of wood from Archangel. 
 A third fishing season for herring is September, 
 October and November, and this is one of great 
 importance to all northern Norway, from the 
 Lofodens to Vardo. It is curious that in these 
 northern waters the fish will not look at any bait 
 except small herring and arctotis malotis, and these 
 fish must be absolutely fresh. Down south about 
 Aalesund, cod and other fish are caught even with 
 salted herring, but here bait must be renewed after 
 each expedition. This is due to the abundance 
 of natural food in the northern seas. No one in 
 Hammerfest talks of anything but the price of fish, 
 and in this year of world's strife the telegrams 
 posted everywhere were not of battles, but of the 
 market values of fish in the south. The fishermen, 
 of whom some 20,000 pass through Hammerfest 
 in the spring, are an exceedingly well-behaved, 
 amiable set of men. There is no drunkenness, 
 and the whole place might be a perpetual Sunday 
 in Scotland. 
 
 Hammerfest is called a town, but it is really
 
 244 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 only a big fishing village of some 3000 people. 
 The one main street wanders round the harbour, 
 and consists of shops chiefly devoted to the fishing 
 industry. Here there is a bank or a saw-mill, 
 and there a shark oil factory, which never forgets 
 to remind you of its disagreeable presence. A fur 
 shop displays inferior wares at about twice the 
 price of Bergen or Trondhjem, the one good thing 
 being excellent house slippers of fur and sealskin, 
 sold at three kroners a pair. 
 
 Another Hammerfest industry is conducted by 
 Mr. Robertson, Messrs. Federsen and Nissen, and H. 
 Finckenhagen, who each possess six small motor- 
 driven vessels for seal, Polar bear and walrus 
 hunting. These go to the northern pack opposite 
 the Kola Peninsula about March, and work west- 
 wards along the ice to South Spitzbergen. They 
 are away for three or four months, and kill large 
 numbers of Greenland, Ring, Hooded and Bearded 
 Seals, as well as a certain number of walrus and 
 Polar bears. Their method of hunting has been 
 too frequently described to warrant description 
 here, but an old hunter told me a very interesting 
 fact regarding a habit of the walrus. Unless 
 wounded when they are apt to be dangerous 
 these harmless creatures are full of curiosity. 
 When disturbed on the ice, and the harpooner 
 has been unable to make his " cast," the animals 
 dive and come up round the boats. The men then 
 keep perfectly silent, and it is a common habit 
 for the walrus to come and place his tusks over 
 the side of the boat, and remain hooked there gazing 
 solemnly at the crew. The men then remain with- 
 out movement, whilst one nearest the walrus gently
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 245 
 
 lifts the tusks over the gunwale and pushes the 
 animal back into the water. Accidents in hunting 
 rarely occur, but when two walruses are harpooned, 
 and one follows the herd away from the boat 
 whilst the other dives straight to the bottom, it is 
 necessary to have an axe handy to sever the rope 
 attached to the second animal, or the boat will 
 be upset. Occasionally the little vessels are crushed 
 in the ice, in which case the men escape in their 
 small boats, and are generally picked up by other 
 vessels, but one was completely lost, with all hands, 
 in 1914, owing to a sudden gale. 
 
 To this melancholy place I came as British Vice- 
 Con sul on May 15th, 1916, after a visit to the 
 British Embassy in Christiania, and at once took 
 up my duties. The consular and naval work was 
 not easy, and occupied the greater part of the day, 
 and it was only at night in summer time that I 
 was able to go out into the mountains and get 
 some exercise and relaxation in watching the 
 various Arctic birds now arriving on their spring 
 migration. In early May the whole country was 
 still wrapped in its shroud of snow and ice ten feet 
 deep in some places and no birds were to be 
 seen but the resident Ravens and Magpies, except 
 a few Herring, Kittiwake, and Lesser Black-backed 
 Gulls, which had already commenced their court 
 ships. On May 25th came the first spring arrivals, 
 flocks of Snow Buntings two hundred strong, the 
 black -backed males resplendent in their new plumage. 
 In a few days these beautiful little birds began to 
 sing, though there was no sign of the ice-break, 
 and in a week all flocks had broken up into pairs 
 and scattered over the adjoining hills. About the
 
 246 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 same date came a few Redwings and Fieldfares, 
 the latter singing charmingly, often on the wing, 
 with a song somewhat resembling our Blackbird 
 in its soft and mellow tones. Then before the end 
 of the month came little parties of Shore Larks 
 and the large Greenland Wheatear, which uttered 
 a jerky, scratchy song and gave a pretty aerial 
 courtship, rather like that of a Whitethroat, but 
 with the sudden rise into the air of the Tree-Pipit. 
 On June 4th there was a big crack, and a pool 
 was formed at the upper end of the lake above the 
 town, and here came two pairs of the Long-tailed 
 Duck, the males uttering their musical cries, and 
 one pair of Red-throated Divers. From now on- 
 wards during the ensuing fortnight, with every day 
 of increasing warmth new species arrived, and at 
 once indulged in their individual efforts and songs 
 characteristic of the nuptial display. Fieldfares 
 were particularly gay, and indulged in mad chases 
 like our thrushes, and when once paired were very 
 bold and gallant, even driving off the ubiquitous 
 Ravens. On June 8th I heard a note new to me, 
 and, advancing amongst some scrub, saw a female 
 Bluethroat. She was shortly joined by two brilliant 
 males, their gorgeous throats shining like jewels 
 in the sun, and they went through a leaping court- 
 ship, something like a part of the " show " exhibited 
 by the common Robin. On June 6th some Iceland 
 Gulls, a Red-throated Pipit, and a party of Bramble 
 Finches passed, going north, and numbers of small 
 Northern Willow Warblers were noticed singing 
 in the low, stunted willow-bushes. So the advent 
 of migrants went on all through June, until the late- 
 comers, such as the Dotterel and the Buntings, had
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 247 
 
 moved up to their summer home. On the coast 
 some Eiders were always to be seen, as well as a few 
 Sea-Eagles. One day in July, as I was painting 
 on a hillside above the sea, I heard a yelping note, 
 and, looking down, I saw an old Sea-Eagle, closely 
 followed by her brown young one. She carried a 
 brilliant scarlet fish (Oer or Rode-fisk) in her claws, 
 and kept lifting it as if to entice her offspring 
 forward in its flight. On another occasion I heard 
 a loud rush of wings and, looking upwards, saw a 
 Golden Eagle pursuing a Sea-Eagle through the 
 air, the latter twisting and turning to avoid its 
 more active enemy, and in doing so it dropped 
 what I took to be a large fish into the sea. Sea- 
 Eagles often passed outside the harbour and along 
 the coast, but they were not nearly so numerous 
 in northern Norway as I had seen them twenty 
 years before. Only on the outer islands do they 
 seem to be holding their own, for there they breed 
 on inaccessible cliffs, whilst on the mainland every 
 man's hand and gun is against them. The bird 
 of northern Norway is the Raven, and this clever 
 marauder somehow manages to make a living even 
 in winter, when all other birds, except a few rap- 
 torials, the two species of Ripa, and the Magpie, 
 would starve. I do not think that the Raven 
 becomes adult until it is two or three years old, 
 and consequently we see large flocks of immatures at 
 all seasons living on garbage, fish, or the dead and 
 wounded creatures its sharp eyes may discover. I 
 noticed that, even in Hammerfest, where the 
 species is so abundant, certain pairs always took 
 up certain beats and drove off all trespassers. 
 There were three pairs of these old residents in rock
 
 248 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 cliffs quite close to the town, and each of these 
 seemed to possess cries and habits peculiar to 
 themselves. One old fellow always " clanked " 
 like a worn-out bell, another uttered an even 
 deeper note, and a third made a cry like a throaty 
 tenor whose voice had cracked. They were always 
 sitting or flying about the same group of rocks, 
 and never associated with the flocks. Twice I 
 saw forty ravens in one flock, and once Mr. Lodge 
 and I counted forty-seven. 
 
 As an instance of those predatory instincts in 
 a bird not usually associated with such violent 
 characteristics, I may relate the following 
 
 One day in July Mr. Lodge, the artist, and I 
 were sitting on a rock above the lake. It was 
 sunny and warm, and we were idly resting and 
 listening to the calls of the various birds. In some 
 stunted willows some twenty yards behind us was 
 a family of Magpies, father, mother and five little 
 fellows just able to fly, all in a row. A bird flashed 
 by, and we saw it was a Redwing without a tail. 
 It was flying very quickly, but the movement, 
 though so rapid, did not escape the eye of one of 
 the parent Magpies. In an instant it saw that the 
 Redwing had no tail, and would therefore probably 
 be unable to steer, and so could possibly be caught. 
 I never saw a Magpie fly like that before, for it 
 dashed after the Redwing at full speed, quite as 
 fast as any raptorial, and rapidly overhauled it. 
 Coming to the lake-edge the unfortunate Redwing 
 darted this way and that, and would certainly 
 have been captured had not a watchful Raven 
 swooped down from the cliffs and claimed a share 
 in the chase. The new-comer first of all drove off
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 249 
 
 the Magpie, which came quite slowly straight back 
 to his family. Then he began peering under the 
 stones where the poor Redwing had taken refuge. 
 It was most amusing to watch him, as he cocked 
 his head on one side and " keeked " into every 
 likely sanctuary. At last he gave it up, that is 
 to say, apparently, but not in reality. Such an 
 old-timer was not going to be done by any wily 
 Redwing. He only retired to a point of vantage 
 a few yards away, and just waited and watched till 
 the would-be victim should recover its equanimity 
 and emerge. But the Redwing had got such a 
 fright that it never appeared again, and the patience 
 of even the old Raven being at last exhausted, he 
 retired to his favourite cliff. 
 
