TUFTS UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES

3 9090 014 560 573

JOHNA.SEAVERNS

MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Webster Family Libran/ of Veterinary MedJcme

Cumming8 Schoo' c^ "> V/^rinary Medicine at

Tufts Univ/erslty

200 Westboro Road

North Grafton, MA 01536

THR HUNTER'S MOON

MELTON
AND HOMESPUN

NATURE AND SPORT IN PROSE
AND VERSE

BY

J. M. M. B. DURHAM (« Marshman ")

AND

R. J. RICHARDSON

ILLUSTRATED BY R. J. RICHARDSON

LONDON
CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ltd.

Richard Ci.ay & Sons, Limited,

brunswick street, stamford street, s.e.,

and bungay, suffolk.

TO

EDITH DURHAM

NOTE

The joint authors of this book beg to acknowledge
the courtesy of the proprietors of the undermentioned
publications for permission to reprint many of the sketches
and verses contained herein : — The Field, Punch, Illus-
trated Sportmg and Dramatic News, Baily's Sporting
Magazine, Fores' s Sporting Notes and Sketches, Bad-
minton Magazijie, Country Life, The Shooting Times,
Fishi?ig Gazette, Scottish Field, South Africa, The Globe,
Eve7iing Standard, Daily Mail, The Tatler, and Town
Topics.

CONTENTS

PAGE

The Haunted Hunt (/?. /. Richardson) . . . . i

The Old Blue-pye (/?. /. Richardson) 19

A Call to the Marshes 22

A Morning's Otter-hunting 27

Full Cry (/?. /. Richa?-dson) 34

Blind Hookey 36

Shooting over Decoys 42

A Bobbery Pack 47

Tim O'Leary's Hare 57

Pottering 67

The Punchpuddle Hunt {R. J. Richardson) ... 73

The Hired Gun-dog 77

Down on the Salt-marshes 81

Held Up 86

The Derelict— An Ex-transport Rider's Story . . 93

An Early Morning Run on the Veld .... 106

A Record Run 113

The First of September on the Marshes . . .118

The Surgeon's First Goose , 126

A Bloodless Hunt 133

Within a Mile of Johannesburg 137

Sport in Ontario 141

A Morning's Trout-fishing in Galicia , . , .153

The Missed Meet {R, J. Richardson) . . , . .159
ix

X CONTENTS

PAGE

Some Smoking-room Yarns 164

Fair Play for the Otter 175

Wild Life near London 182

Ancient Falconry 186

A Rare " Joe Manton " 188

The Morning Flight 192

The Kori and the Great Bustard 197

" Sold ! " 202

Sport and Travel in the Himalayas .... 208

The Ogre of the Pool and Sandy 217

Rooks and Rook-shooting 223

Shooting under a Kite 228

Cool and Clear 233

A Stolen March 239

The Passenger-pigeon 244

Peep o' Day on the Saltings 248

At Flight Time 253

Sport on Marsh and Foreshore (I and II) . • • 259

Killed in the Open (/?. /. Richardson) .... 269

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

To /ace page

The Hunter's Moon " . . {Coloured Frontispiece)

'The Horse turned a Complete Somersault" . . 7

Carrying the Otter Ashore" 33

Yonder he goes!" 34

Jet: a Good Type of Retriever" 76

A Bullfinch and a Drop" 115

Peep o' Day on the Saltings" 250

Killed in the Open " 268

MELTON AND HOMESPUN

THE HAUNTED HUNT

The smoking-room of the Haycester and County Club
looked cheerful enough in the firelight which was slowly
getting the better of the dreary winter's day, and the
white-haired man lay back in his chair, and, stretching
out his slight, neatly-gaitered legs to the blaze, pulled
thoughtfully at his cigar.

" As you all probably know," he said at length, " An-
thony Nunn took the hounds close on fifty years ago,
and hunted them himself for eleven seasons until his
death."

He paused with a grim, short laugh.

" ' Until,' did I say? Well, be that as it may, it is
thirty-nine years since Anthony Nunn met with his death,
and the Haycester lost the keenest huntsman that ever
cheered a hound. The man was born to hunt hounds,
he lived to hunt hounds, he died hunting hounds — and
then came that ghastly day which I can never recall
without a shudder.

"He was too keen; he thought of nothing but the
hounds from year's end to year's end. In fact, whether
he was always so, or whether it grew upon him, there is
not a shadow of doubt that at the last he was a mono-
maniac on the subject of fox-hunting.

2 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" He always killed a May fox; and there were strange
tales about his having been seen cub-hunting by himself
with a few couple of hounds in out-of-the-way parts of
the country before the end of June. Of course he always
denied it, and said that he was merely exercising the
hounds; but, knowing the man, I can well beheve that
rumour, for once, was no liar. It was just the sort of
thing he would do. Indeed, as he himself said, only lack
of sufficient means prevented him from hunting seven
days a week.

" He was very far from being an ideal Master of Hounds.
He never considered the field in the least ; and time and
time again he slipped out of cover without so much as a
touch on the horn, leaving the entire field, and sometimes
even the whips, too, behind. It was not selfishness ;
only that in the hunting field he was practically a hound
himself.

" Many considered him bloodthirsty; and certainly he
would go to extraordinary lengths to kill his fox, often
digging him out of what had seemed the most impregnable
places at all hours of the night. The more trouble a fox
gave him, the more bent on killing him he became ; and
if he and his hounds were baffled he used to get beside
himself with rage. With him, hunting was not a sport,
it was an obsession.

" Fortunately the fox supply in the Haycester country
has always been exceptionally good, and fortunately they
take a good deal of kilhng; he would have well-nigh
exhausted most countries in a very short time. As it
was the show of foxes in some of the more open parts
was not what it should have been for several years after
Nunn's regime.

THE HAUNTED HUNT

" He was no society man. He cut an awkward little
figure on foot, with his bandy legs and wizened, scowling
face like a monkey's. He was a bachelor, and lived by
himself in the huntsman's cottage at the kennels, acting
as his own kennel-huntsman. He never entertained, and
rarely went out anywhere. Away from the hounds he
was impossible, curt and morose almost to rudeness ;
but the Haycester people forgave him all his faults for
the sake of the sport he showed.

" The way Anthony Nunn hunted hounds was Fine
Art : to watch and listen to him was the most exquisite
pleasure I have ever enjoyed. He had a voice like a
bell, and the cleverness of the fox himself. I verily
believe that people preferred the bad-scenting days to
the good in his time, it was such a dehght to watch him
help hounds. The sheer inspiration of some of his casts
was enough to take away one's breath.

" With the hounds he was on the best of terms, and
going to cover or returning home used to talk to them
as if they were human beings, keeping up a continual
prattle, after this style : ' Shall we find a fox in Coney
Rough, my lads, think ye ? Old Challenger there thinks
not. Didn't find there last time, says Challenger. — And
which of you boys is going to cut out old Marksman
to-day? You, Primate? Primate thinks he'll have a
try. — Well, Sympathy, are you going to let us hear your
voice to-day, Sympathy ? You and I will have to part
if you don't find your voice, you know. Sympathy ; ' —
and so on, addressing not a word to any of the field ; and
even in answer to a question only growling a monosyllable
over his shoulder. To ride over hounds would have been
as much as any one's life was worth. I once saw him

4 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

thrash a man, whose horse had kicked a hound, till he
had to be dragged off him. Although he looked such a
shrivelled up little fellow, Nunn could box like Nat
Langham and hit like a kicking horse.

" There was one hound in particular that was the apple
of his eye ; an ugly hare-pied brute called Marksman, in
his eighth season and still running to head when Nunn's
death took place. This hound was so savage that none
of the men at the kennels dared handle him, but with
Nunn he was as gentle as a lamb. He was a wonderful
working hound with a curious deep voice, and a marvel
at holding a cold line. We used to say that Nunn's
' For-ard to Marksman ! ' was as good as a view-hallo,
and that the two were sufficient to account for any fox.
Anthony Nunn and the Haycester Marksman were
renowned all over England.

" I have dwelt somewhat on Nunn's peculiarities be-
cause, to my mind, when it is realised what manner of
man he was, the experiences which I am about to relate
become so much more credible. Looking back with a
calm mind, the whole thing seems to me in perfect
accord.

