On a bright November forenoon we embarked from the weed-girt jetty at Bonanza on a big falucha, manned by four sun-bronzed watermen, and in whose spacious storage lay a pile of sporting impedimenta—guns and rifles, baggage, bedding, and the rest.

We were a party of eight—English and Spanish nationalities equally represented—and old acquaintances, associated in many branches of sport. All had come some distance to the rendezvous—some from Seville and Madrid, two from England—to pass a couple of weeks at the historic preserves of Southern Spain, the Coto de DoÑa Ana. As the swarthy crew let fall their oars into the tide of Guadalquivir, all eyes turned eagerly to the opposite shores, so full of pleasant reminiscences. 'Tis pleasant, too, to know that as the moorings are cast loose we lose touch of the world and its civilization; we leave behind us post and telegram, thought and care, and, with them, perhaps, some measure of ease and luxury—from all these things the broad flood of Boetis and leagues of trackless waste will now divide us; we are free to revert to primÆval savagery, and we greatly rejoice thereat. Amidst these happier thoughts arose just a qualm of speculation as to whether all the multifarious arrangements incidental to such campaigns had been duly fulfilled, and if we should find our people, horses and mules, awaiting us at the appointed tryst.

Plate XXXIX. A SPANISH JUNGLE—THE ANGOSTURAS. Page 348.
Plate XXXIX. A SPANISH JUNGLE—THE ANGOSTURAS. Page 348.

The mid-day sun was now lighting up the scene after a morning of mist and rain; to the left lay the town of San Lucar, with its ancient castle looming above the white crenellated walls and spacious bodegas, and the busy strand of Bonanza, celebrated by Cervantes in La Ilustre Fregona as a rendezvous for ruffians, smugglers, and pirates. On the stream floated craft of many descriptions, from the London steamer receiving her cargo of manzanilla at the wharf to the falucha-rigged "ariels" and lumbering fishing-sloops—vessels not unlike the caravels in which, four centuries ago, Columbus set sail from the neighbouring port of Palos to discover a New World, when

The river at this point, close to its confluence with the sea, has a width of two miles, but the long lateen-sail, bellying out before a gentle poniente, bore us rapidly to the silent strand, where our horses stood awaiting us under a giant pine. No short time was spent in landing baggage, for the falucha lay aground a stone's throw from the shore; but at length all was landed, stowed in the mule-packs, and we set out on the long ride.

It had been intended to have one "drive" this afternoon, but these delays, and the customary tardiness of Spanish trains and travel generally, frustrated this plan, and it was already dark ere the head of our cavalcade sighted the welcome light displayed from the turrets of the ancient shooting lodge of DoÑana. Though now in a state of partial ruin, the old Palacio still shows signs of former grandeur, and has been, in bygone days, a favourite sporting retreat for more than one Spanish king. As we approached its glimmering lights amidst the darkness of a November evening, the resonant konk, konk! kerronk, kerronk! of the wild geese, the mournful cries of plover and curlew, and the startled splash of wild ducks, are evidence of its lonely marsh-girt site and prophetic of sport to come.

Around the pile of logs cheerily blazing in the spacious hearth we gather, relieved to find that all the transport and commissariat arrangements had this time come off without a hitch—no slight matter where everything, from a lemon or a hen's egg to a portable bath, from a match to a mattress, has to be transported on mule-back the whole forty miles of rough country (and river) we had just travelled. Our Galician cook and steward, half sportsman, half Bohemian, had come on two days in advance, and strangers were agreeably surprised to find anything to eat—except perhaps stewed lynx or fricasseed flamingo—in this outer wilderness. Then, as we gathered round the blazing hearth, enjoying such coffee and breva cigars as are only combined in Spain, the keepers come in with their reports—keepers of a different type to British ideals, Bartolo, Larrios, and Manolo, copper-skinned, pelt-clad and unkempt, and Trujillo, the guarda mayor, who enters with lordly salaam, his jacket hung on one great shoulder as on a peg—a picture of Cervantes' Quixote. These are four of the ten keepers who, from father to son, have occupied the posts on the property for generations.

Plate XL. PALACIO DE DOÑANA. Page 350.
Plate XL. PALACIO DE DOÑANA. Page 350.