 I had hoped to enjoy a little fishing in the neigh- 
 bourhood, but this proved a sad disappointment. 
 I tried in several lakes minnow, worm and fly 
 without success, these Arctic trout seemed to 
 be impervious to all lures. Two days' journey 
 away was the celebrated Alt en, one of the best 
 rivers in Norway for salmon, and though the Duke 
 of Roxburgh had kindly given me permission to 
 fish, I could not get away from my work for such 
 amusement, so what short leisure I had was devoted 
 to landscape painting and wandering over the high 
 fjeld, where bird and animal life was very scarce, 
 but blueberries plentiful in their season. Life was 
 made up in sending and receiving code telegrams 
 and visiting local merchants and ships to carry out 
 the instructions of our Government and Admiralty. 
 Some of it was by no means pleasant work, for 
 during 1916 the Norwegians regarded British Consuls 
 as little better than interlopers " policemen "
 
 250 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 they called us who were always interfering with 
 their rights as free citizens of the world. Many 
 of them simply refused to stand it, and ignored 
 our authority, openly claiming their right to 
 trade with the Germans, whilst others though 
 they hated us none the less did accept most of 
 our impositions, as they feared the stoppages of 
 coal and salt commodities essential to their 
 business. In this atmosphere of pro-Germanism 
 one had no friends, 1 and no one to talk to. The 
 telephone and telegraph girls were all German 
 spies, and one had to be very careful that all 
 messages were unintelligible to them. When the 
 submarine difficulty began, in September, they 
 did not actually refuse to take my messages to 
 certain local people on the northern coasts who 
 were working for me, but took good care that these 
 messages were never delivered. There were other 
 means, however, of getting information trans- 
 mitted and received which they did not discover. 
 On the whole Norway is an attractive country, 
 that is to say, in peace times, because then we are 
 only thrown amongst the best of its people, who 
 are genuinely glad to see us, when we are only 
 bent on sport or pleasure. We think then only 
 of its romantic sagas, of Odin, Thor, Freya, the 
 Vikings, Valkyries and Valhalla, and we have 
 visions of quaint gnomes, trolds and Lappish 
 witches. Our sympathy goes out to these people, 
 
 1 From this category I except my good friend Mr. Charles 
 Robertson, a Norwegian of Scottish extraction, and by far the 
 cleverest man in northern Norway. From him and his wife 
 I received much kindness and hospitality at a time when such 
 amenities were most appreciated, and to them I shall always 
 owe a debt of gratitude.
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 251 
 
 for have we not also some of the old Viking blood 
 in our veins, which stirs at tales of noble deeds in 
 flood, f jeld and sea ? Those of us, too, who have 
 spent happy days with rod and gun with the 
 charming folk of the forest, mountain and river, do 
 not forget the true friendship of the farmers, 
 hunters and simple peasants who shared our joys. 
 There are, in fact, no more delightful people in 
 Europe than the Namdalen farmers or their poorer 
 brethren the " husmaend," who till the soil, and, 
 sad though they often are, influenced by their 
 grand and gloomy surroundings, there is a sweet 
 melancholy about them which is as attractive as 
 their kindly friendship. During eight seasons I 
 had wandered amongst them, from Saetersdal to 
 the Lofodens, now fishing or hunting the bear, 
 the elk or the reindeer, and everywhere I learnt to 
 love these people 
 
 " Country beloved, of the cloud-kissing ranges, 
 Bountiful vales and munificent sea, 
 Eager we plight thee the troth that ne'er changes 
 Ask it, our blood shall be lavished for thee." 
 
 BJERREGARD. 
 
 In Christiania you will find a highly-educated 
 and refined race of northern people whose lives 
 and ambitions are dominated by the best senti- 
 ments of European culture. It is the home of 
 art, literature, science and history, and its society 
 of clever men and women are without that stulti- 
 fying apathy and exclusiveness you often find in 
 London, for instance. You have only to exhibit 
 a desire to discuss such matters in a broad-minded 
 spirit in Christiania, and you will be at once received
 
 252 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 into the circles of intellect that exist there, without 
 reserve or false sentiment. 
 
 But, alas, there is another side to the picture, 
 and when the War let loose all its attendant con- 
 comitants of greed and self-interest, Norway was 
 not without its opportunists and " gulach " million- 
 aires, who became rich at the price of honour. 
 In Denmark, Sweden, Holland and Norway there 
 were many who only thought of profit, above all 
 considerations of right and wrong. Here was the 
 chance of a lifetime to become rich offered, and 
 they took it. 
 
 " The nearer the frozen Pole you get," writes 
 my dear old friend Sir Henry Pottinger, a man 
 who, above all others, knew the Norse character, 
 " the more does mute endurance become the promi- 
 nent virtue and stolid selfishness the most con- 
 spicuous vice," and if we add to this the words 
 of Kipling : " There's never a law of God or man 
 goes north of 63," we get a very fair estimate of 
 coast-line Norwegian character in the years 1914- 
 1918. When we have left Trondhjem behind us 
 we find, as it were, an entirely different race of 
 Norsemen, comprising a mass of coast-line fisher- 
 men-farmers and small mercantile or fish merchants. 
 Nearly everything and everybody depends directly 
 or indirectly on fish, and no other subject seems 
 ever to be discussed. 
 
 Let us look for a moment at these modern 
 representatives of the old sea rovers. They are, 
 for the most part, a commonplace people, with 
 close-cropped hair and smooth faces. They wear 
 sticky oilskins, fingerless gloves and woollen 
 wrappers. They lounge about, expectorate freely
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 253 
 
 and seem to know little about seamanship, the oil 
 motor having changed all that. They do not even 
 take the trouble to repair their rotten harness, or 
 to caulk their boats an atmosphere of cheap 
 second-rateness hangs like a pall over everything 
 they do and everything they possess. Their houses 
 and shops are paltry, and filled with cheap German 
 rubbish. There is little life, warmth or colour in 
 their lives or ambitions, and only a rise of half 
 a kroner in the price of cod rouses the smallest 
 enthusiasm. More handsome girls are to be seen 
 in five minutes in a street in London or Florence 
 than in a year in northern Europe, and severe out- 
 door life in their drab surroundings seems to be 
 the ruin of female charm. 
 
 I have a note in my Hammerfest diary of 1916 
 that seems to be a reminiscence of Norwegian 
 manners and customs 
 
 " Norwegians sleep all the winter from October 
 to May, only waking up occasionally to eat a 
 little c delicatessen,' ' gammleost,' and other dis- 
 gusting things. Summer is the time for talk and 
 blasting operations. 
 
 ;t 1 a.m. is the hour for heated discussions on 
 the price of fish. If the house is built of wood 
 and has no carpets they hammer on the floor at 
 short intervals. Since from six to eight commercial 
 travellers can easily occupy one bedroom, the din 
 may be increased to an almost unlimited extent. 
 
 " 2 a.m. is the correct hour for a game of rounders, 
 which should always be played by lusty boys in 
 front of an hotel. Little girls also play in the 
 streets at this hour.
 
 254 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 " 3 a.m. If you have a boat to mend, now is 
 the time to do it. Do not forget to make as much 
 noise as possible nails are cheap and a boat 
 requires a lot. 
 
 " 4 a.m. is a good time for a dynamite explosion. 
 Sealers generally depart and arrive from the 
 northern hunting-grounds at this hour, and every 
 one who has a gun must fire it off. 
 
 " 5 a.m. Start draining under a house. No 
 clever person in Finmark makes the drains until 
 after he has built the house, since you never know 
 where water will come from when the snows melt. 
 An iron crowbar is the most efficient weapon for 
 removing rocks, and this should be clanked on the 
 ground at intervals to prove that the workman 
 is busy. 
 
 " 6 a.m. Amorous Herring-Gulls and talkative 
 Magpies tune up, whilst the constant " chuff-chuff ' : 
 of the motor-boats coming and going to sea herald 
 in another day. 
 
 " Mem. Certain Norwegian maxims of service 
 to Norwegian servant girls 
 
 " ' All foreigners are mad, particularly English- 
 
 men.' 
 
 " ' Be sure and give an Englishman decayed and 
 miserable items of clothing belonging to some one 
 else in return for his own " wash." 
 
 " * Always show in lots of visitors when the 
 guests have gone to bed.' 
 
 " ' Start washing the room in the middle of the 
 day. If the guest is very busy sending important 
 telegrams, make it so unpleasant for him that he 
 will have to go out. If he paints pictures they 
 must be carefully dusted with a dirty dishcloth,
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 255 
 
 and above all, ask him why the English Fleet does 
 not destroy the Germans.' 
 
 "Another unholy joy is the digging of sundry 
 holes in the streets or under the buildings. This 
 is done nominally to let the water sink away, but 
 actually to afford traps for the unwary and make 
 a mess. There are four such holes, some five feet 
 deep, within fifty yards of this house. They remind 
 me of elephant pits I have seen in Central Africa, 
 and afford much pleasure to the simple Norseman. 
 Erik Eriksen or Ole Olsen begin an excavation, 
 and in two or three days throw out a goodly pile 
 of earth and rocks. It must not be supposed that 
 they work all the time. On the contrary, most of 
 the time is spent in rest, contemplation and gossip 
 with passers-by, who all offer congratulations or 
 advice. A nice big hole in the centre of a main 
 thoroughfare seems to arouse a certain enthusiasm. 
 It shows progress and attention to municipal 
 matters, of which the town, which spends large 
 sums in improvements, is justly proud, and a man 
 working in the public service is somewhat of a 
 personality. His work, however, is never finished, 
 nor is it meant to be, and unsightly excavations 
 which would be an annoyance and a danger in a 
 less placid community are here nothing but a 
 pleasure and a sign of industrial advancement. 
 When the digger at last strikes water he will call 
 you to look at the fruit of his labour, and then 
 rests indefinitely amidst the charms of c lagerol ' 
 and ' delicatessen,' until the town puts him on the 
 next useless mess. I have seen many men making 
 these holes, but never one filling them up. By 
 August the place looks like a hillside in Cassiar,
 
 256 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 where Grizzly Bears have been burrowing for gophers, 
 but by October all is hidden again under a merciful 
 winter shroud. 
 
 " Next to a rise of ten kr oners per kilo in the 
 price of cod, perhaps the greatest joy in life to the 
 Norwegian peasant is a nice little explosion. Go 
 where you will here, the Sabbathian calm in spring 
 is sure to be broken by the crash of dynamite. 
 There is a fire station about thirty yards from this 
 house where they use blasting foundations of 
 course under a house already built and eight or 
 ten times a day the peaceful fjord and mountains 
 reverberate with deafening reports. When the 
 fuse is set two men are supposed to go out and warn 
 passers-by to keep clear, but this they do not 
 always do, with the result that I nearly had a 
 nasty accident one day. Seeing the coast clear 
 and no sentry in view, I walked up the rocks past 
 the building under repair, and had just reached it 
 when I saw two men sitting smoking under the lee 
 of some rocks. At the same moment a deafening 
 explosion took place from the fire station about 
 twenty yards to my left, and I was violently 
 thrown to the ground amid a shower of earth and 
 rocks. For one moment I was half stunned, and 
 feeling a stinging sensation at the back of my neck. 
 I put my hand up and found it covered with blood. 
 However, I soon ascertained that only the skin had 
 been cut by flying gravel and nothing serious was 
 the matter, so I went up to the men and said 
 several things to them about their gross careless- 
 ness which might easily have had serious conse- 
 quences. They were most apologetic, and begged 
 me not to mention the matter to the authorities."
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 257 
 
 The melting of the snows in early June is at 
 once a miracle and a thing of wonder. Our 
 English springs are a succession of advances and 
 retreats in the programme of Nature, and summer 
 creeps in with alternate frost and sunshine, but 
 in the Arctic regions there is a sudden upheaval. 
 Winter is defeated in one short battle, and summer 
 comes in with a triumphal burst of sunshine and 
 flowers. In one week the snow-clad hillsides are 
 pouring with innumerable torrents, great gaps of 
 brown earth appear, and as it were in a few days 
 the whole of the mountains are clothed with green 
 Alpine plants, vast wreaths of Silene acaulis, Dryas 
 occipetala and myriads of little blue and yellow 
 violets in all the crevices. For a very few weeks 
 this Alpine garden held its brief sway, and then 
 the lake-edges and mountain streams were brilliant 
 for another period with caliha palustris a smaller 
 form of our own kingcups and a very beautiful 
 blue vetch, Vacca grecca, Trollius and many flowers 
 of which I did not know the names. The colouring, 
 too, of many of the rocks was simply wonderful, 
 whilst all are covered with patches of emerald green 
 or yellow mosses. To the landscape painter all 
 this wealth of colour both on land and sea pre- 
 sented a great difficulty. There was too much 
 colour, and even in the autumn the fiery reds 
 of the decaying vegetation rendered composition 
 extremely difficult. Perhaps the most gorgeous 
 effects of Nature to be seen in these Arctic regions 
 was the wonderful aurora borealis or Northern 
 Lights, which began in late October, and lit up 
 the whole sky and surrounding mountains with the 
 most theatrical display of dazzling colours. The
 
 258 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 heavens often seemed to be on fire, and the general 
 effect was even more gorgeous than the sunsets of 
 August and September. Such sunsets as those of 
 northern Europe are not to be seen in any other 
 part of the world. 
 
