We started for our first battue in capital time, taking with us a crowd
of Wallack beaters. Our places were appointed to us by the director of
the hunt, and some of us had a stiffish climb before reaching the spot
indicated. At a right angle to this valley there protrudes one of those
characteristic limestone ridges; it terminates in an abrupt precipice or
declivity above the stream. My place was some half-way up, a good
position; for while I could see the course of the stream, I could
command a fair range of ground above me.
It was impossible not to take note of the exquisite beauty of the whole
scene, particularly as it then appeared. The sun breaking through the
clouds, threw his sharply-defined rays of light into the depths of the
misty defile, playing upon the foam of the water, and giving life and
colour to the hanging woods. I hardly took it in at the time, but rather
remembered the details afterwards; for my thoughts were occupied in
trying to judge the distance up to which I might fire with any chance of
success--distances are always very deceptive on the mountains.
I must observe that we hoped to get a shot at some bears, but the
chamois were the legitimate object of the hunt. The late autumn or early
winter is the best time for bear-hunting.
I had not been long at my post when I heard two shots in quick
succession fired below me. I found a chamois had been shot.
For our next battue we turned right-about face, the beaters coming from
the other side; but we had bad luck.
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