The intention was to devote the first few days to the small game of the adjacent plains, but our first operation in the morning was a deer-drive. This, however, proved blank, for, though several were seen—five stags breaking back—none, except a few hinds and one bareta, or yearling stag, whose incipient horns (hardly longer than his ears) were not distinguished by the gun past whom he broke, came forward to the shooting line. The writer's position was on the crest of a sand-ridge, with only the covert of a dead cistus bush: nothing, however, tested his powers of concealment except a few partridge and a pack of stone-plovers. The sandy glen which the post commanded was, nevertheless, plentifully tracked over by deer, and three wild pigs had passed inwards into the covert that morning.

After this beat, shot-cartridges were substituted for ball, and for the rest of that day and several following ones caza menor was the order of the day. The system of small-game shooting adopted on these plains combines both walking up and driving at the same time, and requires a few words of description. It must be borne in mind that we always have on one side of us—towards the north and east—the marisma, practically at this season an inland sea, and upon this circumstance the system is based. The plan of campaign consists in driving the game down upon the marisma; a line of eight, ten or twelve guns each 100 or 150 yards apart, and with several beaters placed in the interval, is formed at a distance of three or four miles inland. This line occupies upwards of a mile in length, and as it advances towards the marisma, obviously encloses whatever game may be concealed in three or four square miles of country, the greater part of which (the game) has a fair chance of coming in the way of one point or another of the line of guns. Some care is needed to preserve the formation of the beat, which is done by mounted keepers, who also see that the "points" or wings are thrown slightly in advance.

Presently there occurs an obstacle; already we have waded through some wettish spots; but how is it possible to cross this broad lagoon? On the right a mancha, one of those thickets of tree-heath and brooms, all interlaced with thorny briars, bars the way: these manchas are impenetrable—we have proved this—save to the wild boar or the badger. In the other direction the water stretches far—we can see the mounted beaters already splashing through it. In England one does not walk through river, lake, or pond merely because it lies in one's course, but this is not England, and as, after all, the bottom is sound and moderately level, if one can keep the cartridges dry, the sun will soon dry the rest.

The density of the scrub varies also: sometimes for a short distance one has to push through thickets where every step is a struggle with hard dried cistus stems, and where broken ground, ravines and thorny jungle make perspiration flow, and ill conduce to taking those smart chances that offer overhead at inopportune moments.

To a northerner it is hard to believe that it is midwinter while almost every tree remains leaf-clad, and the brushwood all green and flower-spangled. Arbutus, rosemary and tree-heath (Erica arborea) are already in bloom; while bees buzz in the shoulder-high heather, and suck honey from its tricoloured blossoms—pink, purple and violet. Strange flies and winged creatures of many sorts and sizes, from gnat and midge to savage dragon-flies, rustle and drone in one's ear, or poise on iridescent wing in the sunlight, and the hateful hiss of the mosquito mingles with the insect-melody. Over each open flower of rock-rose or cistus hovers the humming-bird hawk-moth, with here and there one of the larger sphinxes (S. convolvuli), each with his long proboscis inserted deep in the tender calix. Not even the butterflies are entirely absent. We have noticed several gorgeous species at Christmas-time, including the painted lady and red admiral, the southern wood-argus, Bath white and clouded yellow, with LycÆna telicanus, ThÄis polyxena, MegÆra, and many more. On the warm sand bask pretty green and spotted lizards, apparently asleep, in the sunshine, but all alert to dart off on slightest alarm, disappearing like a thought in some crevice among the roots of the cistus.[67]

Plate XLI. BREAKFAST-TIME—DOÑANA. Page 352.
Plate XLI. BREAKFAST-TIME—DOÑANA. Page 352.

Gradually, as the line approaches the flat shores of the marisma, the "driving" shots increase in number and the cry of pÁjaro, the Spanish equivalent to "mark over," becomes incessant. PajarÓ, pajarÓ, the magic word comes borne on the breeze from right and left, dwelt on by the Andaluz till the final "Ó" dies away in prolonged cadence; and there, far away ahead, appear sundry dark specks in the sky, rapidly growing in size as the redlegs wheel back towards the spot where we crouch behind a lentiscus. Now they are overhead, for two brief seconds within reach of a well-directed aim—then, in happy moments, a brace of redlegs will bounce on the bents.

Here every little thicket or clump of brushwood holds some of the birds that have been driven forward, and even on the barest ground some have found refuge behind a tuft of grass or palmetto. Everywhere partridges start up from the slightest covert, and one sees them running forward ere they rise. But the hottest work occurs in the belt of rush and reed—in the juncos that border the marisma. The finale is short, but it is sweet, and the man who has stopped handsomely the rocketers that sped to his lot has a reputation ready made.