" I have told you how the killing of his fox was the
be-all and end-all with him, how he looked upon the
hunted fox as his natural and most deadly enemy, and
how he would rage if Reynard managed to save his brush.
To lose a fox affected him like a mortal insult, and he
would brood over it until he was satisfied that he had
brought the offender to book.

" That last fox was a typical instance. Twelve days
before Nunn's death the hounds met at Yewbarrow Mill,
then as now in the Monday country. We found a fox

THE HAUNTED HUNT

in Canonby Whin, and he broke close to where I was
standing. He was good to know, that fox, and I could
have sworn to him again among hundreds : a great raking,
grey dog-fox, with most of his brush missing. Details
of the run are immaterial ; it is enough to tell you that
after a chnker of eighty minutes we lost him the other side
of Hareham, and, try as he might, Anthony Nunn with
all his craft was beaten. Of course it upset him as usual,
and he took hounds home there and then.

" No one acquainted with Nunn's idiosyncrasies was
surprised when the following Monday's meet was changed
from Wingley to Yewbarrow Mill. Again we found the
big grey fox in Canonby Whin ; and he gave us an even
better run than before : by Hareham, Owland Banks,
and Buckfield ; over Priestland Park and Shepley Down ;
past Hindholt to Windleby, where, after two hours and
thirty minutes, we lost him again. This time Nunn's
fury was a sight to behold. He raved and cursed, and

screamed out, ' I'll kill that bobtail if I have to jump

the gates of Hell to do it ! ' He tried forward and back,
round and round, every place that could possibly hold a
fox. Long after the last remnant of the field had gone
home he was at it, until pitch darkness forced him to
give it up.

" Eccentric as we thought him, no one was prepared
for his next move. The next day messengers and tele-
grams were flying about the country to say that Wednes-
day's meet was abandoned, and that hounds would meet
next on Friday at Yewbarrow Mill at g a.m. The tele-
grams bore the cryptic addition, ' Cub-hunting.'

" Naturally the people, especially those on the Wednes-
day and Friday sides, were furious, and the weight of

6 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

their wrath fell on the Secretary, a mild person, very much
in awe of Nunn, who could throw no light on the enigma.
Many indignation meetings were held, and feeling ran
so high that the Mastership of the Haycester Hounds
would certainly have become vacant at the end of the
season, even had the event not been precipitated as
it was.

" Under the circumstances a very small field turned
out at Yewbarrow Mill on the Friday. There were not
half a dozen of us, besides the remarkable cavalcade that
arrived with hounds. Nunn had with him not only the
whippers-in and second horseman, but every man and boy
in any way connected with the kennels ; all his own and
the hunt servants' horses were out, ridden by stablemen,
feeders, and what not ; and he had brought every hound
that had a leg to stand on : dogs and bitches, forty-seven
couple in all.

" Nunn himself looked as if he had been out of bed for
a week; and we heard afterwards that, having spent all
the preceding days in destroying every earth and stopping
every place where the fox could get in between Canonby
Whin and Ridgeweather Hill, he had been out with
the earthstopper the night before the meet, had gone
carefully over all his work again to make sure that
it was intact, and had then returned to Canonby
Whin, watched the grey fox out, and made all safe
behind him.

" He never even stopped his horse at the meet, ignored
our salutations, and went straight on to cover.

" When we got to the Whin he turned round and
addressed us; and then we understood the meaning of
the strange telegram and of his miscellaneous following.

"the horse turned a complete somersault"

[To/ace j>. 7

THE HAUNTED HUNT

' Get all round it,' he said, ' and hold him up like a cub.'
I think it had dawned upon all of us by this time that the
man was insane, so, thinking it best to humour him, we
spread ourselves out round the Whin.

" However, you know what a wild, straggling place it
is, even now ; and we were not nearly numerous enough
to invest every corner of it, especially with a bold, enter-
prising customer like the grey fox inside. And sure
enough, hounds were barely in when he broke at the far
end and went away like a greyhound.

" Nunn came tearing out to the hallo, black in the face
with passion, and blowing the gone-away note as if he
would burst his lips. The forty-seven couple swept out
like a great breaking wave and opened on the line with
a crash of music that I have never heard the like of. I
could hear old Marksman throwing his tongue like an
organ above them all, and Nunn's beautiful voice blas-
pheming and cheering them on.

" I can shut my eyes and think I see him now, with his
eyes glaring out of his ape face with madness. Driving
his horse along and * forrarding ' to the hounds, he never
seemed to realise that there was a bank just in front of
him, and was within two strides of it when he awoke to
his danger. He tried to collect his horse, but the impetus
was too great ; the horse went into it like a shot from a
gun, turned a complete somersault, and came down on
the other side with a thud that could have been heard
fields away. When we got over, there were two things
to be done at once : to send for a gun to finish the horse,
and the whips after the hounds to stop them if possible.
One look at Nunn as we turned him over was enough.
The full weight of the horse must have come on his head

8 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

with tremendous force, smashing his skull and driving his
face into the ground.

" It was the middle of January when Nunn was killed;
and a fortnight after the funeral we hunted again, the
first whip carrying the horn, under a temporary com-
mittee, for a couple of months.

" Next season Furlong, from the Burstover, took the
mastership, bringing his own whips and engaging a pro-
fessional huntsman. This huntsman was one of the slow,
try-back,' family-coachman sort, and although, thanks
to a succession of good-scenting days in the early part of
the season, we had fair sport, the proceedings seemed very
dull after Nunn's brilhance.

" Furlong brought a few hounds of his own, but took
over the greater part of Nunn's pack, and even these
seemed affected by the changed spirit of things. Old
Marksman in particular was not like the same animal;
from being the oracle of the pack he became a mute,
listless shirker; so markedly so that Furlong talked of
putting him down, and the huntsman remarked with a
grin, ' So this is the famous Marksman ! '

" The hounds had not been in Canonby Whin at all that
season until one day late in December, nearly a year after
Nunn's death, when they met at the ' Black Bull,' which,
as you know, is a very few miles from there. There was
no scent in the morning, and we had done nothing but
potter about until we came to the Whin in the afternoon.
There I got on to my second horse, a brown, five-year-old
thoroughbred called Pride of Tyrone, which I had bought
out of Ireland for a longer price than I could really afford,
but which I confidently expected him to recover with
interest as a steeplechaser : I even cherished golden

THE HAUNTED HUNT 9

dreams of future Grand Nationals. My young horse was
rather a handful in a crowd, so I went on to the whip at
the far end of the cover.

" We had not long to wait before there was a whimper ;
and half a minute later, there, stealing away, was my old
acquaintance the big, grey, bobtailed fox. Away he
went on his familiar line ; and I, with the thoughtlessnes
of youth, and in the excitement of getting well away with
hounds, never recked that I was riding at the very part
of the bank which had been fatal to Anthony Nunn. I
was coming nicely at it, when suddenly Pride of Tyrone
swerved, crossed his legs, and fell, shooting me out of the
saddle. Quite unhurt, I picked myself up at once.
Pride of Tyrone was already on his feet some yards away,
drenched with sweat and plunging back towards the
Whin. As I started to go after him, he circled round at
a canter and went at the bank exactly as if he had been
ridden at it. I was too late to intercept him, and he
popped on and off like a bird, and strode away over the
rise of the next field.

" I remember noticing as he went past me that the reins
had somehow got caught on the saddle.

" By this time the field were galloping by me, some
going over the bank as the shortest way, others following
the huntsman through a gap a hundred yards or more to
the right.

" Running across the next field and climbing on to the
next bank for a better view, I could see the hounds fairly
racing, and close up with them, served by his great speed,
was the runaway Pride of Tyrone ; a widening space
between him and the rapidly tailing field.

" Pursuit on foot and in riding boots was out of the

10 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

question, and as there was no probability of any one
stopping him my anxiety was great lest he should manage
to injure himself.

" I was at my wits' end what to do until it occurred to
me that my first horse might still be within hail. I ran
back as fast as I could across the two fields and on to the
road at the top of the Whin, where I came upon a group
of second horsemen just turning away from watching the
disappearing hounds, and among them was my man.
Fortunately we had done nothing to speak of before I
changed on to Pride of Tyrone, so the horse was quite
fresh, and I galloped down the line in pursuit of the
fugitive.

