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I
HAVE often thought that for those who have a
taste for deer-stalking, without the opportunity, it might be no bad
substitute to have a flock or two of goats upon a remote range of hills. The
idea suggested itself to me from having heard and seen a good deal of the
nature and habits of a few kept wild upon an island on Loch Lomond. These
goats, originally a breed between the Welsh and Highland, were very large,
and the oldest inhabitant does not recollect when they were first
introduced. After having been completely left to themselves for a few
generations, they became very cunning and suspicious, always haunting the
most out-of-the-way craggy places they could find, and one precipice in
particular has been called from time immemorial Crap-na-gour, or Hill of the
Goats. The breed has now very much deteriorated, from the fine old wild ones
having been killed off, and a number of the tame kind lately substituted.
The hair of some of the old "Billys" of the wild breed was eighteen inches
long ; and I have contrasted a horn of the last fine specimen of the race,
shot many years ago, with a good-sized one of the domesticated species. To
stalk these half-tame goats afforded no small diversion, and I have seen
several sportsmen engaged nearly a whole day before the fatal shot was
fired. But in their wilder state, I am told, they showed amazing game, tact,
and cunning in eluding an enemy. The hero, whose horn I have represented,
managed to escape several of the most experienced hands in the country, some
with ball and others with buck-shot, for a couple of days. He was brought
down on the evening of the second day, after being hard struck a short time
before; and I have been assured that even larger than he have been killed
upon the island, with horns proportionably finer.
Another circumstance also made me
imagine that goat-stalking might be practicable. One of my father's tenants,
who farmed the remote range of Glen-Douglas, had a flock of goats pastured
among the precipices. This flock was always under the command of the
shepherds and their dogs. A fine old Billy, however, broke away from the
rest, and spurned all control. This lasted upwards of a year, when he became
so completely wild that it required half a dozen shepherds, with their guns,
to range the mountains for some days before he could be shot.
I am aware that many objections might
be raised against my suggestion; first, that the goats would never be wild
enough to afford sport, and that, if they were, they would be apt to take
refuge among inaccessible rocks and precipices, where no man could stalk
them. I own that it would be many years before goats could become quite
wild, but if a fine breed were turned out on some of the steepest and least
frequented of our mountains, and especially if they were never disturbed or
brought to bay by dogs, I have no doubt that their progeny would
become fit for stalking. And as to sheltering themselves in rocks and
precipices, they would be far less apt to do this when they had acquired
confidence in other means of escape. I only, however, mention goat-stalking
as an untried amusement, and think it might be worth while for the
proprietors of Highland mountains to make the experiment. Sheep-farms, where
deer never remain, would answer for the purpose. The goats do not interfere
with the sheep, and generally choose the roughest ground where the pasture
is of least value. It is unnecessary to say that the old Billys would be
uneatable, but the mountain-fed kids are reckoned very delicious.
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