Such is, in outline, the system of an avero, several of which can be carried out on a winter's day.

The partridges, unwilling to run save among the scrub, usually rise at longish range on bare patches, and mount rapidly in air, their flight rather resembling that of black-game than of our grey partridge, and as they wheel back fast and high, and at all angles, they test the best skill of the gunner. Besides partridge and rabbits, an odd pair of mallards will often rise from some rushy hollow, and from the drier reeds a quail or two spring with their smart game-like dash. The small Andalucian bush-quail (Turnix sylvatica) is occasionally shot, and crossing the more open ground, among short scrub of tamarisk and juniper, a few hares will be added to the bag. These are of the small southern race, Lepus mediterraneus, weighing only five or six pounds, more brindled in colour and with warmer shades on shoulders and flanks than ours. One of them being hemmed in, was this afternoon swimming a shallow pool when she attracted the attention of a Southern Peregrine falcon (Falco punicus) which was waiting on the partridge in front of our line. This falcon had already made several fine stoops at the flying game, all unsuccessfully, when the sight of a hare in difficulties brought him overhead, and, in the act of poising, a double shot laid both low.

A ROYAL HEAD—DOÑANA.
A ROYAL HEAD—DOÑANA.

After two or three days with the small game, it was decided to give the deer a turn. The sun shone brightly as we rode out to the ground selected for the day's sport, and a gentle breeze blew from a favourable direction. The first beat, nevertheless, proved blank—only hinds passing through the line, which served to give us, for a moment, a flutter of excitement as they crashed through the under-wood, and dashed away at redoubled speed. On the next drive several stags were seen—some broke back, but three ran the gauntlet of our line at different points, offering good opportunities to three of our guns, two of which, however, were not accepted. The third hart was stopped in the midst of a last bound by a clean rifle-shot at long range—a fine head of twelve tines.

DEAD LYNX.
DEAD LYNX.

The guns were next placed along a line of gigantic clumps of bulrushes which extended for miles with narrow glades, and thick, matted jungle between. This beat resulted successfully: seven shots were fired, two deer escaped, but two deer and two boars were killed. A curious incident also occurred with a lynx: the beast was evidently wounded by a lucky rifle-shot, and presently, the dogs ran her to bay in a neighbouring mancha. Here one of us who had fired the first shot followed, when, coming unexpectedly upon her in a narrow opening, the lynx being enclosed between man and dogs, made a desperate spring to pass by; the writer, in stepping aside, tripped and fell prostrate on his back, right under the furious beast—never did man rise more promptly! luckily without a scratch, and the next moment the lynx lay gasping out its life on the sand.

After this beat rifles were exchanged for smooth-bores, a line formed, and we shot our way back to the lodge, securing some twenty brace of partridge and other small game, besides another stag, which, all too drowsy, had permitted our line to advance too near ere he sprang from his lair. Shot was quickly exchanged for ball, and as the hart ran broadside on and within one hundred yards of two guns, he was struck in three places, and the dogs soon pulled him down. This was a very old beast, but only carried eight points, the "bay" antlers being entirely wanting, and the double-tops curiously bent inwards. This small-game beat having brought us to the verge of the marisma, we finished a successful day's sport with an hour's flight-shooting, during which five geese and nearly fifty teal and wigeon were brought to bag. The day's results were thus:—4 stags, 2 boar and a lynx, 23½ brace small game, and 54 head of wildfowl.

This evening there was performed the time-honoured ceremony of crowning with the laurel a neophyte in caza mayor. Dark-eyed Petra, the recognized belle of a region where it must be admitted that rivals were few, headed the motley procession of guards, beaters, and miscellaneous folk from the lower regions, and gracefully invested the blushing brows of Santiago, who knelt before her, with a chaplet of flowering arbutus. Then the loving cup passed round, and each drank to the health of the fair donor and the wearer of the crown. There followed a scene of festivity and ordered revels. The spacious court-yard was lit up by a blazing bonfire, and in its lambent light danced stalwart figures arrayed in the picturesque costume of rural Andalucia, while maiden forms alternately revolved and pirouetted in graceful minuet or fandango, keeping time to the guitar, and each accompanying her own movements with the castanets. We were told that a trio of brunettes had travelled the long four leagues from the hamlet of Rocio to our lonely quarters to join the festive scene, but felt too much flattered by the compliment to inquire if such was really the case.