 One evening I dashed in one of these, using nearly 
 every colour in the spectrum, and when I looked 
 at it next morning it seemed as if I had upset the 
 paint-box. But a local merchant who saw it said 
 it was just right, and bought it on the spot. Often 
 I used to take a boat, have a little saithe fishing, 
 and then paint the breaking sea on the outer islands 
 as backgrounds for my eagle pictures, but the 
 fishermen, who regarded me as a harmless lunatic 
 or a cunning fellow with deep designs on the coast, 
 were mostly unsympathetic, and thought more of 
 the elusive kroner than the claims of art or sport. 
 These men were not at all of the same class as 
 the charming hunters and fishermen of the interior 
 valleys, with whom I have spent many happy days 
 in old times chasing the elk and the reindeer, 
 and only exhibited a greed for money and material 
 things. The oil motor has spoilt their skill as 
 sailors, and the great price of fish has rendered 
 them lazy and independent, without developing 
 any tastes for the beautiful either in art or Nature. 
 
 Entirely different from them was my dear friend 
 E., whom I sent for early in September to under- 
 take certain confidential work. He was a hunter 
 from the south, a man I had known intimately 
 in former years, and one of the most charming 
 creatures God ever made. He was a devoted 
 friend and a born actor, as well as a very clever 
 man. Well read, too, in spite of the fact that all
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 259 
 
 his life had been spent on the sea or hunting in the 
 mountains and valleys of the Northland, and a 
 man of such tact and observation that Nature 
 seemed to have exactly fitted him for the position 
 of trust for which he was now employed. It was 
 necessary, however, that no one in Hammerfest 
 should guess his connection with this particular 
 work, and after giving him instructions, he left 
 at once for certain northern ports, where he gathered 
 information about the German spies and the move- 
 ments of the U-boats that proved of the greatest 
 value. Alternately in the guise of a fish-buyer 
 or as a drunken loafer, he frequented places where 
 correct news of our enemies' movements were to 
 be gathered, and acted so successfully the part he 
 had to play, that both the Germans and pro-German 
 Norwegians frequently gave him their complete 
 confidence, disclosed their plans, and even asked 
 him to do certain things which I was most anxious 
 to learn. When he left me in Hammerfest, in 
 November, he broke down and cried like a child, 
 and said he had never enjoyed himself so much in 
 his life. Dear old E. ! He was a man amongst 
 men, with a great warm heart and the courage of 
 the Vikings, and I place him in the category of my 
 long-dead friends Jimmy Sutherland of Stromness, 
 my boatman for eleven years in the Orkneys, and 
 Roelef Van Staden, the Boer hunter, with whom 
 I lived for a year in South Africa. But E. lives, 
 and I hope one day we shall hunt ripa again and 
 discourse on the great things of life. 
 
 Other interesting visitors to Hammerfest were 
 the Lapps. The race is divided into two distinct 
 branches. The Coast Lapps, mostly a hybrid race
 
 260 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 of Lap-Norwegian origin, who are fishing people 
 inhabiting the coast, and the pure Lapps of the 
 high fjelds, who are very small, and essentially 
 devoted to the reindeer. The former come in 
 numbers to Hammerfest, and are much dependent 
 for the commodities of life on European wares. 
 They wear a picturesque national costume, and 
 are in every way content to lead the lives of coast 
 fishermen who do not go to the deep seas for their 
 living. They bring in quantities of dried and 
 salted fish of secondary quality, which they sell to 
 the merchants, thus earning enough money for an 
 existence, which is poor compared to that of the 
 white population. They live in scattered villages 
 of wood along the coast-line, and often far up into 
 the fjords, and are a quiet, inoffensive race without 
 national pride or worldly ambition. They seem to 
 have nothing to do with the Hill Lapps, and do 
 not intermarry with them. 
 
 The Fjeld Lapps, on the other hand, are a virile, 
 independent race of little people. They are per- 
 haps the oldest pure race in the world, and are 
 synonymous with the Fins or Feans that migrated 
 to Scotland in the early Christian era. They are 
 few in actual numbers, and live principally on the 
 herds of tame reindeer, which furnish them with 
 the whole means of existence food, clothes, shelter 
 (tent coverings in summer) and what little money 
 they require. These Fjeld Lapps are purely farmers 
 of reindeer, which they keep in order with their 
 active little dogs, and at certain seasons hunters 
 of bear, wolf and ripa. They live solely on the pro- 
 duce of the wilderness, only coming very rarely 
 into the towns to sell a few hides and horns, from
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 261 
 
 the sale of which I regret to say they often buy 
 cogent spirit with which to get drunk. I was 
 wandering up into the mountains one night when 
 I heard sounds of carousal coming from behind a 
 stone wall, and, looking over, saw three funny 
 little Hill Lapps celebrating the occasion in a 
 state of hilarity. They were not very drunk and 
 only merry, so I induced them to allow me to 
 accompany them into their hill camp, where I 
 spent some hours studying them and their rein- 
 deer, and enjoyed some excellent reindeer milk 
 and coffee. 
 
 The Hill Lapps spend the whole winter in the 
 mountain station of Kara j ok, near the Russian 
 frontier, where reindeer moss is abundant, and then 
 migrate slowly in little parties, as the summer 
 advances, towards the coast-line between Tromso 
 and Hammerfest. Here in October they do a big 
 " killing," and sell the carcases and hides on the 
 coast, and then return into the interior, reaching 
 Kara] ok again before Christmas. 
 
 The Lapps are generally regarded as purely 
 nomadic people, living exclusively on the reindeer, 
 but as a matter of fact a great number of small 
 communities of them are settled on the fjords, 
 lakes and rivers of northern Norway, and have no 
 ostensible connection with reindeer, although in 
 many cases they have a sort of vested interest in 
 them. Some members of every tribe are genuine 
 Fjeld Lapps, whilst others are fishermen, and some- 
 what dependent on the pure Norwegians and the 
 Finns. Correctly speaking, the last-named race 
 are inhabitants of Russian Finland and also the 
 land on the Norwegian side of the Tana which
 
 262 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 divides the two countries. Moreover, in certain 
 districts, such as the Alten and the Lax Rivers, 
 there are tribes of pure Finns which the Norwegians 
 call " Kvaens," and these they separate from the 
 pure Finns of Finmark, whom the Norwegians 
 consider to be the original inhabitants of Finmark. 
 The pure Finns, who number about 9000, origin- 
 ally came out of Finland, and retain the purity of 
 their race by intermarrying, but, on the other hand, 
 many of them have intermarried with river, lake 
 and sea Lapps, in which both the Lapp and the 
 Finn types predominate, and so much confusion 
 arises in differentiating the various races. The 
 characteristics of the pure Fjeld Lapps are, how- 
 ever, constant and unmistakable. They are of 
 very short stature, with straight dark hair, eyes 
 and complexion, and Mongolian features. Ethno- 
 logists tell us they are of the same stock as Finns 
 and Esthonians, but this is somewhat difficult to 
 believe, for their similarity to the Eastern Mongols 
 and even the Northern Esquimaux is much more 
 marked. The costume of some of the Coast and 
 Hill Lapps is very picturesque. I lured one into 
 my den to paint him. But how to prevent a 
 passage of " the friends who were always with us " 
 was the difficulty. I love animals, but not in this 
 case with the enthusiasm of the Hon. Charles 
 Rothschild and the Prince of Monaco. I did not 
 desire " the gleesome fleasome thou " to pass 
 unsolicited to " gleesome flealess me." So our 
 interview was short and conversation distant, and 
 he soon left when I refused to supply him with 
 ardent spirits. 
 
 Some years ago the Prince of Monaco was here.
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 263 
 
 He is a scientific entomologist, and was studying 
 the pulicidce. Being anxious to ascertain whether 
 the flea inhabiting the person of the High Fjeld 
 Lapp was the same as that found on the Coast 
 Lapp, he announced that he would give one kroner 
 for every fine specimen of pulex irritans retained 
 for science. The news spread like wild-fire, and 
 Hammerfest swarmed with Lapps of every age and 
 sex. Each Lapp that came to official headquarters 
 felt that he carried on his own person a banking 
 account running (and biting) to several hundred 
 kroners. However, the first two original inhabitants 
 of Finmark examined yielded such splendid results 
 that no further hosts were required, and when this 
 unwelcome news was announced a riot broke out 
 that threatened serious consequences. 
 
 So the summer passed away, and as the expected 
 U-boats had not yet arrived, I hoped to get away 
 for a day or two up the coast and see either the 
 Alten Fjord or the North Cape at close quarters. 
 But better luck was in store. One day I was talk- 
 ing to the Chief of the Customs, and he informed 
 me that on the following day Mr. Arthur Johnsen, 
 who lived on an island called Rolf so, about forty 
 miles north of Hammerfest, would arrive, and that 
 if I cared to hunt wild reindeer Mr. Johnsen would 
 probably allow me to do so for a small fee. The 
 island farmer duly arrived, and told me that there 
 was, indeed, a herd of wild reindeer on his island, 
 but that he had not seen them for some months, 
 but that if I came to the island in early September 
 he would furnish me with a local hunter, and that 
 I should probably be able to find the deer in a day's 
 journey from his home. This was excellent news.
 
 264 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 The island was on the direct northern route of the 
 mail steamers, and as a British Consul I had the 
 right to stop the steamers where and when I 
 pleased, so, after talking to the captain of one of 
 them, I was dropped off the island at 5 a.m. on 
 September 5th, and there found a rowing-boat, 
 with Mr. Johnsen ready to take me to his little 
 farmhouse at Rolfsohavn. 
 