" Hounds and Pride of Tyrone and all were out of sight
and earshot by this time, but the tracks of the horses led
straight away over the line the grey fox knew so well.
It was not long before I began to meet people coming
back, thrown out by falling or beaten by the pace, among
them the first whip with his horse badly staked. But
of Pride of Tyrone there was not a sign, and the tale of
casualties did not tend to lessen my uneasiness on his
account.

" The tracks became fewer and fewer, and at length
between Humbleby Farm and Buckfield I encountered a
man leading his horse back. From him I learnt that the
pace, terrific for the first few miles, had slackened to a
slow hunting run, when he, alone of all the field anywhere
within sight of the hounds, had come to grief. He said
that when he last saw the hounds they were running
straight ahead, more slowly now, but in full cry ; and right
up alongside them, moving like a machine, as though he
revelled in the game, was my embryo racehorse.

THE HAUNTED HUNT 11

" Wasting no time, I followed Pride of Tjnrone's trail.
For the greater part of the way it was plain enough, and
I was able to travel at a good pace ; but in places, espe-
cially on the Downs and higher-lying grass lands, it was
only with the greatest difficulty that I could find anything
to guide me at all.

" The tracks went straight over Priestland Park and
Shepley Down to just below Hindholt, where the fox had
evidently been headed and had swung left-handed along
Kelton Bottom. I saw the tracks of the hounds in the
soft ground there, and knew that Pride of Tyrone was
still with them.

" Coming up by Checkley on to the high land again
the line lay to the right over Anyman's Down to Cockover
Wood, where the hoof-prints were a puzzle that took me
some time to unravel. From what I could make of it.
Pride of Tyrone had galloped into the wood, had turned
back half-way down the ride, had walked and trotted back,
standing still more than once, and had broken into a
gallop again before leaving the wood by the way he had
entered it, going away in the direction of Swingstone.

" In another hour or so it would be too dark to see any
tracks at all, and as I seemed to be no nearer to Pride of
Tyrone than when I started, my chance of catching him
before nightfall appeared remote in the extreme ; but I
was determined to persevere while I could, and kept
plodding along on the trail.

" From Swingstone it led right on by High Firs and
Kyte Common, as straight as a die past Ridgeweather
Hill, and on to the Teal Valley. Sinking the valley, I
followed it on through Frogbere plantations and across
the water-meadows straight to the Teal.

12 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" ' Surely,' I thought, ' the water would stop him.'
But no ; I saw the marks where he had taken off. ' What
a horse ! ' I thought, ' what a horse ! ' The Teal at that
point was thirty feet across.

" I knew the horse I was riding could not jump it, so
going round by the bridge, quarter of a mile higher up
towards the village, I came along the opposite bank till
I found the tracks again. As the valley was already in
twilight this was no easy matter, but I struck them at
length and discovered that Pride of Tyrone had landed
with a yard to spare, and gone straight on without
hesitating.

" By this time my mount had had quite enough of it,
and as I had more and more difficulty every minute in
tracking my way along, I came to the conclusion that
further pursuit was hopeless, and was just turning my
horse's head in the direction of home when the sound
of a hoof on a road caught my ear.

" I rode quickly towards the sound, and, sitting on
his horse in the lane which leads up out of the valley by
the edge of Baron's Wood, came upon the new huntsman
listening intently with his hand behind his ear. Though
how he, who never jumped a stick if he could help it, and
almost a stranger in the country, had managed to get so
far, I could not imagine. Certainly he had a marvellous
knack of picking his way about by lanes and gates, and
this was the only direction in which I ever knew him to
exhibit the least intelligence.

" ' Hark ! ' he said, when he caught sight of me,
' Hark ! they're in there,' and pointed up to where Baron's
Wood, lying along the top of the valley side, loomed
against the sunset sky. I stopped my horse and listened.

THE HAUNTED HUNT 13

but the bellringers were practising in Frogbere Church,
and the sound, echoing from both sides of the valley, lent
itself to any construction the imagination liked to put
upon it.

" ' They're in there,' said the huntsman, * I heard them
before the bells began. And there's some one hunting
them ! '

" Some one hunting them ! At this piece of informa-
tion the notion flashed across me that I had come all this
way on a wild-goose chase. What more likely than that
some one had nicked in with them, probably when the
fox had swung out to Checkley and back to Cockover
Wood ? And had I read aright the riddle of the returning
tracks in Cockover Wood ? I was convinced that I had
been following a single line of tracks and that those
belonged to Pride of Tyrone. ' But,' I said to myself, ' I
am not a Red Indian, and it is quite possible that I have
made a mistake somewhere in spite of all my care.'
After all, was it probable that any horse, least of all a
young one who had that season seen hounds for the first
time, would, of his own free will and riderless, stick to
them all through a run like that, jumping everything as
it came and the Teal as well ? The more I reasoned the
more absurd did the idea seem.

" As we sat there straining our ears, a labourer came
down the lane from the direction of the wood. ' The
Hounds ? ' he said in answer to our questions. * Yes,
they've been up there hunting about in the big wood this
half-hour. Yes, there's some one with them, I heard him.
No, I didn't see him ; I saw some of the dogs ; and there's
a horse that's lost his master.'

" We rode up the lane and turned into the wood.

14 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

* Now,' said the huntsman, ' we shall see who is meddling
with my hounds.'

" We had gone some way along the main ride before
we heard the hounds running towards us from the left.
They came nearer and nearer, and presently burst out
of the undergrowth about eighty yards ahead of us,
turned sharp left-handed, and went straight up the
ride in full cry. Just as they passed a branch ride
leading from the left, an object dashed out of it and
followed in their wake. It was Pride of Tyrone in full
career.

" Both our horses were dead beat, so, bucket along as
we might, we could not keep the hounds in view, and the
cry was getting fainter and fainter when the huntsman's
horse behind me came down with a squelch and a clatter.
I never even stopped — I am afraid I set more value on
Pride of Tyrone — but sent my horse along for all he was
worth to the end of the wood. There I found that the
hounds had crossed the road into Oxlow Wood, Pride of
Tyrone with them.

" As you know, Oxlow Wood is an irregular crescent in
shape, with only one ride through it lengthways, and a
horse can therefore only get in or out at the ends, or
horns, of the crescent. It was just the same in those
days; so, having made sure that Pride of Tyrone had
entered, I cut across to the far end, thinking to intercept
him. There were no tracks leading out of the wood, and
the chances were against his turning back, so I awaited
developments.

" The sun was just setting blood-red. The sky in the
west was like a sheet of flame. Not a breath of wind
stirred the woods, and behind them the mist was creeping

THE HAUNTED HUNT 15

out of the Teal Valley. The bells of Frogbere Church
were still faintly audible, mingling with the intermittent
cry of hounds, which, now on one side of the wood, now
on the other, was gradually coming towards me.

" At length the cry ceased altogether, and then from
the wood came a sound that made my spine crawl.

" It was a voice. A voice that never had a like : the
voice of Anthony Nunn !

" ' Yeu-eup ! ' it went, * Try for-ard ! '

" With the cold sweat dripping off me I sat there
paralysed ; and the beautiful voice came on :

"'En, Marksman! — Yooi, tny lads! — Yooi, wind
him ! ' Nearer and nearer it came, ringing and echoing
through the wood like a bell. And still I sat there. My
limbs were lead and my brain was numb, and I sat there
waiting, for what unspeakable apparition I had no
conception.

" Louder and louder it grew : ' Yeu-eup ! — Push him
up ! — Yooi, my lads ! — Yeu, try in there ! '

" Then from the wood there crept the dim form of the
grey bobtailed fox. With one foot raised he stood listen-
ing a moment, and stole away towards the sunset.

" In cover a hound spoke, then another : a deep note
like an otter-hound.

" The voice cheered him till the air throbbed, * Hiiic ! —
Huic ! — Huic ! to Marksman !—Ho-o-o-o-ick ! '

" The old hound crashed through the brushwood, alert
and eager — the Marksman of yore. Throwing that
sonorous tongue of his, with his nose on the line he drove
along. Scoring to cry the hounds poured out. And then,
every muscle on my body literally twitching, I heard the
voice close at hand, and an approaching horse.