GROUP OF FOREST-GUARDS.
GROUP OF FOREST-GUARDS.

The revelry continued till far on in the night, but for all that, a faithful few were taking a hasty cup of coffee at 5 A.M. preparatory to an early attack on the greylags. A strong west wind howled across the waste, whistling through the cracks of roof and rickety window-frames—favourable omens—and before the sun rose we were far out in the marsh, lying concealed on the furthest projecting points of dry land. Then, as the approaching dawn set the wildfowl in motion, the half-lit skies were serried with hurrying files, and the cold air resounded with the cries of the various ducks and geese. Our luck this morning was hardly so good as expected, but four guns brought in 7 geese, 21 teal, and 8 mallards.

PANNIER-PONY AND GAME.
PANNIER-PONY AND GAME.

This day again proved a lucky one—several deer and a lynx, besides minor game, being piled on the panniers of the carrier-ponies before night. The lynx was a specially handsome beast, an old male with bushy whiskers, his tawny pelt boldly splashed with dark spots. He was killed by a rifle-ball when going at top speed across a glade. The writer's mind that evening was, nevertheless, tinged with regret. While posted as "point-gun," amidst some lovely but very broken forest ground at a remote corral, I observed an object move slightly among some young pine-scrub in a hollow on my front. It was the antlers of a stag; and soon, by the forest of ivory tips, I perceived they belonged to a hart of no ordinary degree. Presently the owner emerged from the covert and for several seconds stood, fully exposed, at 100 yards, an enormous beast, looking as black as coal against a background of dead yellow flags. He presented a certain shot; but, alas! was still within the beat; and though the stag stood in a slight hollow where rising ground behind rendered the shot perfectly safe, I hesitated to break the rules, and the chance was lost—the grand beast going away wide to the right. The vision of that stag, with his broad and branching head and unnumbered points, his massive frame and glossy coat, haunted me awake and asleep that night and for many another.

SPANISH RED DEER—A MOUNTAIN-HEAD FROM MORENA.
SPANISH RED DEER—A MOUNTAIN-HEAD FROM MORENA.

A few weeks afterwards, when "still-hunting" with a single Spanish companion in the same district, we came somewhat unexpectedly (it was only 4 P.M.), on a stag quietly splashing through a marsh-belt that separated two patches of forest. The beast was more than half a mile off; but on reaching the place after a detour, we observed him standing under the shade of some trees 400 yards distant. On putting the glass on him, to my intense joy, I recognized my old friend of a month ago—there he stood flicking at the flies, the black stag beyond a shadow of doubt! A nearer direct approach was not possible; but JosÉ suggested that by going round in a wide circuit and giving the stag his wind, he would probably move him my way. This manoeuvre we proceeded to carry out, and in half an hour's time I had the satisfaction of observing the great beast's first signs of suspicion. He had, meanwhile, laid down; now he rose and moved uneasily away, stopping and sniffing alternately. Then he seemed to have made up his mind, turned deliberately, and slowly trotted in my direction. JosÉ had managed the business in a masterly way—never showing. Already the stag had reached a long range shot, when from the nearer, opposite, covert dashed five hinds, which came splashing through the water, right between me and the big stag. How persistently those confounded hinds interposed their useless bodies right between the foresight and its mark! Already the black hart was within thirty yards of the water's edge and the shelter of the forest; when, for a few moments, I got a clear view of his broadside at rather long range, took a full sight with the 100-yard flap up, and fired. Thud! went the conical Paradox ball right on the point of his shoulder, and he pitched forward, stone-dead, in the water. It was a pretty shot, well placed, though rather high, breaking the spine close below the withers. Such shots are, of course, instantly fatal; but are too risky to try for, since they come within an inch or two of a clean miss!

There is a degree of mental gratification in occasionally "pulling off" shots of this kind—that is, in killing clean with ball a large animal in full career, and at long distance—that must probably be experienced to be appreciated. And, after all, how much is due to the marvellous precision and power of modern sporting weapons! This stag carried sixteen points, and his horns measured along the curve 32 inches, with a sweep of 28 inches. In weight he probably exceeded any we have shot on the Spanish plains, and his rich velvety pile was conspicuously dark and glossy.