 It was a pretty spot, situated on a bright green 
 flat beneath the towering mountains, and after an 
 excellent breakfast of fresh fish, eggs and coffee 
 served by his kindly wife and sister, I strolled 
 out to the shingly beach, where numerous flocks 
 of Oyster-Catchers, Curlew, Sandpipers and Little 
 Stints were chasing the limpets and sandhoppers. 
 These little birds were exceedingly tame, and 
 allowed me to approach within a few yards. I 
 was also interested to see a Hooded Crow " play- 
 ing " with a female Merlin. The crow chased and 
 twisted after the little Falcon, and then in turn 
 the Merlin chased the Hoodie. There seemed to 
 be no personal animosity in this game, which went 
 on for quite a long time, and then, wearied of the 
 fun, both birds perched on a rock together and 
 each solemnly regarded the other. I had never 
 seen such a thing before. About 6.30 came Erik 
 the hunter, a powerful man about forty years of 
 age, and after some short preparations we started 
 up a winding path to ascend the mountain. 
 
 The going was at first easy, and then we descended 
 to the coast-line and made our way for some five 
 miles over a series of very rough boulders. When 
 further progress along the coast seemed impossible, 
 my guide said we must now ascend to the plateau
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 265 
 
 above. This entailed a straight uphill climb over 
 very bad ground to a height of about 1500 feet. 
 Being somewhat out of condition, I felt the effort, 
 but once on the high ground the walking was 
 better, and we progressed for another mile or two 
 without seeing any sign, old or fresh, of reindeer. 
 My guide now seemed somewhat tired, as he was 
 only just recovering from the serious accident he 
 had recently experienced in falling into the hold 
 of a ship, so we halted for a while and had lunch. 
 Then came another climb of about 500 feet, and 
 we worked westward across the island towards 
 another plateau overlooking the sea, which Erik 
 said was known as a favourite resort of the deer. 
 This entailed a long circuit that took us till three 
 in the afternoon, when we must have walked from 
 the house at least fifteen English miles. I was 
 getting a bit tired, whilst my companion was com- 
 pletely " done," when we came at last to the ridge 
 overlooking the sea. There was nothing in sight, 
 nor had we seen a single fresh sign of deer, and 
 my companion was quite at a loss to know where 
 they had roamed. We lay down, had some more 
 food, and discussed the problem before us. I 
 could not spend another day on the mountains; 
 was there no other ground we could work on the 
 way home? "Well," said Erik, "there is just 
 one place they may be, and that is in a small valley 
 not many hundred yards to our right. Let us look 
 there, and if we do not find them we must return 
 home, for I am exhausted." 
 
 Accordingly we moved on. I was for the moment 
 behind Erik, and glancing past him, suddenly saw 
 a pair of large horns coming up a ridge right in
 
 266 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 front. At once I pulled him to the ground. When 
 he inquired the reason, I told him what I had seen, 
 and like nearly all Norwegians, he was immediately 
 thrown into a palsy of excitement. However, I 
 got him at last to lie still and promise he would 
 not move, and then, crawling forward, I saw three 
 large reindeer males coming slowly up the hill 
 from below. They were not more than sixty 
 yards off, so I aimed at the best-headed one and 
 gave him a shot through the shoulder, to which 
 he dropped dead. I had scarcely reloaded the old 
 Krag Jorgensen rifle when I spied three more adult 
 stags climbing the hill to the right about a hundred 
 and twenty yards away. The third animal seemed 
 to carry very fine horns, so I fired at him, and he 
 stood quite still, whilst the others galloped wildly 
 uphill. As the wounded beast still remained on 
 his feet, I gave him another bullet, which I after- 
 wards found was unnecessary, and he at once 
 collapsed. 
 
 Two other small herds of reindeer now suddenly 
 appeared, climbing the hill to my left. There were 
 about fifteen animals in each, and all, as far as I 
 could see, were stags. They were about two hundred 
 and fifty yards away, and I could easily have run 
 and intercepted them, had I wished to do so, but 
 my glass showed that there was no stag with better 
 horns than those just killed, so I allowed them to 
 pass upwards and on to the plateau behind. 
 
 The spot where I had killed the two reindeer 
 was situated on a steep slope overlooking a quiet 
 arm of the sea, and after grallocking the animals, 
 Erik suggested that we should return home, and 
 fetch the carcases on the following day by rowing
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 267 
 
 along the coast and dragging them down to the water 
 edge. Accordingly we started on our long tramp 
 home, which we reached after six hours' walking. 
 The distance travelled all day could not have been 
 less than thirty-two miles. After an excellent 
 dinner and night's rest Erik, a small boy of twelve, 
 and I rowed along the coast to the valley where 
 I had killed the deer. We ascended the hillside 
 and proceeded to cut the animals into pieces, 
 which we placed in sacks for easy transport down 
 to the boat. Whilst doing so, Erik became faint 
 and unable to continue the work, for the injury 
 to his ribs had been accentuated by our hard 
 exercise on the previous day. I had therefore to 
 do most of the skinning and cutting up myself. 
 
 Just as I finished this task I noticed five men 
 ascending the hill beneath our position. " Those 
 are fishermen coming to hunt reindeer," remarked 
 Erik. " Well, perhaps we can make them useful," 
 I suggested, but the words were hardly uttered 
 when one of the men, carrying a rifle, looked up 
 and saw us, when the whole lot at once took to 
 their heels. Fearing the loss of such excellent 
 transport, I dropped my knife and ran after them, 
 shouting, " Come up here. I will give you meat," 
 an argument which at last seemed to have its effect. 
 The men stopped, and after explaining to them that 
 I had killed two reindeer, and would give them a 
 fore-quarter if they would assist me to carry the 
 rest of the meat down to my boat, they joyfully 
 accepted, and soon we had all the sacks safely 
 transported down the hill and put on board. 
 
 We had just started to row home when to my joy 
 I heard the throb of an engine, and in a few minutes
 
 268 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Arthur Johnsen turned up with his motor-boat and 
 gave us a tow back to the farm, which we reached 
 in little over an hour. The same evening I stopped 
 the mail steamer by telephoning to the mainland, 
 and in four hours reached Hammerfest, after a very 
 pleasant little holiday. I took with me one whole 
 reindeer as a gift to my excellent hostess, Froken 
 Jansen, but after a fortnight of living almost 
 exclusively on this poor meat I wished more than 
 once I had not been so generous. 
 
 On the 10th of September I reported to the 
 Legation in Christiania the arrival off Honningsvaag 
 of the first German submarine, and was told that 
 I was mistaken, and that the boat was an English 
 one proceeding to Archangel. Two days later I 
 reported it again, and knew that my information 
 was correct, as certain Norwegian fishermen whom 
 I had asked to inform me of such an event, had 
 both seen and talked to the crews on board, and 
 they assured me that the men were undoubtedly 
 Germans. Again I was told not to send incorrect 
 messages. Four days later, the 16th, two Norwegian 
 ships, Dania and Knut Hilde, were sunk off Honning- 
 svaag, and our troubles began. From this date 
 until December 1st, when it became dark all day 
 and impossible for the U-boats to operate, some 
 five German submarines continued to sink Nor- 
 wegian ships almost daily between Honningsvaag 
 and the Murman coast. The Russian torpedo 
 boats which had charge of this field of operations 
 were both scarce and inefficient. On October 8th 
 two U-boats coolly went up and shelled the wire- 
 less station at Tsipnavolok on the Murman coast. 
 Whilst so engaged a Russian gunboat came up
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 269 
 
 and opened fire on them, and had quite a little 
 scrap with the underwater boats, which had decidedly 
 the best of it, for they submerged at last un- 
 defeated. This did not prevent the Russian captain 
 from reporting that he had sunk both the U-boats 
 (vide English papers), for which he received medals 
 and decorations. Both U-boats appeared the same 
 evening off Vardo. 
 
 A considerable number of Norwegian vessels 
 
 were sunk by U-boats in September and October, 
 
 and it is not too much to say that in most cases 
 
 these vessels could easily have escaped disaster if 
 
 their captains had not been so obstinate, and had 
 
 come for information, had proceeded east through 
 
 the waters of the territorial limit, or joined our 
 
 convoys. Sometimes it even looked as if they did 
 
 not care as long as they got the insurance money 
 
 for the ships, for they well knew that the Germans 
 
 would in every case safeguard the crews, even in most 
 
 instances towing the ship boats close to the coast 
 
 after sinking the vessels. When dealing with the 
 
 crews of their enemies they acted with their usual 
 
 inhumanity. Any English, American or Roumanian 
 
 crews were simply cast off in their boats in the Polar 
 
 Sea at night, generally many miles from land, and 
 
 left to reach safety if they could. The men of 
 
 more than one boat were completely lost, and others 
 
 died from exposure as soon as they reached land. 
 
 Fortunately, however, the precautions taken by 
 
 our Admiralty were so good that we lost few 
 
 vessels, our only casualties being the G. Y. Short 
 
 (American), October 2nd, the Turgai (Russian), 
 
 October 2nd, Astoria (American), October 9th, 
 
 Bardeby (English), October 10th (which lost one
 
 270 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 boat with eleven men), Bistrita (Roumanian), 
 October llth, Gardepee (English), October 16th, 
 Oolr (English), October 26th. The crews of most 
 of these passed through my hands, and there was 
 much work day and night attending to their affairs 
 and sending them south. 
 
 One October morning a little incident occurred 
 which was somewhat annoying, though not without 
 an element of humour. About 10 a.m. there was 
 a knock at my door, and there entered a small, 
 rough -looking Norwegian sea captain, who had 
 evidently, even at this early hour, been engaged 
 in the worship of Bacchus. The following con- 
 versation then took place 
 
 " Well, what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " I have just arrived from Trondhjem with a 
 cargo of salt, and as I am in a hurry, I want papers 
 to obtain bunker coal to return there this evening." 
 
 " Not so fast, my friend. What kind of salt 
 have you delivered here, German or English ? " 
 
 " It was English." 
 
 " You are quite sure ? J: 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " To whom did you deliver it ? " 
 
 " N. and Co." 
 
 " Where did you obtain the salt and of what 
 firm?" 
 
 " In Trondhjem." 
 
 "But of what firm?" 
 
 At this he hesitated, and on my stating that he 
 could in no case obtain the permit unless he told 
 me, he mentioned the name. 
 
 " Well, before I can give you a permit for bunker 
 coal, I shall have to make inquiries, so return here
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 271 
 
 to-morrow morning at this hour, and if all is in 
 order you shall have the permit." 
 
