“You’ve shot the wrong beast!” said Sandy. I said, “Oh, no I haven’t. You were with me last time I fired my rifle, and I then fired it at that very stag; let us have a look at him and see if I’m not right.”
On examining the stag we found that low down on his near hind leg the bone had evidently been fractured just above the fetlock, but had healed completely and set in the most wonderful way. This, of course, was what had caused the limp which I had noticed, and also the absence of the horn on the other side of the head. After examining the stag, Sandy quite agreed that there was no doubt it must be the same stag, and we both thought, although it was in very good condition, that it was at least a stone lighter than it had been in the previous season.
It is interesting to note that in the case of stags, as in that of human beings, the muscular movements are controlled by nerve centres which are situated on the opposite side of the brain.
“I shall never forget that day, or the self-sacrifice and bravery of those men in that Brigade.” The speaker was a chaplain attached to one of the Highland Brigades which had been fighting in France. “We were told that a particular position had to be taken, and the work was allotted to certain of the Highland regiments. My work was to attend the dying after the attack was over and the position carried at the point of the bayonet. Amongst them was a piper who had shown extraordinary bravery in the assault, and who, though wounded three times, had persisted in carrying on and playing his pipes until he fell mortally wounded just as the assault, after very heavy fighting, was proving successful. He knew he was dying, and gave me messages for his wife and family. He was evidently a man of strong faith, and had no fear of death. Just before his valiant spirit passed away, he whispered, ‘Oh, if I could only see the high hills again before I die.’ His words deeply impressed me, and I have often thought of them since.”
This story of the dying piper, told to me in such simple and touching language, set me thinking and wondering. I could not help feeling that those last words of the gallant Highlander would strike a sympathetic chord in the hearts not only of those whose most cherished and sacred memories are bound up with the Highlands of Scotland, but of countless numbers of others who also love that country. In the days of peace I had often pondered over the irresistible fascination of this call from the North.