Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 153.djvu/423
misgivings of their ability to hit such small objects. To the Demarch therefore fell the lot to approach and fire, which he did with great eagerness, but without effect.
Progress was resumed. In the distance appeared our rendezvous, a large wood at the foot of the mountains, just under the hill-village of Marmagnano, and the ground began to look more gamey. Three wild geese rose far out of shot from a swampy meadow, and a hare moved out of some rushes after we had left the highroad and were driving across the open plain.
The first ceremony on arriving was an excellent déjeuner à la fourchette, spread al fresco on the short turf in the bright warm sunshine. There were six regular guns—two Turkish gentlemen, two Greeks, and two Englishmen; but in addition nearly all the beaters, of whom there were a score or so, were armed with fowling-pieces of sorts. It was a pretty scene: the bivouac, the groups of romantically dressed peasants, the excited dogs, the picketed horses. The wood was very thick copse, of great extent, and containing some magnificent plane-trees, oaks, and black poplars. The defect of Greek scenery, as a rule, is the want of trees: those that are allowed to stand are cruelly maltreated the hardwood being lopped and hacked for fuel, the firs being gashed and bled to the verge of death for resin, with which the Greeks love to spoil their excellent wine. It is therefore a great treat to get into a bit of real woodland, and the russet oaks and silvery poplar-stems towered nobly against the blue mountain background.
It was not, let it be confessed, without some qualms of misgiving that we surveyed the dense jungle before us and took anxious note of the number of guns—nearly twenty in all—with which the battue was to be conducted. What was the plan of operations? we asked; were we to walk in line, or were we to be stationed round the covert? "Ah! il faut aller partout," replied our host, waving both hands airily in the direction of the wood, "et quand vous entendez aboyer les chiens—alors, vous cherchez une bonne place."
This was not very reassuring; however, the party soon scattered through the copse, and operations began. Once more the unskilfulness of the English sportsmen became too manifest. A blackbird was observed sitting on a bramble-bush; a native chasseur pointed him out to the foreigner, who refused to shoot. Ah! it was too small a mark for him, so down went the Greek, stooping low, stalked the quarry, obtained a safe sitting shot, and, with a prodigious report, laid the unlucky songster low.
But there is bigger game on foot. It is time for each to seek "une bonne place," for the dogs are barking wildly. The pack, by the by, is a mixed one; there is one English fox-hound, three pointers, and six or seven non-descripts. They are tearing through the underwood throwing their tongues merrily—pointers and all. A grey object darts shadow-like across a glade—stay! don't shoot! it is one of the pack: no, by the chaste huntress! it is a jackal, and we should earn effusive gratitude from the shepherds if we could secure his skin. But it is too late now, he is away to the hill, and we shall see him no more. A fine old red dog-fox is not so lucky; he is bowled over by one of the beaters, who falls upon him and flays him on the spot