One other incident, with a moral: towards the end of one campaign an afternoon was devoted to burning the carrizales, or bamboo-brakes, which in places form belts of jungle, extending over several miles, and afford secure harbour for various wild animals, including, occasionally, deer. These places, owing partly to the impervious nature of the covert and partly to the quicksands and quaking bogs with which the jungle is interspersed, cannot be traversed: hence the only effectual means of driving out the game which may lie within their shelter is by fire. The writer, to-day, though the first gun in line, was posted some half a mile back from the commencement of the beat, and was endeavouring to make a hasty sketch of the beautiful landscape of cane-brake, bamboo, and marsh-land which stretched away before us. The dry sedges and canes were fired at several points: but hardly had the distant smoke-wreaths begun to curl upwards in the clear still air, than a first-rate stag slowly trotted across the open, right before me. I had not seen him come; the sketch-book was in hand; the gun—loaded in both barrels with shot, for cats and the like—lay on the ground; truly a magnificent bungle! One ball-cartridge was inserted ere the game, still unconscious of an ambush, was passing, full broadside, at 80 or 90 yards—as easy a shot as need be wished. But in the flurry of unreadiness, I forgot to raise the sight, and the ball passed immediately beneath the breast, missing both forelegs. Again a cartridge had to be changed; and now the stag was bounding away, end-on, at 150 yards. This time the aim was refined and nerves braced by a very sense of shame, and the impact of the ball was distinctly, though faintly, heard. On went the stag, disappearing over rising ground behind, and hardly had the cartridges been replaced, than a second hart, breaking back, offered a long and infinitely more difficult shot; but, after one vertical bound, like that of a lightly-hooked salmon, dropped stone-dead in his tracks. Soon afterwards a small stag with three hinds showed on the outer edge of the jungle; but, though more than one express rifle was levelled at him, the distance was too great (300 or 400 yards), and the bullets uselessly ricochetted across the swampy wastes. Towards the end, two wild-cats bounded from the fringe of burning bamboos, and simultaneous shots stretched both lifeless among the tamarisks.

A STAG OF THIRTEEN POINTS.
A STAG OF THIRTEEN POINTS.

The spectacle from our posts was remarkable, the whole area, many hundred acres, enveloped in smoke; here and there tongues of flame shot upwards as the flying sparks carried forward the conflagration across some marsh-channel and renewed the dying blaze. Dense black clouds rolled away to leeward, amidst which hovered swarms of swallows and insect-feeding birds with an outer fringe of kites, kestrels and magpies, all preying on belated locusts and coleoptera. Legions of mice—common house-mice, as far as we could judge—with land-and water-rats, fled from the fiery jungle; here and there a grizzly mongoose hurried off up the sloping dune; otters, genets and badgers were seen at various points, while coots and bitterns, rails, crakes, and waterhens flapped about, half-dazed with fright. Over the smoking brakes swept buzzards and marsh-harriers which, forgetting their fears in opportunity, pounced boldly on the homeless and helpless.

As soon as it was over, we went eagerly to examine the tracks of the big stag. Yes! blood was there sure enough—whole streams of it; but the verdict of the guardas was prompt and emphatic—"that stag you will never get. See! the blood is all at one side. The bullet has merely grazed his off-flank, causing a flesh-wound which bleeds much, but does no vital harm." They were right. Impelled by shame and self-reproach, we followed the trail for miles; but though we twice sighted our quarry afar, it was evident he had sustained no serious injury, and as he headed for a wild region where leagues of jungle afforded secure refuge, we were fain, at dusk, to acknowledge defeat, and to leave him in peace.

Now for the moral—though perhaps it hardly needs pointing. Never attempt to sketch, or otherwise play the fool, when every energy should be concentrated on the sport in hand. One thing well done is as much as poor mortals are capable of at one time.

Thus, amidst varied and abundant sport, fun and good-fellowship, amidst lovely scenes and a glorious climate, sped all too quickly those happy days in DoÑana—some devoted to big game, some to small; on others we divided forces, one party going to the partridges, or quail, another preferring wildfowl; while those who had confidence in their skill with the rifle elected to rastrear—that is, to track a deer to his lair, following the rastro, or spoor, of some big hart, perhaps for leagues, across the broken plains and corrales, with only the uncertain prospect of a difficult, often impossible, snap-shot after all. But there is a reward in seeing the skill in woodcraft displayed by the Spanish guardas, who seem to diagnose by intuition the unfulfilled ideas and desires which, some hours previously, have been passing through the mind of the hart, whose faint rastro they follow with the certainty and patience of a bloodhound. This is, however, a distinct branch of sport, to which we owe many a pleasant day on the South-Spanish plains, and a separate chapter is devoted to its description.