16 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" It seemed hours that I stared with aching eyes that
I dared not bhnk at the end of the ride where the Thing
must appear.

" What I saw burnt into my brain.

" Out of the wood came — Pride of Tyrone !

" Pride of Tyrone, white with lather, eyes wild and
nostrils distended. The bit was pressing on his mouth ;
the reins extended stiffly back from the bit to empty air
above the withers. They were held in a grasp, and they
were held by — nothing !

" And from the empty air above the saddle, from on
a level with my own head, pealed and cheered that clarion
voice.

" Pride of Tyrone passed close by me : I could have
touched him. And as he passed a sense of unutterable,
nameless horror and doom swept over me. And the
voice blared like a trumpet right in my ear : ' For-ard.
Awa-ay ! '

" Bhnd with terror, I drove the spurs into my horse
and rode for my life.

" My recollection of the journey home is a blurred
jumble of furious galloping and weary leading of a
foundered horse.

" Next morning I went to the kennels. I found the
huntsman, scared and shaken, big with news. After the
fall his horse was dead lame, and as he could not hear a
sound of the hounds he went home. It was after nine
o'clock when he got to the kennels ; the whips were
already there, having collected four and a half couple of
lost hounds — all new hounds of Furlong's. Of the rest
of the eighteen couple taken out in the morning there was
not a trace.

THE HAUNTED HUNT 17

" He got his supper and went to bed; and had been
asleep some time when he was aroused by a violent
knocking at the door, which continued until his hand was
on the latch to open it. He looked out. In the yard,
which was as light as day with brilliant moonlight, stood
six couple of hounds. Not a sign of anything else. He
was about to call out, when such a feeling of utter horror
came over him as he had no words to describe. Some-
thing was hurled past his head into the house. And out
of nothing, right in his face rang yells and shrieks of
unearthly laughter.

" How he even managed to bang the door to, and how
long he crouched there sick with fright, he had no idea.
He left the six couple outside to shift for themselves till
daylight.

" He showed me the object thrown through the door.
Still lying where it had fallen was the mangled, wolfish
mask of a great dog-fox, and crammed into the mouth
were the four pads and a grey fragment of a brush.

" During the next few daj^s tidings came in.

" Pride of Tyrone was found, stiff and dead, in a lonely
by-road within five miles of the kennels.

" Singly and in twos and threes the rest of the hounds
came back, led, in carts, and limping home alone on
weary bleeding feet.

" By the end of the week there was only one hound
unaccounted for. Then we had the story of the doctor
at Stoatswold, in the heart of the Oaklands country.

" Driving home late on the night of the run, he heard
hounds killing a fox on the moor above the village, and
some one whooping and whooping till the whole country-
side resounded.
c

18 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" The doctor said it was gruesome and turned him
cold. The villagers heard it, broad awake, and shivered
in their beds.

" Next day on the moor, surrounded by the remains
and fragments of a fox, they found a hound, dead. It
was old Marksman. They must have run nearly forty
miles.

" Nothing of a like nature ever occurred again," said
the white-haired man, after a pause. " For years there
were rumours among the country people of a deep-
voiced hound being heard at night, particularly in one
part, and of a man's voice cheering him. But the
evidence was never at first hand."

The white-haired man lit a fresh cigar.

" Yes," he said, " it is strange that we never find a fox
in Canonby Whin."

THE OLD BLUE-PYE

I'm a lean old, mean old sight in a street

With a foolish, ghoulish glare at a man,
And my kennel-mates look grand at a meet.

With a bloom on the Belvoir tan;
And they sneer who gape on my colour and shape

And my veteran, villainous, bloodshot eye,
For the crowds that swarm round fashion and form

Pass over the old blue-pye.
But the Huntsman knows what a hound can do,
And he knows that I know that he knows it, too :
He knows my voice on a fox is true,

And the blood of a fox my joy;
So I clear my way thro' the thick of the pack
To where he sits on the bay mare's back
With his, " Poor old Vagabond — Vagabond — Vaga-
bond !

Poor old Vagabond, boy ! "

I'm a hard old, scarred old, quarrelsome brute,

I'm a peevish, thievish bundle of bone.
But I'll sing to a fox when the rest are mute

On a line as cold as a stone.
Oh, the Belvoir blood is gallant and good

On a scent you could eat, when it hangs breast high,
But the casting vote on a doubtful note

Is left to the old blue-pye.

I9L

20 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

And the Huntsman knows what a hound can do,
And he knows that I know that he knows it, too :
He knows my voice on a fox is true,

And the blood of a fox my joy;
So clear the way for the pick of the pack,
When he waves us in from the bay mare's back
With his " 'Leu-'leu, Vagabond — Vagabond — Vaga-
bond !

'Leu-'leu, Vagabond, boy ! "

I'm a slinking, blinking beast on a bench,

I'm a sulking, hulking bully at home.
But I'm king of the sport of kings as I wrench

Thro' the woods where the red rogues roam ;
And my fine sleek mates must bury their hates

And gather and gallop to get to the cry
When the brushwood rocks and the word is, " Fox ! —

On the faith of the old blue-pye."
For the Huntsman knows what a hound can do.
And he knows that I know that he knows it, too :
He knows my voice on a fox is true.

And the blood of a fox my joy;
So cleave your way to the pick of the pack.
When he wakes the woods from the bay mare's back
With his " Huic, to Vagabond ! — Huic, to Vagabond !

Yoo-ick, Vagabond, boy ! "

I'm a creepy, sleepy slug in the straw.
But endure as sure as fate on a line.

And a fox must make the most of his law
When the set of his mask is mine;

THE OLD BLUE-PYE 21

And the riders troop to the shrill who-hoop

On staggering horses and steeds that sigh
As the word goes round that the fox was found

And killed by the old blue-pye.
For the Huntsman knows what a hound can do,
And he knows that I know that he knows it, too :
He knows my voice on a fox is true,

And the blood of a fox my joy.
As he fights his way to the thick of the pack.
Where my jaws are crushing a wet red back.
With his " Leave him, Vagabond ! — Vagabond ! —
Vagabond !

Leave him. Vagabond, boy ! "

A CALL TO THE MARSHES

Let us board farmer Mole's " one-hoss " chaise that
awaits to convey our baggage and ourselves to Dunlin
Island, which lies six miles from the nearest station, the
greater portion of the way traversing a wide expanse of
treacherous sands and ooze flats, the track being marked
out by a long line of beacons. This weird and solitary
highway across the sands is passable during low tide only,
and woe to any unfortunate traveller who attempts to
use it at half-flood even, or when overtaken by fog or
darkness. The chances are he would meet with a watery
grave. Far out in the estuary a pile lighthouse stands
upon the fringe of a sand bar dreaded by mariners.
Beyond a colony of noisy gulls and a number of herons
which stand like so many grey-clad sentinels along the
serrated margin of the sands there are but few signs of
life. But out on the main a rusty-hulled, squat-masted
tramp steamer churns her way " down along," and the rich
tan sails of a fleet of bawley boats trawling in the fairway,
lend their bit of colour to the grey seascape. Nor is the
view shoreward of much more enlivening aspect. It
consists of one long line of high stone-faced escarpments
broken here and there by a small tidal creek. Beyond
the sea-walls lie thousands of acres of fertile but treeless,
dyke-intersected marshes. Dreary and desolate-looking
enough they are, but it is here that wildfowl love to

A CALL TO THE MARSHES 23

congregate. To-morrow at dawn of day we are to take
tithe of the broods of young mallard bred thereon.

A wrack-festooned beacon surmounted by an iron
triangle indicates the but-little-used cart track that leads
to Dunlin Island. An old ruddy-complexioned farmer
comes out of the reed-thatched homestead as the rattle-
trap chaise draws up before the door. While discussing
a mug of powerful beer of local brew the farmer informs
us that a masterful lot of young mallard with " scarce
a real flapper among 'em " are awaiting our attention on
the reedy fleets and dykes.