 At this the captain broke into a storm of rage, 
 and began to abuse me and the British Government, 
 whom he called " cursed policemen interfering with 
 Norwegians engaged in legitimate trade in their 
 own country," and acted in such a manner that 
 I felt sure something was wrong, and as he would 
 not go away, I pushed him out of the room and 
 locked the door, from the far side of which he 
 continued his vituperation for a while. Now N. 
 and Co. were very decent people, but secretly pro- 
 German, so I telegraphed to our Consul in Trond- 
 hjem and asked if the firm of N. and Co. in that 
 town sold English or German salt. The reply 
 came in three hours, " German salt only." 
 
 Punctually at 10 o'clock next morning an aroma 
 of public house announced the advent of the cap- 
 tain, this time both drunk and quarrelsome. In 
 a voice where emotion strove with unsweetened 
 Aquavite he announced that I could now give 
 him the necessary permit. My reply was, " Not 
 on any account. You lied to me. That was 
 German salt ; and you can get out of the room as 
 fast as you like." 
 
 At this his face was contorted with rage, and he 
 screamed, " I shall make you give me the coal." 
 
 A sort of football scrimmage then began, my 
 idea being to get him out of the room as quickly 
 as possible. Very soon I had him out on the 
 landing at the top of the staircase, by which time 
 his passion had risen to fever heat. Then in a 
 moment he seemed to lose control of himself, and 
 shouted, " Now I will make you, you cursed
 
 272 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Englishman," at the same time diving his hands 
 into his pockets as if searching for some weapon. 
 
 This was a *bit too much, so I hit him with all 
 my might on the point of the jaw, and saw him go 
 down the stairs all in a heap. He struck the wall 
 at an angle with a thud, and then rolled to the 
 passage below, just as the people in the Spiessalon, 
 with anxious faces, came out to ascertain the cause 
 of the row. For a moment or two my antagonist 
 lay still, and then got up slowly, opened the door 
 and passed out into the snow. There he zig-zagged 
 at a crawl in the direction of the town. When I 
 had recovered my composure, and assured the 
 people in the hotel that the fellow had been insolent 
 and I had thrown him downstairs, I went down the 
 town to make quite sure that mine enemy could 
 under no circumstances get his coal, and fully 
 expected to meet him again, but this was not the 
 case. He left Hammerfest that evening. How, 
 I do not know. He must have been forced to sail, 
 unless he induced some of his German friends 
 (who were here numerous) to give him some 
 supplies of fuel. I expected there might be a bit 
 of a row about this incident, but I never heard of 
 him again. At any rate I hope he was sore for 
 some days afterwards. 
 
 This was only one of the little contretemps that 
 may occur any day in the life of a Consul in out- 
 of-the-way places. There was only one matter 
 that I was really frightened about, and that was 
 that I should be asked to perform a marriage. 
 Should such a misfortune have occurred, I do not 
 know what I should have done, beyond reading 
 the marriage service and giving a blessing. One
 
 O 
 
 2 
 
 ta 
 X 
 
 H
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 273 
 
 day two sheepish-looking individuals turned up, 
 and by their demeanour I feared the worst was 
 about to happen. But no, they were nice, inoffen- 
 sive creatures, and had married already, and only 
 wanted a passport to England, which I could not give 
 them, so I sent them with a letter to Mr. Wardrup 
 in Bergen, and trust they got through safely. 
 
 On December 1st complete darkness set in, and 
 the U-boats disappeared, one being lost on a rock 
 close to Hammerfest, so I settled up my affairs, and 
 the work for which I had been specially detailed being 
 finished, I took the mail steamer and went south. 
 
 Travel in the North Sea in 1916 was neither a 
 safe business nor an unmixed joy. The week 
 previously the Germans had sunk two of the mail- 
 boats to Newcastle, and now the Venus was going 
 across on what it was expected would probably 
 be the last direct voyage from Bergen. As I went 
 to say farewell to a certain German-Norwegian 
 merchant in Hammerfest who had been very 
 civil to me in obtaining information of value, I 
 found him packing up a box of excellent cigars. 
 " Here is a little gift for you," he remarked, " and 
 let me give you a piece of advice. Last night I 
 was in the Cafe (the regular meeting-place in 
 Hammerfest of German agents), and I heard two 
 men talking about you. They were aware of your 
 departure, and said that your capture was neces- 
 sary for something you did last year. So be careful, 
 and above all do not go home by Bergen." This 
 afforded me some amusement, for I was quite 
 aware of the incident to which he referred, and 
 resolved not to be caught napping. 
 
 After five weary days I arrived at Bergen, and
 
 274 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 then walked round the docks to spend the night 
 at Smeby's Hotel, which for years had been the 
 resort of English people, and where I did not 
 expect to meet any of the foreign element. Imagine 
 my disgust when I found the place lit up with 
 electric light and a gold-braided German hall porter 
 installed to greet the visitors. On inquiry I found 
 that there was not a bed to be had in the town 
 owing to the recent fire, but as I only required 
 shelter for one night, they would rig up something 
 in a box-room. After hiding my bag and any 
 source of identification, I signed the register as 
 " Dr. Stuart," and descended to the dining-room 
 to have supper. I had hardly seated myself when 
 a pleasant-faced man, whom at first I took to be 
 a Norwegian, came and occupied the chair next 
 to me and began to talk. He asked where I had 
 come from, and about my reasons for being in Nor- 
 way at such a time, when, lying freely, I told him 
 I was a Scotch doctor taking a holiday, and had 
 been fishing up north near Trondhjem, and that 
 my name was Stuart. I then waxed enthusi- 
 astic about the joys of salmon fishing, speaking with 
 a broad Scotch accent. " Oh," he replied, " I 
 thought you were Consul Millais"; at which I 
 laughed, and said there was a man on the steamer 
 of that name, but that he had gone on to Christi- 
 ania, where I was myself going the following day. 
 After this conversation languished, and presently 
 he got up and left the room, evidently taking no 
 further interest in me, but not before I had noted 
 that his clothes and boots were obviously German. 
 Next morning I went to see my old friend 
 the harbour master a man who knew as much
 
 AN ARCTIC RESIDENCE 275 
 
 about German spies as most people. Until Decem- 
 ber 1916 there were some fifteen regular German 
 agents resident in Bergen who did nothing but 
 report the arrival and departure of ships from this 
 port, and send messages by wireless to the sub- 
 marines waiting outside. The Norwegian Govern- 
 ment were in terror of the Central Powers, and, 
 fearful of taking strong measures, had allowed 
 these pests to destroy their own shipping to a 
 great extent, but at last, in the face of public 
 opinion, backed by pressure from the Allied 
 Governments, they took measures, and informed 
 these gentry that their presence was no longer 
 welcome in Norway. Consequently the docks were 
 not so closely watched as heretofore, though one 
 or two spies still existed there in close disguise. 
 My friend the harbour master knew all these men. 
 and I got him to signal to me from the ship (to 
 which I had already sent my luggage) that the 
 coast was clear, and then, well wrapped up to escape 
 recognition, I strolled down to the landing-stage. 
 
 The whole place seemed deserted, except for one 
 poor woman accompanied by two small children, 
 who was sitting on a box crying bitterly. She 
 looked like an Englishwoman, so I addressed her 
 and asked if I could be of any assistance, when 
 she answered me in pleasant broad Scotch. It 
 appeared that she was the wife of a prominent 
 Roumanian minister, and had recently fled from 
 Bucharest, when it seemed the Germans were 
 about to enter and capture the whole country. 
 She had been a whole month on the journey, via 
 Petrograd and Haparanda in Lapland, and often 
 half starved and ill-treated on the way. Now at
 
 276 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 last she had reached what she thought was safety, 
 only to find that in all probability she and her 
 children would be drowned or taken prisoner. 
 Courage for the moment had failed her, and all 
 the future seemed black. I endeavoured to cheer 
 her up, and promised to look after the children if 
 anything serious happened, so she presently smiled, 
 dried her tears and helped me to get her very 
 heavy box on my back, and thus accompanied 
 me on to the ship. 
 
 We left in the darkness, some hours after our 
 appointed time, the only other passengers being 
 three jolly Norwegian captains (all of whose ships 
 had been torpedoed, and now going to get other 
 vessels in England). About 3 a.m., when well 
 out to sea, there was a terrific crash on the side 
 of the ship, and I thought we were in for it. I 
 ran to the lady's cabin, and telling her not to be 
 alarmed, but to dress the children, then went up 
 on deck, and found to my relief that we had only 
 charged into the wreckage of some ship that had 
 recently been torpedoed. When daylight came 
 we had some anxious hours, but nothing further 
 happened to spoil our voyage, so after another 
 night at sea, we reached Newcastle without incident. 
 I can hardly describe the joy of that poor Scotch 
 girl on landing in England. It was a sight to 
 make one's heart glad, and no doubt she had a 
 happy reunion with her family, which she had not 
 seen for eleven years. 
 
 Soon after this all passenger communication with 
 Norway ceased. Such travellers as found it neces- 
 sary to go to the Scandinavian countries and Russia 
 were carried by one of His Majesty's destroyers.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FEALAR, 1918 
 
 THE forest of Fealar, the property of the Duke of 
 Athole, lies in a large amphitheatre between the 
 old deer-grounds of Mar and Athole. It is a huge 
 pocket, bounded on the north by Glen Bruar and 
 Gaick, on the west by Forest Lodge, Athole, and 
 on the east by the main sanctuary of Mar. To 
 the south, beyond the great Glen Mohr, the forest 
 of Invercauld just touches it, whilst to the south- 
 east there are the large sheep-grounds of Glen- 
 fernate, which embrace some of the finest grassy 
 glens in the centre of Scotland. All around, the 
 main ridges practically form the boundaries, and 
 from these descend numerous burns, and in this 
 punchbowl of some 18,000 acres are situated fine 
 hollows and corries where abundant grass is to be 
 found and numerous hinds make their permanent 
 home. The Lodge lies in the centre of the forest 
 at 1700 feet, and from here numbers of little rivers 
 move towards the north-west and empty into the 
 Tarf and Tilt, which last debouch from a small lake 
 (Loch Tilt) in the forest itself. Altogether it is a 
 pleasant, easily-walked forest, with its farthest 
 points at no greater distance than five miles from 
 the Lodge, whilst the heather itself is for the most 
 part well burnt, and contains little " haggy " 
 ground, so distressful to the sportsman. There i 
 
 277
 
 278 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 quite a good stock of grouse on the place, which 
 are seldom " hard " shot, owing to the necessity of 
 keeping the forest quiet in the later part of the season, 
 whilst Ptarmigan are abundant, notably on Ben 
 Ivan and Carn-na-Righ (I saw a flock of two hundred 
 one rough day), though kept somewhat in check by 
 the Golden Eagles that constantly hunt them. In 
 the early part of the season few stags make their 
 home in Fealar, as it is essentially a " late " hind- 
 forest, but when the big harts work in from Mar early 
 in October it is swarming with deer, and attracts 
 many of the best stags from this famous forest 
 when the wind goes to the north-west. These old 
 fellows know the marches only too well, for a single 
 hind moving in Fealar is enough to set them 
 travelling for home at the slightest alarm, even 
 if in retreat they have to go down-wind. Mar 
 itself, perhaps the finest, as well as the largest, 
 forest in Scotland, is seldom " hard " shot, and 
 contains an immense number of stags. The poorer 
 quality work north to the edges of Glenfiddick, Glen- 
 f eshie, Gaickand Rothiemurchus ground, but the best 
 stags summer just over the ridge of Fealar, at the 
 heads of the numerous Tburns from which the main 
 Dee valley receives its waters. They work west- 
 wards, looking for hinds when the season advances, 
 remaining for about a month on Fealar; then, re- 
 crossing the ridges, they descend to the main Dee 
 valley for the winter, whilst a few cross over Fealar 
 and winter in the Athole forest. 
 