Plate XLII. SPANISH WILDFOWLERS WITH CABRESTO PONIES. Page 365.
Plate XLII. SPANISH WILDFOWLERS WITH CABRESTO PONIES. Page 365.

One day we tried a novel method of approaching the wildfowl on the shores of a lake which lay at a distance of three or four miles. This was by means of the cabresto, or decoy pony—a curious experience. The wildest waterfowl are at the mercy of a clever fowler provided with one of these ponies. As there are many half-wild mares pasturing at large over the swamps, the ducks are accustomed to the sight of them and take no alarm at their proximity. As we approached the lake, its flat sandy margin was in places black with wildfowl, while myriads sat on the surface, splashing and pluming themselves in the sunshine. With each of the three ponies went its owner, a patero, or professional wildfowl-shooter, each taking with him one of us—almost literally—"in tow," for, with one hand grasping the pony's tail, the other carrying the gun, we followed each close behind his patero, who directed the pony towards the thickly-covered shore. We proceeded thus, crouching behind the pony's quarters, till we had approached within 100 yards of the fowl. The leading patero now stopped his pony, which at once commenced to feed, an example followed by the rest—we six men sitting meanwhile on the grass. No alarm was shown by the ducks. A cord was now slipped over the neck of each cabrestro and made fast to its off foreleg above the knee, bringing the heads of the ponies close to the ground, thus giving them the appearance of grazing, though in truth we were now on bare dry mud. We continued approaching thus, and the interval was now reduced to fifty yards; looking beneath the ponies we could see hundreds of ducks all playing themselves in fancied security. There, close at hand, sat or swam wigeon and mallards, shovelers, garganeys, teal and pintails, a few gadwall and several of the curious heavy-headed "porrones" (Erismatura mersa), with diving-ducks and grebes of many kinds. The nearer shore was massed with teal, and a few yards beyond a big pack of mallards were daintily pluming themselves. As the teal came first in line, it was to them we directed our attention: with alternate progression and feigned halts to "graze" we continued our slow advance. We were now within twenty-five yards of the teal: already a movement of preparation had been made by the leading gun, instantly imitated by the two who followed, when a tremendous scare took place among the wildfowl, and the whirr of wings threw the whole lake into confusion. A kite had swept across the birds, and all had taken to the refuge of the deep waters. "Paciencia," resignedly muttered our friends the pateros. We uncocked our guns and squatted on the mud, each under cover of his beast, thus spending an hour while the frightened fowl gradually swam ashore and reformed on the margin. A second time the moment to pull trigger had almost arrived when the tyrant again swept over with the same result as before. At last, however, the twice delayed moment arrived, and our six barrels drove together through the ranks of teal, leaving upwards of fifty dead or wounded on the shore, of which we ultimately bagged forty-four. This shot was taken against the wishes of our friends, who declared that had we waited an hour longer we should have had the birds thick enough to have killed three times that number. But we had other sport in view, and could not wait for this golden opportunity; besides, our rival the kite might have spoiled our game again. We had, however, seen enough to understand that one of these men and his sagacious auxiliary can really account for the almost fabulous number of ducks which they are said occasionally to obtain at a single shot. These men shoot for a living; hence they never fire except when they have made certain of a heavy shot. It is not at all unusual for them to manoeuvre for a whole day without discharging their ancient fowling-pieces. They make the slowest approach, get to the closest quarters possible, and never unnecessarily disturb the fowl. When they do fire it is a bumper. In summer their occupation is varied by fishing and catching leeches in the swamps, which they do by flogging the surface of the water, when the leeches fasten upon their legs. A trained cabresto pony, though a rough, shaggy little beast, is of considerable value to these men, among whom there exists a sort of brotherhood, and an intruder of their own class fares badly if he ventures into the lonely districts which they almost regard as their exclusive domain.[68]

Plate XLIII. A SHOT IN THE OPEN. Page 367.
Plate XLIII. A SHOT IN THE OPEN. Page 367.