" Up with the lark " should be the duck-shooter's
motto, and the first tokens of dawn had scarcely broken
when we four " guns " set out accompanied by as many
marshmen and a team of old-fashioned water spaniels
such as our ancestors were wont to shoot over, and quite
a different type from the short-legged long-barrelled
spaniels which one sees benched at the principal dog shows
nowadays. Nine out of ten of the latter would prove
utterly useless in the field. Our aim is to work along the
main dykes first and so drive any duck that may be
harbouring therein to the big fleet lying on the further
side of the island. In most cases these dykes or drains
are fringed with belts of tall sedges, which afford splendid
cover for duck, coot, snipe, and other birds. In no case
are the dykes of greater width than twenty feet, and one
gun with a dog to hunt the sedge belts is therefore suffi-
cient to shoot them. Each of the big drains runs parallel
with the next, and smaller dykes run at right angles to
these. At a given signal off we all start, the spaniels
threading in and out of the dense beds of reeds.

A little whimper, hardly audible above the rustle of the

24 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

sedges, is given by old Rap, who has been told off to
work for me. The whimper is immediately followed by a
great rousting amidst the reeds, for the dog has sprung a
brood of seven remarkably WTll-grown young duck,
together with the female parent bird — at this season of
the year the old mallards are in full moult and skulk away
by themselves until their change of plumage is com-
pleted. A couple of fat " flappers " drop to the contents
of the first barrel, while another hard hit, after " carrying
on " bravely in the wake of his more fortunate brethren,
suddenly drops like a stone. The remainder of the bunch
is marked down into the fleet, and further toll may be
taken of them later perhaps.

The other guns are also hard at it; indeed, if the
burning of powder has anything to do with it, our friends'
dykes would seem to hold a far better head of fowl than
does our own, for the firing is well-nigh incessant right
along the line, whereas for some little time after the
passing of the brood of flappers nothing comes within
range of our gun. Suddenly, however, an excited little
challenge from old Rap puts us on the qui vive, and out
flashes a single gadwall duck from a clump of black bog
rushes within very easy shot. How we managed to miss
the duck with the first barrel will ever remain a mystery,
for it afforded a shot which the veriest tyro should not
have muffed. The second attempt, however, crumples
up the duck like an old rag. We are not a little pleased
at bagging the gadwall, for the beautiful species, although
breeding sparingly in some parts of Norfolk since its
introduction there, may be regarded as quite a rara avis
on Dunlin Island. "*'

" Hinter comes a bunch o' teal ! Look out, maister ! "

A CALL TO THE MARSHES 25

cries our henchman, pointing towards a number of tiny
specks twisting and fleeting over the marsh hke a flight
of erratic rockets. The teal head straight towards us,
and crouching amongst a bed of dry rushes we await
their coming. Ye gods, how a teal can travel ! A snipe
is an easy bird to shoot in comparison. On and on come
the beautiful little duck, falling and rising, twisting and
screwing, in their flight. Now or never. Singhng out
the leading bird we pull, and he continues on his way as
though he rather enjoyed the salute. With the left,
however, we manage to stop the tail bird, which drops
into a pond hole with a splash. The teal proves to be a
young male in immature plumage, and the brood must
have been hatched very early, for they appear to be quite
as useful with their wings as the old birds. Two or three
pairs of these charming little ducks breed annually on
Dunlin Island, there being splendid nesting sites for all
kinds of fowl. Partridges nest mostly amongst the rank
herbage growing on the inner face of the sea-walls, and
snipe, redshanks, and lapwings in considerable numbers
build on the enclosed marshes.

Not another feather is moved from the dyke until the
big fleet is reached, when a nice lot of young mallard get
up just out of gunshot. A council of war amongst the
guns now takes place at the head of the fleet, and a coin
of the realm is tossed to decide who shall shoot the left
and who the right shore of the long lagoon-like piece of
water. This knotty point settled, the dogs are sent
into the dense reed cover that fringes either side of the
fleet, while the marshmen beat the sedges with their
leaping- poles. Brood after brood of duck with here and
there a coot or moorhen rise from the aquatic jungle, and

26 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

full toll is taken of them. But to describe how this duck
was shot, how that one missed, would afford but mono-
tonous reading we fear, for after all one day's flapper-
shooting is very like another. Suffice it to say that when
a halt was called for lunch and the bunches of fowl laid
on the shady side of the sea-wall they were found to run
well into three figures.

A MORNING'S OTTER-HUNTING

Seeing that the ancient and grand sport of otter-
hunting comes when every other branch of the chase is
at a standstill, added to which it is, like beagling, a
healthful recreation that may be indulged in by any man
or woman of very moderate means and " sound in wind
and limb," it is passing strange that the majority of those
good sportsmen whose hounds hunt many of the inland
waters of the British Islands should receive such scanty
support in the form of subscriptions. Apart from the
fact that a pack of well-entered, well-handled otter-
hounds will show some of the most clever hound work
possible, the " trail " of their quarry often leads the
" field " through some of the most picturesque river
scenery imaginable.

Formerly the big, handsome, bell-throated, rough-
coated otterhounds were almost exclusively used for
hunting otters in this country, but to-day, unless we are
mistaken, the splendid packs of the Dumfriesshire and
Bucks O.H. are the only ones which consist entirely of
the old-fashioned pure-bred otterhounds.

Several couples of the Dumfriesshire pack were shown
at the last Cruft's Show held at the Agricultural Hall,
and the heart of many a veteran otter-hunter of the old
school was gladdened by the sight of those magnificent-
looking hounds, which, although bred solely for the
27

28 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

field and not for the show-bench — as was the case with
the majority of the entries in so-called sporting classes
in the show — carried off practically everything in the
shape of awards in their particular class. Grand hunters
are these old-fashioned otterhounds, with noses keen as
razors to puzzle out a cold or patchy " trail," while their
" music " is simply superb. They lack something,
perhaps, of the drive and dash of the foxhound, which is
so very generally used for otter-hunting nowadays, and
by which many a M.O.H. swears ; nevertheless, to some
of us who are old-fashioned enough in our sporting ideas
to think that otters should be hunted by otterhounds, and
foxes by foxhounds, a stolen day — alas ! how few and
far between those days have become — with a pack of
pure-bred otterhounds is very delightful. On the other
hand, however, some of our longest and best otter hunts
have been with mixed packs consisting chiefly of fox-
hounds with a few couple of rough otterhounds. We
have also seen a small pack of Welsh harriers acquit them-
selves remarkably well after being entered to otters.
But enough of this " babbhng." Let us push on to

G d Bridge, where the local pack is to meet this

morning. We are late already; there are otters in the

River C , and if hounds " strike and trail " before we

get up, they may run clean away.

The pack ranged on the quaint, old-time bridge; the
M.O.H. and his staff clad in serviceable blue flannel
jackets, breeches and stockings, and wearing each a
gold-mounted otter pad in their caps, while their studded
boots are perforated with holes to let the superfluous
water out as well as in; and the little knots of keen-
looking sportsmen and sportswomen eagerly discussing

A MORNING'S OTTER-HUNTING 29

the prospects of a good drag, form as sporting and
picturesque a scene as it is possible to imagine.

But we have but Httle time to admire the picture, for
the Master, ever anxious to show his followers sport,
moves off along the banks of the river, and very shortly
after being " put to water," hounds strike a trail under
the shelving-bank of a strip of osier beds. A volume of
music now gladdens the ears of the field, and helter-
skelter go men, women, and youngsters as hard as they
can foot it,, their numbers being pretty equally distributed
along either bank.

Ere long a willow-fringed feeder has to be negotiated,
and, the banks of the same being rather wide apart for
" shank's pony " to jump, those of us who have come out
unarmed with leaping poles (those useful but harmless
weapons which the extreme order of humanitarians and
a certain class of Fleet-street journalists are wont to
call " the murderous, death-dealing spears of the cruel
otter-hunters "), must either walk half a mile or so up-
stream to the nearest foot-bridge or scramble over as
best we may. A good many of the followers — not by
any means are they all of the fair sex — choose the former
evil, and are never seen or heard of again that day. One
jolly little, rosy-gilled, rotund man from a neighbouring
town rushes gallantly at the obstacle, and lands clean
in the middle of some four feet of turbid water and
particularly unsavoury mud. Nothing daunted, the
little sportsman bobs up smiling, and with head and
shoulders decorated with duck-weed and other aquatic
vegetation he scrambles up the further bank like an
amiable Pater Thamesis.

The music by this time is growing very much fainter,

30 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

for hounds are meadows ahead of the field, and it gradu-
ally dies away. Hell for leather we go, and, having
gained our " second wind," we very soon pick up ground
and draw up with the van.