 In the autumn of 1918 my uncle, Mr. Melville 
 Gray, with Mr. John Calder and Mr. Wedderburn, 
 rented the forest of Fealar, and invited me to spend 
 the last fortnight. Owing to the depletion of
 
 FEALAR 279 
 
 labour, due to the war, the forest was heavily 
 understaffed. There was only one stalker, Mac- 
 Dougall, one good pony and a shepherd, to do all 
 the work of bringing in stags and cutting them up, 
 whilst a keeper and a boy lent additional assistance 
 in dispatching the carcases, so generally we all had 
 to lend a hand at these onerous tasks, whilst for 
 the most part the actual hunting had to be done 
 by the sportsman working alone. Even without 
 local knowledge, I soon found that stalking alone 
 in such a forest as Fealar presented no grave diffi- 
 culties. The winds were, for the most part, con- 
 stant, and seldom tricky, whilst the only task was 
 learning the confines of each beat so as not to 
 interfere with one's brother sportsman. This small 
 trouble, however, was soon overcome by the aid 
 of a large-scale map. 
 
 Fealar Lodge is situated high up amongst the 
 hills some twenty-two miles from Pitlochry, and 
 its inaccessibility has made it little known, but 
 adds much to its charm. An old fellow named 
 Milburn drove me in his dogcart from Pitlochry, 
 with one halt at Straloch, up the long Glenfernate 
 Glen and over the mountains by a rough mountain 
 road till we descended by tortuous ways to the 
 Forest Lodge. Even then he had to return for 
 the night to his home at Straloch, so his gallant 
 horse did not less than forty-eight miles that day, 
 an unusual effort for the Highlands. 
 
 The following day (September 29th) my uncle and 
 I went north to the hills above Loch Tilt to fetch 
 in a small stag shot the previous day by Mr. Wedder- 
 burn. We took with us one Sandy, a local shepherd, 
 and a pony to carry the deer, and had not proceeded
 
 280 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 far when, spying ahead, I found numerous small 
 groups of hinds on the hillsides to the north. The 
 dead stag lay on the slope of Corrie-na-Cairn, and 
 putting my glass on its rocky face, I saw a herd of 
 some thirty hinds lying composedly there, with 
 another lot of more than fifty higher up amongst 
 the stony ridges. It was most unlikely that there 
 would not be " a hart of grease " with them at this 
 season, and further search revealed a good nine- 
 pointer lying in the midst of the lower hinds. When 
 we arrived at some sheltering mounds on the lower 
 slopes, the difficulty of getting at this stag was 
 manifest. The wind blew straight down the hill, 
 the line to the north-west was impossible, as the 
 ground was quite open, whilst to the south the main 
 valley of the Tilt was blocked by further herds of 
 deer. There only remained, therefore, the straight 
 uphill advance, rendered difficult enough by the 
 fact that it was necessary to cross two wide marshes 
 of pale yellow grass, which would be within full view 
 of all those watching eyes above. My uncle in- 
 sisted that I should take the stalk, so with some 
 misgivings I commenced a long and difficult crawl 
 of about a quarter of a mile. The first marsh was 
 quite as wet as I expected, and I was soon soaked 
 from head to boots, but on surveying the hinds 
 above I saw they had not moved. A short space of 
 rough, burnt ground then gave some relief and 
 slight cover, and then I entered the second marsh. 
 Over this I went inch by inch, since I was now 
 within 600 yards of the lowest deer, and could not 
 fail to be somewhat noticeable. But it is wonderful 
 what you can do in face of deer if you only go 
 slowly enough and never raise your head, so this
 
 FEALAR 281 
 
 obstacle, too, was safely surmounted. Now the 
 ground was more broken into little mounds of 
 heather and stone, but even here I constantly came 
 into view of some of the hinds, and as I approached 
 within 400 yards, the most intense caution had to 
 be exercised. At last I saw a higher ridge only 
 100 yards ahead, where, if I could reach it, I should 
 be at any rate within a long shot of my stag. To 
 pass this short space was perhaps the most difficult 
 piece of stalking, but with patience and flat crawling 
 it was accomplished. 
 
 Peering over the ridge I saw that six of the nearest 
 hinds were up feeding within 200 yards of my 
 position. To the left the ground was quite open, 
 whilst to the right other hinds came into view. I 
 got out my glass, and found the stag lying quietly 
 at about 300 yards distance. It was a long shot, 
 but I decided to take it as soon as he rose to his 
 feet. 
 
 With the remarkable accuracy of the modern 
 high -velocity rifle it is only necessary to get a 
 perfectly comfortable position to ensure success 
 at a long shot, so I moved about until such a spot 
 was found, and waited for the stag to rise. Soon he 
 began to roar, answering the stags higher up the 
 glen, and at a particularly loud challenge from the 
 hills above he gave one glance upwards and sprang 
 to his feet. I took a very steady aim, and on the 
 shot saw him stumble and walk slowly forward; 
 a second shot missed, but the third, taking him well 
 behind the shoulder, laid him dead on the spot. 
 
 When my uncle, who had been much interested 
 in the stalk, came up, we had lunch and packed 
 our stag, a good beast of sixteen stone, on the pony
 
 282 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 and sent him home. I now ascended to the top 
 of the range, hoping to see something of two fine 
 stags that had passed out of the valley in the 
 direction of Mar at the shots, and also to survey 
 the big valley over the Tarf where a large stag had 
 been heard roaring the previous evening. How- 
 ever, just as I reached the open crest a heavy snow- 
 storm came on and soon enveloped all things in 
 darkness. I waited two hours, hoping it would 
 clear, and then descended to the valley, where I 
 found that Sandy had returned, so we loaded up 
 the stag shot by Wedderburn and returned home. 
 September 30th. My indefatigable uncle, who is 
 seventy-three years of age and yet a splendid 
 walker, suggested a visit to-day to the far ground 
 above the Tarf valley, which a good stag was known 
 to frequent with his hinds. About 10.30 we found 
 him on the ridge of the Mar march, and after 
 watching him for some time, he moved still further 
 south, and lay down with all his harem in full view 
 of all the ground below. The wind was north-east, 
 and so left nothing but the inevitable uphill crawl. 
 The ground was, on the whole, more broken than 
 that I experienced two days before, but there were 
 certain hollows on the upper parts of the ridge 
 which it was not possible to spy from below, and 
 one of these, in fact, proved my undoing. A crawl 
 over one marsh in full view was soon accomplished 
 safely, and then, the deer being out of sight above, 
 I had nothing to do but walk straight uphill to 
 within some 450 yards of the resting animals. Then 
 I took a short rest, got the rifle out, and began to 
 crawl upwards to a small mound from which I 
 hoped to get a long shot, or, at any rate, study
 
 FEALAR 283 
 
 future developments. I was, in fact, in the act 
 of creeping up to this obstacle, when suddenly out 
 of a little pocket up sprang a hind and calf about 
 100 yards to my left. At the same moment eight 
 hinds appeared on the sky-line to the left, and at 
 once noticed the startled deer, and made a sudden 
 move, which I knew would be noticed by the big 
 herd of deer in front and above me. Accordingly 
 I moved upwards rapidly, and lay on the mound 
 expecting to get in a long shot. By the fraction of 
 a second, however, I was just too late. All the hinds 
 at some 400 yards distance had run together and 
 massed round the stag, who, being so near the 
 march, had no intention of halting to study causes 
 of alarm, but immediately ran over the edge of 
 the hill and out of sight. After this disappointment 
 a long walk round the tops and above the Loch Tilt 
 Glen proved a failure as far as stags were concerned, 
 and we found nothing except large herds of hinds. 
 October 1st. I went south to-day to Glen Mohr, 
 between the mountains of Ben Ivan and Carn-na- 
 Righ, to fetch in a stag shot by Calder on the 
 previous day. On the top of Carn-na-Righ was a 
 nice ten-pointer, but I decided to leave him alone, 
 as he looked like a young and growing stag, and in 
 Glen Mohr only found some eight unshootable 
 beasts. Having sent home Calder's stag, Sandy 
 Kennedy, the shepherd, and I climbed to the 
 top of Ben Ivan and descended Glen Beig without 
 seeing anything of interest. However, in the home 
 beat above the Fealar burn I discovered a big herd 
 of deer, quite two hundred hinds with two excellent 
 stags, a nine- and a ten-pointer. After a long wait to 
 allow them to feed out of the glen to some broken
 
 284 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 flats on the top, we at last advanced and got within 
 100 yards of the hinds. Both stags were roaring 
 well, and I felt certain of a shot, when suddenly a 
 dense mist descended and both stags ceased roaring. 
 This was bad luck, and though I kept cutting into 
 various groups of hinds within thirty yards of 
 them, I did not again see either of the stags before 
 darkness set in and operations for the day were 
 over. 
 
 October 2nd. Out for the first time with Mac- 
 Dougall, the stalker, on the best beat. We sur- 
 prised a fine ten-pointer on topping the shoulder of 
 the hill above the Lodge, and as he would be likely 
 to settle again soon in our ground if not followed 
 at once, we worked south round the Dualter Glen, 
 and at last decided to go for a big nine-pointer 
 that was roaring well and seemed quite settled up 
 near the Mar march. We had, in fact, ascended 
 more than half of the steep face above the 
 burn, when, looking back, we saw the ten-pointer 
 we had moved early in the morning with his hinds 
 on the other side of the burn we had lately crossed. 
 MacDougall said that this stag was by far the better 
 one, and had a good head, which was evident, so 
 we retraced our steps, made a fresh stalk over easy, 
 broken ground, and came within 130 yards, at 
 which distance I killed him. This stag carried 
 a good head even for Fealar, all the points being 
 long and black with a nice rough horn. A long 
 walk round Loch Tilt disclosed no good stags, but 
 several inferior ones. 
 
 October 3rd. Away to the south only saw hinds 
 and two small stags. 
 
