British Deer 
and their Horns 
a big stag was seen chivying Muggridge (the old keeper) round and round a tree. A 
few minutes’ delay might have cost the unfortunate man his life, but Mr. Lucas promptly 
seized a gun and ran out and shot the brute through the head. This is one of the few 
instances within my knowledge of a stag actually attacking a man in the rutting season. 
Many years ago the late Marquis of Breadalbane’s piper at Taymouth was nearly killed by 
a furious stag, and in 1891 a keeper in Ross-shire, whilst on the way to a funeral over the 
hills, was attacked by a tame stag, and after a severe struggle was gored to death. 
Nearly all such accidents occur in the uncertain twilight of evening or early morning. 
At such times and under such circumstances a stag mad with passion and jealousy will 
go for anything he sees moving ; and when, added to this, the fear of man is more or less 
lost the danger is trebled. 1 
Even a hind is not always to be trusted, especially when confined in an enclosure. 
Mr. Sydney Steel, my fellow-artist in this work, was working one day last year in the 
hinds’ cage at the Zoo. We had been sitting together inside the inner enclosure, as we 
had frequently done before, and the animals, by constantly seeing us there, became so tame 
that they would even search in our pockets for biscuits. I had just left when an Edinburgh 
artist, entering the cage from the back, came into the open yard near the hinds. As quick 
as thought the old hind reared on her hind legs and struck him to the ground with a 
violent blow on his chest, and by the time Mr. Steel had his stick in hand and was coming 
to the rescue the hind again knocked the unfortunate man down and hurt him considerably. 
Of course the tables were immediately turned, and the victim was enabled to beat a hasty 
retreat, but for that day at least he had had enough of the Zoo, and was probably only 
too glad to find himself outside the grounds. Almost as soon as he had gone the hind 
came up to Mr. Steel again and began sniffing about as usual in a perfectly friendly way. 
One more anecdote of tame red deer is perhaps worth recording here. When I was 
quartered at Edinburgh in 1886, Captain MacDonald presented to our regiment (Seaforth 
Highlanders) a stag calf, which, being the regimental emblem, was treated as everybody’s 
pet. “ Mac,” as he was called, was a great ornament to the regiment as it marched out to 
field days in the Phoenix Park, and created much interest by the leisurely way in which he 
kept his place in front of the band. But that was only after he had learnt his drill. His 
first day’s route-marching at Glasgow I well remember. Adorned with a white pipe¬ 
clayed collar ornamented with bells, he was lugged along by “ two little bloomin’ bounders 
wot banged the bloomin’ drums.” But this was an indignity “ Mac ” was not inclined 
to submit to ; so, just as the barrack gates were reached, he charged backwards into the 
drums and pipes, putting an end to their music, and drawing forth instead a volley of sounds 
and speech not provided for in the “ soldier’s pocket regulations.” I am pained to say 
the adjutant swore and the subalterns audibly sniggered. Indeed, for the first month or 
two “Mac” was not altogether a success, his aversion to music too often bringing sore 
trouble upon the band at moments when they particularly wanted to look their best. 
By and by, however, he became much more docile, and seemed to know what was expected 
1 A remarkable instance of this occurred some years ago in the Duke of Buckingham’s park at Stowe, a stag attacking a 
carriage and pair that was conveying guests to the house. So furious was the onslaught of the animal that both guests and 
coachman had to take refuge under the vehicle, the deer having disabled the horses, one of which had to be shot. 