" The otter's ' watched ' (gone to ground), for a pony ! "
ejaculates the long-limbed, clean-built M.O.H., as a
sudden bend of the river reveals the pack feathering
under an over-shoot.

Pell-mell goes the " field," led by the lengthy and
athletic Master, while several fair Dianas hold their own
with the best of us.

While search is being made for the " holt," one of the
game little broken-haired terriers who has wandered on
a voyage of discovery above the weir on his own account
approaches too near the fall, and the next moment he is
washed like a cork into the boiling torrent below. Strik-
ing a boulder at the foot of the fall, and apparently half-
stunned, he is borne helplessly down-stream.

Now, these game terriers are the joy and pride of the
hunt, and in less time than it takes to record the fact
the Master's brother, who acts the part of whipper-in,
has dragged off his boots and is swimming through the
broken water to rescue the half-drowned " little offerer."
With powerful strokes the plucky whip very soon reaches
the terrier, and a cheer goes up as he regains the bank,
dripping like a huge retriever, but with his prize safely
gathered.

A dose of whisky is administered to the still half-dazed
and well-nigh-drowned terrier, the hero of the moment
runs up to a neighbouring farm-house to obtain a change
of clothing, and then the second terrier is sent into the
" holt " to try and bolt the otter.

A MORNING'S OTTER-HUNTING 31

Meanwhile a number of the " field," captained by a
veteran otter-hunter who boasts that he has never had
a twinge of rheumatism in his life, are sent down to
" stickle " (chain) a shallow part of the river. Beyond
the shallows is a long and deep reach, in which it would
be difficult for hounds to hunt their game if it once suc-
ceeded in making it. For some little time not a sound
or signal is given by the terrier underground, and the
other dog, having apparently quite recovered from his
recent immersion, is sent to see what is going on.

" Hieu gaze ! hieu gaze ! " goes up from one of the
field who has been watching by the side of a deep dyke
running some two hundred yards distant from the main
river, and joining the same some little way below the
over-shoot, rings out above the roar of the waterfall. That
hollow has solved the subterranean mystery. The " holt "
leads into an old culvert through which, with the plucky
little terriers — the first of which is subsequently found
to be badly mauled about the muzzle — close on his heels,
or rather pads, the otter has escaped to the dyke. But
while we are " babbhng " in this manner hounds strike
the trail again and commence to drive their quarry like
the deuce up the dyke and into the river. Now ensues
one of the best hunts it was ever my good luck to take a
part in, and for eleven miles that game otter leads us a
merry dance through lovely river scenery, while the
music is glorious and well-nigh incessant.

More than once hounds run clean away from the field,
but, thanks to the checks which so frequently occur,, in
otter-hunting, especially in deep and sluggish streams
like the water we are hunting to-day, those of the fol-
lowers who are keen, amongst them a baker's dozen of

32 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

sporting undergraduates — Oxford lies but a few miles
distant — manage to see a good deal of hound work done.

At length an unearthly shriek — a kind of cross be-
tween a view-hallo and an Indian war-whoop — from a
shepherd whose flock of matronly-looking Southdown
ewes scamper aimlessly hither and thither across the
lush, emerald-green water-meadows.

" T' owd hotter jumped out o' the water jest loike a
gert rot, and runned acrost meadows to the brook, very
nigh scaring the loife out o' me and t' owd ships," ex-
claims the yokel in a breathless and disjointed manner
to the Master.

The flow of oratory of the worthy guardian of muttons
is drowned by a volume of music which suddenly escapes
from the bell-like throats of the pack, and at a pace
which proclaims a burning hot trail, hounds stream over
the grass.

Now commences the most dashing and exciting part
of the hunt. For the greater part of a mile the trail
leads up a sedgy, willow-fringed brook, and more than
once the quarry is " gazed " running along the bank at
no great distance ahead of hounds, which drive him at
a great racket. Despite the efforts of the field to keep
on terms with the flying pack, the latter is ever well
ahead, while the sinuosities of the stream, intervening
clumps of sallows and other obstructions to the perspec-
tive, often veil the movements of hounds completely.

Suddenly the distant music ceases abruptly, and when
heard again a few minutes later the gladsome melody
seems to proceed from well out in the meadows lying to
the right. Lutra has discovered his mistake in leaving
the main stream, and is now racing for his life across

"carrying the otter ashore"

A MORNING'S OTTER-HUNTING 33

the strip of green pasture-land which Hes sandwiched
between the brook and the river.

Those of the followers who possess sufficient stamina
to stay the " burst " take a diagonal line across-country
and arrive on the bank of the river just in time to see
the otter pulled down on the edge of a tiny osier-grown
islet standing in the middle of the stream.

Half-wading and half-swimming through the breast-
high water, a whipper-in bears the otter ashore, the
hounds swimming all round him. The last obsequies
are performed over our gallant quarry, but there are
some of us, I trow, who wish that game otter had lived
to run another day.

FULL CRY

Yonder he goes !

Like a withered brown leaf that a hurricane blows :

Yarn-der 'e goes !

And we speed him, who viewed him, with shrill tally-hos.

A scarlet flash and a twangling horn.

The branches crash in the thick-set thorn.
And opens before us the swell of the chorus

Like bells for a festival rung :
Hounds — hounds — hounds — hounds —

Galloping, galloping shoulder for shoulder, and tongue
giving answer to tongue.

Yonder he goes !

Up the ploughland beyond where the yellow stream

flows :
Yarn-der 'e goes !
Or a shadow ran under the rooks as they rose.

The ridges whirl with the wild black wings,

The waters swirl as the blood mare springs.
Nor falters before us the chime of the chorus

Like bells in the valley well rung :
Hounds — hounds — hounds — hounds —

Galloping, galloping shoulder for shoulder, and tongue
giving answer to tongue.

34

VONDEK HE GOES

FULL CRY 35

Yarn-der 'e goes !

And he's crawling and far from an earth that he knows :

Yarn-der 'e goes !

He's a mile from the moors and a field from his foes.

They race to view from a failing scent,

With the riders few and the horses spent,
And frantic before us the cheer and the chorus

Like bells for a carnival swung ;
Hounds — hounds — hounds — hounds —

Galloping, galloping shoulder for shoulder, and tongue
giving answer to tongue.

BLIND HOOKEY

Our introduction to Blind Hookey — that is not the
name under which he ran — took place on the Johannes-
burg Market Square. He had just been purchased at
auction by a couple of greasy Hebrew horse-dealers from
among a string of sorry-looking ponies, mules, and donkeys
which had been sent in for sale from different parts of
the Rand, Cape Colony, and the Orange Free State.

Blind Hookey was a clean-legged, well bred, well
groomed and fed Basuto pony, standing a trifle over four-
teen hands high. In short, he looked as though he had
just stepped out of a racing or polo stable. He stood as
quiet as a lamb before the auctioneer's portable rostrum
while he was being " put up," but we noticed an amused
kind of smile passed over the sun-tanned visage of the
worthy knight of the hammer as he knocked down the
galloway for the comparatively small sum of £22 — guinea
bids do not obtain at South African horse sales — to the
" Peruvians," who, delighted with their bargain, led
Blind Hookey over to a rattle-trap four-wheel " spider,"
which stood a little apart from the noisy crowd assembled
round the place of sale.

Feeling somewhat sore that we ourselves had not bought
the pony, we determined to see how he went in harness
and to that end_followed the jubilant horse-dealers across
the dusty square to watch the operation of inspanning.
Blind Hookey, with ears laid back a little, remained
36

BLIND HOOKEY 37

dangerously quiet while the heavy " green " harness
was laid upon his quivering barrel. But no sooner did
the point of the driver's sjambok touch his satin-hke
flank than, with a great plunge, as though he were charging
a yawning water- jump, he literally flew through the air
with the " spider," and upon descending to terra firma
again he kicked the body of the offending vehicle to
smithereens. Scared half out of their lives, but otherwise
little the worse for their brief aerial flight and somewhat
abrupt and sudden descent, the unfortunate speculators
in equine " securities " picked themselves up from the
dust and malodorous refuse of the cattle market, and
standing at a respectful distance ruefully watched the
final and complete destruction of the ancient "spider,"
of which, by-the-bye, but the axle-trees, wheels, and
one shaft remained intact.