 October 4<th. Again on the good ground with Mac-
 
 FEALAR 285 
 
 Dougall. We found no good beast till midday, 
 when we discovered an excellent stag with a good 
 head close to the top of the Little Cairn, within 
 100 yards of the Mar march. Both he and his few 
 hinds seemed very kittle; they had doubtless only 
 just come in from Mar, and were anxious to return 
 there, but the stag kept roaring and rounding them 
 up, so that when a hind showed a disposition to 
 move he always headed her back. The wind was 
 good and steady, so we worked up from below, and 
 I knew I should have to shoot quickly as soon as 
 I came in view. The deer had already run together, 
 and were just about to go, whilst the stag himself 
 was more than half covered by a hind, when I took 
 a very quick shot. At any rate I thought I had 
 missed him, and as he galloped away, luckily clear 
 of hinds, I made a fortunate shot and knocked 
 him over stone dead. The first shot had hit rather 
 low, and doubtless he would not have gone far had 
 I not fired a second time. This stag carried a very 
 fine rough head of eleven points, 33J inches long, 
 which is good measurement for Scotland. In the 
 afternoon we found a desirable eleven-pointer just 
 over the Mar march, and as his hinds were working 
 in to Fealar, we made sure he would follow sooner 
 or later. From a high perch on the side of the 
 mountain we watched him lording it over an 
 immense concourse of deer on the flat below, but 
 after a three-hour wait he had not shifted his 
 position, so we went home cold and hungry. 
 
 October 5th. Off early this morning with a 
 shepherd boy to ascend Ben Ivan, where I hoped 
 to find a stag shot two days before in the mist by 
 Wedderburn, and to drag it down to the pony path.
 
 286 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 It was a lovely day, the first we had had for weeks, 
 and ascending the Fealar burn I saw herds of deer 
 on both sides of the glen. Both these lots could 
 not fail to see me, and moved upwards to the ridges 
 of the hills, but seemed by no means alarmed, as 
 we kept steadily moving. Presently I sat down 
 and spied them both. That on the right consisted 
 of a big eight-pointer with about eighty hinds, and 
 those on the left, which seemed much shyer, as they 
 always were near the Mar march, were twenty-five 
 hinds, led by a noble-looking stag with a very good 
 head. The horns of this stag were exceptional, so 
 I considered the possibility of stalking him if he 
 would allow me to continue on my route until the 
 hill shut him out from view. Deer were always 
 very shy on this particular ridge, as there was 
 little or no feeding there, so I did not quite expect 
 such good luck as that they would stay in their 
 present position. Yet the stag had such a good 
 head it was worth while having a try, even if I had 
 to follow him for an hour or two and he did not leave 
 our ground. 
 
 Accordingly we resumed our journey in full view 
 of the deer, and continued up the glen for another 
 half a mile, during which the hinds watched me 
 closely all the time, only moving slowly uphill 
 until a rounded shoulder of the hill completely 
 hid them from view. Then I went straight uphill 
 towards the Mar march, until I thought I was about 
 on their level, and cut back straight upward towards 
 the point where I had last viewed them. 
 
 All went well until I began to surmount the 
 rounded shoulder, which was very bare, when I 
 detected some brown spots below and to my left;
 
 FEALAR 287 
 
 these spots proved to be six hinds, all lying chewing 
 the cud, with heads facing downhill. My position 
 was somewhat exposed, but I knew I should be 
 able to crawl past them if they did not rise. Leaving 
 Willie Milburn, the shepherd boy, with orders not 
 to move until he heard a shot, I now crawled for- 
 ward for two or three hundred yards, and saw in 
 front a low heather ridge which I felt sure would 
 be within shot of my deer if they had not moved 
 on over the top. The hinds below were quite quiet, 
 so I soon passed them easily, and gradually wormed 
 my way up to the coveted point. Looking over 
 the top with rifle in position I saw all the hinds 
 within eighty yards and looking straight at me. 
 The stag's head only showed over the top of some 
 rocks to the left, and seeing they were certain to bolt, 
 I took a careful shot at him and missed. As good 
 luck would have it he galloped straight uphill, 
 giving me a second shot, when I planted a bullet 
 just in the right place, and the noble beast fell to 
 rise no more. That is always a moment of ex- 
 pectancy when we walk up to a fallen stag which 
 we know carries a good head. Is it going to be as 
 good or even better than we expect? Generally 
 some failure in the points detracts from the coveted 
 royal and we have only got a good ten- or eleven- 
 pointer. Now, as I stood over the fallen beast, 
 I realised I had killed a royal, and a good one too, 
 with nice thick horns 33J inches long, and excellent 
 back tops, all of which means so much in the shape 
 of a head. 
 
 Willie and I dragged the stag down to the burn, 
 where the pony could easily load it. Here I 
 gralloched it, had lunch and crossed into Glen
 
 288 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 Beig. Then it took a good hour to climb the steep 
 face of Ben Ivan, and another to search for Wedder- 
 burn's stag, which we could not find. 1 On the top 
 I saw lots of Ptarmigan and four nice stags, but 
 they were on the Mar ground, so, feeling virtuous, 
 I let them alone. Coming home I found the same 
 eight-pointer, now with a hundred hinds, on the 
 Fealar hill, but although I stalked him and got 
 close in, I considered him as being unworthy even 
 for the larder. 
 
 The following Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were 
 hopeless for stalking, owing to a heavy gale, floods 
 of rain and dense mist. 
 
 October 7th. The mist was still dense on all the 
 hill-tops, but I went south-west to the slopes on 
 Carn-na-Righ, as there was just a chance of finding 
 a stag on the mist edge where it could be seen. 
 Soon after leaving the road and moving up the face 
 of the mountain I heard a stag whose roar was so 
 loud and low-pitched that I knew he must be an 
 old fellow. The wind was here blowing straight 
 downhill, and after working up, until viewing was 
 possible, I just made out three hinds grazing slowly 
 uphill. The stag soon roared just beyond them, 
 and I had hopes he would sooner or later come down 
 to these hinds, or that they were the outliers of a 
 bigger herd. 
 
 After waiting half an hour, during which the 
 hinds moved further and further into the mist, 
 I crawled after them and kept them just in sight at 
 
 1 As a matter of fact it was not found until 1919, for Mr. 
 Wedderburn completely lost himself that evening, and landed 
 up in the Dee valley, where he spent the night in a shepherd's 
 hut, only returning next day.
 
 THE BEST-HORNED STAG SELDOM GETS THE HlNDS.
 
 FEALAR 289 
 
 about eighty yards. It was ticklish work, as they 
 frequently stopped grazing and looking back in 
 my direction. So it was only possible to creep 
 forward slowly when their heads were down. At 
 last I saw the horns of the stag in the mist, which, 
 lifting slightly for a moment, just disclosed his 
 shadowy form. It was, therefore, now or never, 
 so I let go at what seemed the body of the animal. 
 At the shot the stag rushed downhill, a sure sign 
 of a hit, and coming into better light I got in a 
 second bullet behind the shoulder and finished him. 
 He proved to be a large eight-pointer with a strong 
 and wide head (32 inches) ; and so home early to tea. 
 October 8th. Another day on the home beat with 
 MacDougall. In the morning we found a nine- 
 pointer above the Dualter burn and got into him 
 nicely when I made a bad miss at 120 yards. On 
 crossing to the high ground along the Mar march 
 we looked back and spied four big lots of deer above 
 the Mach-na-Dovie burn. In the centre herd was 
 a fine large eleven-pointer, so we at once retraced 
 our steps and worked round and above the deer 
 till it was easy to drop down through a marsh to 
 within 130 yards of the stag we had marked. 
 When he came into sight I fear I was somewhat 
 careless in taking position, as lying in a swamp, the 
 rushes obscured a complete view of the stag. 
 However, the resulting miss was inexcusable. All 
 the deer now galloped downhill to cross the burn 
 at the foot and ascend the far face, and in doing 
 so our stag had to go out of sight into a deep gully, 
 which gave us time to run about a hundred yards 
 downhill and expect a very long shot. As the 
 
 hinds climbed up the face and the stag came into, 
 u
 
 290 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 view MacDougall remarked, " I think he is too far." 
 " Well, I don't know," I replied. " I am going to 
 have a shot." Allowing merely an ordinary full 
 sight, though the distance was a good 300 yards, 
 I pressed the trigger, and the bullet struck just to 
 the right of the stag's neck. Throwing out the 
 fired cartridge I tried again, and the stag fell head 
 over heels off the path, got up again, ran another 
 few yards and collapsed. It was a satisfactory shot, 
 but hardly wiped out my two bad misses. The 
 stag had long horns, 33 inches, and eleven points, 
 but the brows and bays were somewhat inferior. 
 
 As we kept the other three herds in view, for they 
 had now massed together in one scattered group of 
 some two hundred animals, we noticed that the only 
 other large stag, a nine-pointer, was a fine animal, 
 and worth shooting, so, having gralloched our 
 stag, we followed, and had a most delightful stalk 
 of about half a mile, crawling up the side of a 
 burn until we could get no further, as the deer 
 were all scattered on the open face in front of us. 
 The moving of large herds of deer at this season 
 always means constant excitement, for several 
 fresh stags had come in, and were busy trying to 
 steal groups of hinds from the one master stag. 
 
 At first this master stag kept far from us, driving 
 out four of the new-comers, but in time he worked 
 back to the centre of the main body of the hinds, 
 and was at last about 170 yards from our position. 
 As the light was beginning to fail I resolved to try 
 him, and the result was a bull's eye through the 
 heart. He ran, as usual, about thirty yards and 
 then rolled over dead. He was a grand heavy 
 beast, but one top was spoilt by ending abruptly,
 
 FEALAR 291 
 
 October 9th. To shoot an ordinary stag at this 
 season of the year in a good Highland forest is an 
 easy matter, but to secure a really good specimen 
 with a good head often requires hard physical 
 exercise and some patience. Somehow I expected 
 to find that good one to-day at the head of the big 
 corrie on Dualter, where there was splendid grazing, 
 for from here into Mar there was a regular road 
 made by the big fellows as they came to look for 
 Fealar's hinds at this season. A walk of about 
 two miles brought me to the shoulder, which 
 viewed this large punchbowl, and I was not dis- 
 appointed when I heard a perfect chorus of roars 
 proceeding from the high, grassy slopes close to the 
 Mar march. For two days the wind had been 
 right south-west and had brought the best stags 
 in. The glass revealed five good stags striving 
 for the possession of the hinds and creating the 
 usual turmoil and constant watchfulness on the 
 part of one who appeared to be the master stag 
 a big black fellow with at least eleven or twelve 
 points. He was worth going to some trouble for, 
 so I made light of the long circuit and stiff climb 
 up the face of the mountain which it was necessary 
 to make to ensure a position down-wind and 
 above the herd. Having arrived near the summit, 
 I came suddenly on a fine stag with six hinds that 
 were just coming in from Mar, and which could not 
 have been viewed from below. It was a somewhat 
 unfortunate contretemps, as in their swift retreat 
 down-wind the deer I was stalking may have 
 caught a glimpse of them. At any rate, when after 
 an hour I arrived at the pass where I had hoped to 
 intercept the master stag, it was more than a little 
 
 u 2
 
 292 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 disappointing to see the whole herd working slowly 
 over the ridge in front of me and crossing the 
 march. Of course, the big fellow looked better 
 than ever immediately he touched Naboth's Vine- 
 yard, but then they always do under such circum- 
 stances, and I had reluctantly to seat myself and 
 watch his gradual disappearance. 
 