At length the time for our departure had arrived, for we intended spending a few days among the big game in the extensive pine-forests which cover the southern extremity of the Coto DoÑana. The pack-mules with the baggage being despatched by a direct route, we rode off on an almost summerlike morning, taking a wider course so as to get a "drive" of some of the wooded corrales that lay towards the west. Here, in one of the wildest spots, Manolo placed the line of guns. The writer is posted on a mound of blown sand, one of the many which form the irregular broken country around. The cocked rifle is placed conveniently for instant grasp while one surveys the position and speculates on the likeliest spot for a stag to appear—quickly taking note of the uneven ground, its hillocks and hollows where it will be necessary to enterprise a snap-shot, and again where more deliberate aim may be taken. Every here and there similar mounds present an unbroken view, spots where the driven sand has collected around some stalwart pine, taking various picturesque forms and crowned with the dark green foliage of latest growth.

Plate XLIV. SALAVAR—A SKETCH IN A SPANISH MANCHA. Page 369.
Plate XLIV. SALAVAR—A SKETCH IN A SPANISH MANCHA. Page 369.

Presently the sharp crack of a rifle breaks our reverie and gives startling evidence that game is afoot. A few seconds later the patter of galloping feet is heard on the hard sand and the expected quarry bounds across the glen, his antlers thrown back as he scents danger and redoubles his speed. Full in the shoulder strikes the express bullet, stopping his flight and sending him headlong to earth, where a second shot ends his agony with instant death. In this fortunate drive four stags and two boars are brought to bag. One of the latter, in a thick brambled mancha, for some time defied the dogs, which declined to face him at close quarters. He was a brute of unusual size, and each time he faced the dogs with gnashing tusks, they retired. At last a shot fired in the air dislodged him, and a quick rifle-shot took effect in his lower jaw. Again he sought refuge among the brambles, but the dogs now held the advantage, and inch by inch he was driven forward to a point where he offered an easy mark to several guns, and soon Manolo's long navaja was performing his obsequies. Another stag of thirteen points (see photo, p. 363), and a brace of foxes, right and left, were secured in a small isolated thicket just before dusk, and the last ten miles of our ride had thus to be managed in the dark.

One more incident before we leave these forests. Early on a winter morning we had reached the remote covert of Salavar, and owing to its extent, and the strong wind blowing, which would prevent the shots being heard, it was decided to drive it in two sections. At the end of the first beat, which had produced three stags—two lynxes also passing the line unscathed—the guns and drivers were assembled preparatory to the second (windward) batida, when, from that direction, a couple of distant gunshots were distinctly heard. Clearly poachers were at work, and already the forest-guards were conjecturing (and rightly as it proved) the personality of the depredator—an old offender who had before given trouble. The man penetrated to the heart of these wild regions accompanied only by his son, and his mode of procedure was to station himself to the leeward of any likely bit of covert, and sending the lad round, to await the chance of the latter driving forward any deer which might happen to be lying in it. His two shots had been at hinds. Leaving the main party to surround the mancha, two of the keepers galloped off in the direction of the shots, separating so as to enclose the poacher and cut off his retreat. Soon one of these came across the tracks of naked feet on the sand, and shortly overtook the culprit already preparing a drive of the covert we had just beaten. Taken by surprise, resistance or flight were impossible; the poacher's gun was taken from him, and he and his son marched off prisoners to our main party—an ill-looking ruffian clad in deer-skins, of whom some ugly tales were told. Brought before our friend representing the proprietary, the captive showed an undaunted and even impudent demeanour, asserting that it was the hunger of his children that had brought him from a village on the Guadiana (some fifty miles away), to kill the deer, which, he said, belonged to him equally with any other of God's creatures. Such primitive principles availed but little with these fierce keepers, imbued with almost feudal respect for forest-game, and this bold adherent of "commonwealth" was deprived of his gun and ordered off to the coast, with a warning that he would shortly have to answer for his conduct before the magistrate at Almonte. As he turned to obey, old Bartolo, whose estimate of the terrors of Spanish law evidently stood low, shouted after him, with a significant tap on the stock of his ancient escopeta, "Look here, Cristobal! you have given us a deal of trouble; you will come here once too often!"

It may occur to the reader to conjecture how the poacher could have utilized his deer, had he secured one, in so remote a spot. Far away on the distant boundary of the Coto, he had his donkey hidden in some thicket of lentiscus, and under cover of night would have returned for his spoils, and moving stage by stage to the sea-shore, would contrive to reach his village before daybreak. He was, however, securely caught, for within an hour another keeper arrived, who also had detected the trespasser's footprints at a point some ten miles away, and suspecting they were none of honest man, had followed the trail. Thus, even had Cristobal not been captured by us, he would still have been intercepted by this second adversary.