Thinking perhaps that he had sufficiently avenged him-
self the indignity of having been put between the shafts
of a " one boss shay," Blind Hookey was in the act of
quietly retiring from the scene, with the wreckage trailing
behind him, when we took hold of his bridle and stopped
him. It was then that we noticed that the galloway was
blind of an eye, that he was past " mark of mouth,"
and that he had slightly cut himself about the hocks
during his acrobatic performance.

Emboldened by the knowledge that their latest purchase
could do them no further bodily harm provided they kept
far enough away from his heels, while we remained at his
head, the " Peruvians " approached a little nearer, and
the following collocution took place between the elder
of the twain (A) and ourselves (B).

A : " Ach ! it vas not right to put such a beautiful

38 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

paard — such a shentleman's 'orse — into zee old buggy;
zee rattle and jingle did drive him mad."

B : " New buggy or old, it would have been just the
same, my friend, for the pony has never been in harness
until now since he was foaled."

A : " Ach ! but there is not such a saddle'orse in all
Johannesburg; it is beautiful to ze him with a man on
his back; (wheedhngly) vill zee shentleman get up and
try him across zee square."

B : " No, thankee, we've already had the pleasure of
seeing you drive him, and that is suihcient for one day.
How much will you take for the brute ? "

A : " Ach ! We are not anxious to part with the
beautiful paard, but if you do vant him very bad you shall
'ave him for twenty- vive pond."

B : " Twenty-five pounds be hanged ! Why, man,
he's blind of an eye, long in the tooth, and his hocks are
cut all to pieces. Tell you what, you throw in a halter
and we'll give you a fiver for him." A, stamps and dances
round for some ten minutes, but finally consents, with a
very ill grace, to accept £8 los. for Blind Hookey and is.
for a halter. The money is paid over, and a Cape boy
leads the pony out to B's modest establishment, which
lies some eight miles outside the Golden City.

In spite of having been told, many a time and oft, that
a younger son should take less care of his own neck than
that of a borrowed mount, having purchased and paid
for Blind Hookey in hard cash, and having seen him in a
playful mood the preceding day, we felt quite justified
in putting a monkey-like Cape boy on his back before
venturing to get up ourselves. We, however, watched
very carefully the saddling and bitting of the galloway,

BLIND HOOKEY 39

choosing a rather long-cheeked " Pelham " for " steering
and stopping gear," as there was a good deal of barbed-
wire fencing about. Now, although Jacob, Hke most
Cape boys, could stick on almost anything in the shape
of a horse, he, in common with his ebon brethren, possessed
" hands of lead." We therefore tried to drum into the
thick, woolly pate of the stable lad the fact that he was
not to ride Blind Hookey hard, nor to make use of the
curb unless he found the animal too great a handful
to manage. With a broad grin of enjoyment at the pros-
pect of riding a " rough 'un," Jacob sprang into the saddle
with the agility of a monkey, but scarcely had he touched
the bridle-reins than Blind Hookey indulged in a series
of plunges, and then set off across the veld at a wild gallop,
heading straight for a wire-enclosed plantation of blue
gums, and with Jacob yelling and hauling on the curb like
a madman.

" That's a dead nigger for a hundred," is our muttered
ejaculation as we follow on the heels of the flying pair of
mad things as fast as poor old Bushman, a superannuated
chaser, can lay hoofs to ground.

On and on gallops Blind Hookey, swerving neither
to right nor left, but approaching every moment nearer
to the treacherous, nay, deadly, wire fencing.

" Can it be possible that Jacob does not realise the dan-
ger that lies immediately before him ? or has he lost his
head or nerve that he does not attempt to turn the brute
he is riding from its mad course ? "

Ah ! at last the Cape boy appears to be doing all he
can to stop his headlong speed of the galloway, for the
working of his dusky arms tells us that he is both saw-
ing and pulling at the brute's mouth as only a Kafir

40 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

knows how to saw and pull. He has left it too late, how-
ever, and we instinctively hold our breath and shudder
as the maddened bolter rushes blindly into the maiming
tightly-stretched wire fence, and next moment both man
and horse crash into a growth of eucalyptus saplings
in a confused heap.

Five weeks later Blind Hookey looked as fit as the
proverbial fiddle, and had it not been for a long narrow
scar which seared his chest from shoulder to shoulder,
and the painful manner in which his stable attendant,
Jacob, limped as he walked him up and down a level
strip of veld for the inspection of Mac — the well-known
Transvaal trainer of racehorses and galloways — one
might have forgotten that Blind Hookey had ever tested
the strength of a barbed-wire fence.

" What do you think of him ? " we asked of the trainer,
who appeared to be favourably impressed with the pony.

" Eh, mon, he's guid enou' looking to win races. I
ha'e an idea I've seen him before doon at the Cape, but
canna say for sure," rephed the canny Scot, who, although
a poor horseman himself, was an excellent judge of a horse
and jockeyship, and enjoyed the reputation of being one
of the most careful and successful trainers in South Africa.

" Get up, mon, and canter him round the dam. Bolt
or no bolt, he'll find nae wire to run into nearer than three
miles," went on Mac, with a grin overspreading his bony,
freckled countenance.

Were we to say that it was with a feeling of unalloyed
pleasure or safety that we mounted Blind Hookey on the
shore of Wemmerdam we should scarcely tell the truth ;
for, although we do not so much mind being " put down "
by a bucker or kicker — providing always it is soft falling

BLIND HOOKEY 41

and there are no spectators — we have a deeply-rooted
objection to being bolted with. Greatly to our surprise —
and we might add joy — however, after a preliminary
" prop " or two, Blind Hookey carried us round the dam
as quietly as a park hack, and such an excellent turn of
speed did he show that Mac agreed there and then to
train and run him on half shares with us.

The secret of success was a plain snaffle and light hands.

We learned subsequently that Blind Hookey had,
after nearly killing a Basuto stable lad, been sold out of a
small racing stud in Cape Colony as incorrigible and use-
less, and had been sent up to Johannesburg with a string
of ponies and horses of sorts. Then came a blank in his
history, but, judging by the condition in which we first
found the galloway, he must have been well cared for
during his sojourn in Johannesburg.

But to bring a long story to a close, Blind Hookey,
under the careful training of old Mac, became a very useful
" plater "; and, although it was never our pleasure to
see him first past the winning post, reports came to
us in England of his many successes at Turffontein and
other pony and galloway meetings in the Transvaal,
Natal, and Cape Colony.

SHOOTING OVER DECOYS

I

During a short visit to the pleasant town of Verulam
I learned that decent sport with yellow fish was obtainable
in a small neighbouring river. I made some very fair
catches of these fish, which, although they ran to no great
size, afforded good fun on a light rod and the finest of
drawn-gut, while every now and again I experienced
a diversion in the sport by landing a hideous bearded
mud-fish or barbel.

Yellow fish and barbel fishing is not bad in its way,
but after a time I began to feel that sport of a more
exciting nature would not be amiss. I therefore made
inquiries regarding the shooting obtainable on some
small lagoons lying a few miles outside Verulam, and
was advised to pay a visit to a certain young Englishman,
who held the post of Resident Engineer on the Zululand
Government Railway, and whose bungalow was situated
near the shore of one of the larger lagoons.

I took an early opportunity of riding over to call upon

Mr. B , the engineer, whom I found to be a remarkably

fine specimen of humanity, for he stood 6 ft. 2 in. in

his stockings and was splendidly proportioned. He was

moreover an excellent all-round sportsman, a genial

companion, and spoke the Zulu tongue almost as fluently

as a native.

My new friend promised that, upon a favourable day
42

SHOOTING OVER DECOYS 43

presenting itself, he would send a messenger to my hotel
bidding me come and wage war with him against the
fowl. In the course of a few days I received a note

from B asking me to call at his bungalow the following

evening at six o'clock, as he purposed going on a duck-
shooting expedition and would have a boat and decoys
ready for me.