 It was now nearly twelve o'clock, and I had spent 
 a good part of the day in this unsuccessful stalk, 
 so I picked up the rifle and walked rapidly south 
 along the march for two miles towards Loch Tilt, 
 till I came to the " Little Cairn," where I found a 
 large herd of deer with what appeared to be a fine 
 stag lying in their midst. I could not see him very 
 well, but as his horns seemed to be large, I crawled 
 to within 300 yards, when a further inspection proved 
 that his head was not good enough. 
 
 Whilst inspecting the herd I now saw two other 
 stags, both big beasts, come in from Mar and stand 
 on the ridge of the steep hill about a quarter of a 
 mile directly ahead. They appeared to offer an 
 easy stalk, so I retreated a short distance and 
 eventually came down on them from above. I 
 took a side shot at the largest stag and one at the 
 neck of the second beast as he ran, and both fell 
 at once. Whilst reloading, the first stag rose to 
 his feet again and hobbled round a corner, but as 
 he seemed to be done for I did not fire again until 
 he was going over the ridge, and then hit him again, 
 I think too low. I now ran, as I thought, to 
 intercept him from getting down into a rocky 
 gully, where it would be difficult to recover the 
 carcase, and in doing so completely lost the wounded 
 beast, who must have turned uphill and crossed
 
 FEALAR 293 
 
 on to Mar. At any rate, a further search for an 
 hour yielded no trace of the animal, which, with 
 regret, I was compelled to leave. The stag thus 
 lost must have been a very large one, as the smaller 
 of the two which I now gralloched, weighed, on 
 getting it home, 16 stone 12 Ibs. 
 
 The day was getting on, so, after a hurried lunch, 
 I made for the home beat and worked up the burn, 
 where deer were to be seen in all directions, but 
 nothing exceptional being in view I passed on to 
 the west towards the Tilt, above which a big stag 
 was challenging loudly. Here the ground was 
 broken into grassy hillocks, and as nothing came 
 in the way, I succeeded in walking right up to the 
 roaring stag, till I saw his horns suddenly appearing 
 within seventy yards. He was close to the pony 
 path and within a mile and a half of the Lodge, 
 so, deciding to shoot him, I lay down, and when he 
 showed put a bullet in behind his shoulders. 
 
 October IQth. There being many stags to be 
 brought in, I took it easy in the morning, and went 
 out in the afternoon for a stroll up the Fealar burn. 
 Here, at the head, I found two lots of hinds, each 
 with a stag, and stalked both to within 150 yards, 
 but as neither of the stags seemed exceptional, 
 I retreated, and came home to tea at an early hour, 
 
 October 12th. The last day, and a heavy mist 
 on all the high tops. First I went up the Fealar 
 burn, and then took the hill to the east, intending to 
 visit the big punchbowl once more. Whilst climb- 
 ing the face of Gealcharn somehow I must have 
 circled too much to the right, for after half an hour's 
 walk I found myself over a valley in which I 
 thought was the Dualter burn, with a deep- voiced
 
 294 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 stag roaring on the hill opposite and within 200 
 yards. I was in the act of stooping low to com- 
 mence a crawl when suddenly I noticed two men 
 doing exactly the same thing about fifty yards to 
 my right. It was evident that the mist had 
 deceived me, and I was about a mile off my beat, 
 and so, having apologised to the stalkers, I retreated 
 up the hill and re-ascended Gealcharn. 
 
 Whilst going along the slope I suddenly heard a 
 loud bellow in the mist immediately above me, and 
 at once lay down and awaited developments. As 
 nothing appeared I crawled uphill, and then saw 
 six hinds looking anxiously about. Soon they 
 retreated further into the mist, and I followed them. 
 Then for a moment evolved the stag, a fine beast 
 with a good head. He ran forward, evidently 
 slightly alarmed. I just got a glimpse of his form, 
 and so fired and heard the bullet strike, but half 
 an hour's search in the mist revealed nothing, 
 though I had hopes the animal might be found 
 another day. Arrived at the punchbowl at the 
 top of Alt-an Buidh Ghil I saw there one fine stag, 
 which somehow got a puff of my wind and went 
 straight on uphill into Mar without stopping. The 
 main glen revealed nothing but a few hinds, so I 
 crossed and climbed the hill of Stron-a-Boididh, 
 and kept along the Mar march till I reached my 
 favourite spying-point, the edge of the steep cliff 
 above the flats. The mist now began to lift, and 
 I sat for awhile watching the deer on the Mar flats 
 below, and the usual herd that dotted the slopes 
 above the Geal na Caillich Buidhe and the green 
 slopes beyond. The steep hill where I sat was 
 seamed with numerous paths and the tracks of
 
 FEALAR 295 
 
 travelling stags coming into Fealar, and I was a 
 little disappointed not to see any moving on the 
 face. At this time of year stags travel as much by 
 day as by night. Down on the flat below a big 
 stag was chasing another with all the assiduity of 
 an angry dog, and at last he hunted his enemy right 
 off the low ground up to the bog round Loch Tilt, 
 where I could still see the hunt going on a mile 
 and a half away. 
 
 The ground about Loch Tilt had not been visited 
 for a fortnight, and as the mist was lifting and several 
 stags were roaring there I got up to resume my 
 journey. The moment, however, I assumed an 
 upright position I saw a vision of horns round a 
 shoulder directly below me. Four large points on 
 one top meant something out of the way, so I got 
 into position at once to fire as soon as the beast 
 appeared. Soon he came on, feeding quietly, and 
 gave me an easy broadside at sixty yards. He 
 fell at once to the shot, and then turned over and 
 rolled from the top of the hill to the bottom, a 
 distance of about 400 feet. There being no rocks 
 to cause damage, the horns were not injured. I 
 now climbed down quickly, expecting to find I had 
 shot at least a royal, but alas, though the horns 
 were thick and long and the head a very good one, 
 the points only showed eleven with four on the left 
 top. It was rather unusual to find an adult stag 
 at this season feeding so eagerly, but I have noticed 
 it once or twice before, and think that there are 
 always a few stags which never go with hinds nor 
 have the courage to fight for them. These stags 
 invariably keep apart from turmoil in the rutting 
 season, and in consequence almost invariably have
 
 296 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 good heads. In this instance the stomach of the 
 stag was crammed full of reindeer moss (Cladifer 
 rangiferind), and not a blade of grass was to be 
 seen. 
 
 After lunch I went to the flats west of Loch Tilt 
 and spied the ground carefully. Five stags were 
 there with small groups of hinds, but not seeing 
 anything better than a wide nine-pointer, I re- 
 crossed the burn and made for the rising slopes above 
 Geal-na -Caillich Buidhe, where stags were calling 
 in all directions. 
 
 So numerous are the deer on this ground at this 
 season that it is extremely difficult to progress 
 without moving some of them. Though it makes 
 stalking the more interesting, it is, nevertheless, 
 a matter of patience and time to get within range 
 of any particular beast the stalker desires, and often 
 one false move will set the whole mass of deer 
 moving up to the open slopes above, from which 
 they can view all approaches. 
 
 An hour spent in careful search of the whole 
 ground revealed one ten-pointer with long and wide- 
 spread horns, certainly one of the best heads I had 
 seen this season. He occupied a central position 
 with his hinds, whilst three other large bodies of 
 deer guarded the flanks on either side. By carefully 
 surveying the ground I saw that there was just 
 one possible line of advance up a burn, but even this 
 ended in an open marsh, beyond which I could not 
 see from my present position any chance of getting 
 nearer than 400 yards. 
 
 Time was now advancing, so, after a very slow 
 and careful crawl, I worked uphill towards the deer 
 in the bed of the burn itself. Many of the hinds
 
 FEALAR 297 
 
 on all the line of ridges ahead were lying and watch- 
 ing below, and I was often in full view, but at last 
 I reached the rounded hillock in front of the marsh 
 and found I could go no further. It was a case of 
 waiting for the deer to move into a better position 
 (which seemed most unlikely), or taking a shot at 
 400 yards. Two hours went by, and the deer rose 
 and began to feed, but not to move over the ridge, 
 so I decided to try the shot. The light was bad, 
 as the sun was setting behind the deer, and I was 
 not surprised when I saw the bullet cut the peat 
 beneath the stag. 
 
 After this all the deer at once moved upwards 
 to the open slopes, and again I could not advance 
 nearer than 500 yards, so I showed myself to put 
 them over the ridge, and saw them break into 
 several lots just as it began to get dark. 
 
 I now made for the path for home, and suddenly, 
 hearing a stag roaring just in front of me, not half 
 a mile from the Lodge, decided that if I could see 
 him he should die. Deer were moving everywhere 
 up on the shoulder to my right, but apparently the 
 roaring stag and his hinds, who were in a hollow, 
 had not seen them, so when I looked down on the 
 small party they were quite quiet. The stag gave 
 me an easy chance at 100 yards and fell to a heart- 
 shot after running a few yards. He was a big 
 seven-pointer with very thick horns. 
 
 Thus ended my stalking for 1918. In twelve 
 days' stalking I had shot eleven stags, of which 
 six had heads worth taking home. This is a much 
 higher percentage than usually occurs. In stalking 
 for thirty-five years in Highland forests I have 
 always counted myself lucky if I got one good head
 
 298 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 
 
 in the whole season, 1 but here in Fealar the average 
 horn growth was exceptional, and unusually good 
 for any forest except the best on the north-west 
 coast. There were rumours of a fine fifteen- 
 pointer that had been seen in 1917, but doubtless 
 he hid his royal person in the Mar sanctuary, for 
 none of our stalkers saw him. Yet Mr. Wedderburn 
 killed two heads at Fealar, one an eleven-pointer 
 with grand tops, and a long nine-pointer with 
 horns 35 inches in length, both of which would 
 have been first-class at Kintail. Personally, I 
 was well satisfied with my heads, which included 
 one royal, three eleven-pointers, a very good ten, 
 and a wide eight-pointer. Three of these had horns 
 83J inches long, which is well over the average for 
 Scotland. 
 
 1 Stalking in 1919 I killed 24 stags in 16 days. Only two of 
 them carried good heads. 
 
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