The shores of the lagoons were fringed with very high
reeds and rushes. Leading from one piece of water to
another tliere is usually a weak place in the rushes through
which a small boat or dug-out may be navigated, and al-
though such places are well known to the initiated they
are quite invisible to a stranger. The refuse from the
cow-byres of a neighbouring farm where a big herd of
oxen was kept had induced the most luxuriant sub-
aquatic growth I had ever seen, so luxuriant, indeed,
that — as I subsequently discovered to my cost — it was
only at the expense of a deal of labour one was able
to force one's boat through it. During dinner B in-
formed me that he had been down to the further lagoon,
at the head of which he had erected a couple of " bhnds,"
behind which we were to " lay up " for the duck. He
had also hired two dug-outs from a native.

Nine o'clock p.m. was just striking when we shoved off
from the lake-shore in brilhant starlight weather, my
companion in one boat and myself in the other, each of
us taking a double 12-bore gun and home-made, but very
artistically fashioned and coloured, wooden decoys. As
instructed, I, to the best of my abihty, followed close in
the wake of the brawny engineer's boat. It proved ter-
ribly hard work to keep in touch with him, however, for
the water-plants formed a dense mat from the bed to the

44 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

surface of the lagoon, and it was therefore impossible to
propel the heavy, clumsy craft a greater distance than the
length of a stroke. After much hard paddling we arrived
at the head of the further lagoon. By this time I was
simply bathed in perspiration, and moreover I had omitted
to take a greatcoat with me ; and, it being the cool
season and decidedly chilly, I was somewhat afraid of
contracting ague or at least a severe cold.

B now showed me my " bhnd," put out the decoys

by wading to within about twenty yards of the shore, and,
telling me to " kill time " until the first of the dawn, he
moved off to his own " blind," and I lay down on the floor
of the boat and endeavoured to snatch a little sleep.

Chilly though it was, I must have slept for some
hours, for the first grey streaks of morning were beginning
to brighten the eastern skyline when, stiff as the proverbial
poker, I awoke with a start from the bottom of the dug-
out. Peering through the uncertain Hght, I noticed
something moving in and out among my decoys, and,
slipping a couple of No. 3 shot cartridges in the chambers
of my i2-bore, I fired; and the "something" turned
paddles up. To my disgust it was only an old grey coot.

Next, a couple of pink-bill teal came straight for my
" blind." I managed to stop one of the little duck,
and how it happened that I did not kill both has to this
day remained a mystery to me, for they were flying almost
wing to wing.

No sooner had the report of my first barrel rang out
than fowl seemed to rise from every part of the lagoon ;
comparatively few, however, came within shot of my
" blind," and at the end of the first half-hour of the flight
I had only scored four mallard, two pochards, and a teal

SHOOTING OVER DECOYS 45

to my credit. I noticed, however, another gunner — he

afterwards proved to be B 's Scotch ganger — who

was lying up in a belt of reeds about 200 yards distant
from my "blind" drop duck after duck; indeed, the
general line of flight appeared to be over his stand rather
than over my own, and he must have made a goodly bag.

When the sun had risen well above the horizon I, under
the impression that the flight was over, got up from a
kneeling position, when I saw a big bunch of pochard
heading straight for me, and, deeming it probable that
they would settle among my decoys, I dropped behind
the screen of sedges again. Not until I heard the
" whistling " of the ducks' pinions very distinctly did
I venture to look up, and then I had the satisfaction
of seeing them close up together preparatory to alighting
among the decoys and within twenty-five yards of my
" blind."

A couple of the duck dropped dead to the contents of my
first barrel, and a third, hard hit, fluttered out to the
reeds, but I succeeded in gathering him a few minutes

later. B now joined me, and he, like myself, had

not enjoyed very good sport — indeed, our aggregate bag
only amounted to seventeen duck (various) and a coot.

During the laborious paddle home my companion
managed by some means to get separated from me, and
I had to navigate my dug-out through the lagoons and
dense aquatic-growth unpiloted. For a long while I
tried unsuccessfully to find the weak spots in the reeds
which lead from one lagoon to the next, and even when
I drew clear of them and gained more open water I some-
how got out of the proper course and found myself hard
and fast aground on the shore of a little bay in the lagoon.

46 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Here I found some coolies working a long seine-net which,
upon being hauled up on shore, was found to contain a
number of enormous barbel. The ebon fishermen assisted
me in dragging my craft through the holding mud and
dense mass of water-plants, and I then had a comparatively
easy paddle to the place of disembarkation, where I
found B and breakfast awaiting my advent.

A BOBBERY PACK

" Look ! if that's not the * spur ' of an otter, I'm a
Dutchman."

I was out of my saddle in a moment and examining
the patch of grey, greasy-looking mud which my friend
Mervin had pointed out to me while making the above
ejaculation. Yes ; there could be no doubt about it, the
pad-prints on the ooze were those of Lutra capensis, and
upon searching the banks of the stream a little lower down
we discovered the half-eaten remains of a yellow fish
which had probably afforded him a breakfast that very
morning, for the fish had not been out of the water many
hours.

" Tell you what, D ," went on Mervin, as he puffed

out great clouds of rank Boer tobacco smoke until the
pure morning air simply reeked of " burned rags,"
" we'll get together a bobbery pack and hunt that
otter ; I'm simply dying to see a bit of hound- work of
some sort."

I agreed that the suggestion was an excellent one,
but wondered where the material for the pack was to
come from. Jack Mervin cast all objections to the
winds, however. " Oh, don't worry your noble head
over details," said he, as we cantered across a wide
stretch of veld that lay between the river and his
bungalow. " We'll go into town this evening, and if we
47

48 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

can't borrow dogs we'll steal 'em [he spoke quite seriously],
and if we can't get together a pack by dint of borrowing
or stealing, hanged if we won't buy up the Dogs' Home.
I saw the catchers net some varmint-looking curs in the
Market Square yesterday, and you may bet there will
be no end of dogs awaiting admittance to the lethal-
chamber — poor devils," rattled on my mercurial com-
panion, whom I verily believe would have spent the last
shilling he possessed to acquire the projected pack of
mongrels.

The same evening Mervin and myself rode into town,
and having dined at the Rand Club, my friend proceeded
to try and borrow a dog from every man with whom he
had a " nodding " acquaintance. " Well, I've got a
pointer," or, " You may have my setters," were the kind
of replies made to Mervin's cool requests. But in most
cases the owners of the dogs would, after consenting to
lend their setter, pointer, or retriever, as the case might
be, ask, " What do you want the dog for, korhaan or
quail ? "

" No ; otters," was the calm reply.

" Otters, be d d, you can't have my dog for that

kind of game," and away would go the canine owner in a
huff. We — or rather Jack — managed to " bag " two and a
half couple from different members of the Club — namely, a
bull terrier (blind of an eye), one Irish and two fox-terriers,
an ancient spaniel (he went on three legs by choice) and
a powerful skewbald animal of many and doubtful breeds,
who was promptly " christened " Window Shutter.
Upon leaving the Club we paid a visit to the stables of
the principal horse-dealer in the place, who promised
to bring as many dogs as he could commandeer to the

A BOBBERY PACK 49

" meet," which important fixture, by-the-bye, was to
take place at a certain small hostelry standing near the
banks of the river a couple of mornings later at the early
hour of five o'clock a.m.

Bidding the worthy merchant in horse-flesh " Good-
evening," we started off for the Dogs' Home. It was
past ten o'clock when we arrived there. Ten minutes
later we were being towed up the principal streets of
the town in the wake of a spotted-weasel-bodied Kafir
hund and a powerful half-bred Airedale terrier, which
subsequently proved himself to be the best of the pack.

" We'll call this a night's work, D , for I'm about tired

of dog catching for one evening," said Jack, as we dis-
cussed a long schooner of iced laager before setting out
homewards. The idea of calling it a night's work appealed
to me amazingly, for I had become heartily sick of the
very sight of a dog ever since the Kafir cur began to take
me in tow.

On the evening preceding the all-important fixture,
men of all sorts and sizes, accompanied by dogs of many
breeds and colours, from stately mastiffs down to weedy
mongrel terriers (pointers, setters, and sporting dogs gener-
ally were conspicuous by their absence), began to turn up
at Jack's modest four-roomed bungalow, until we were
at our wits' end how and where to accommodate them
for the night, while the " pack," which was kennelled pro
tern, in the stable behind, set up a perfect pandemonium,
howling and fighting like so many devils incarnate. It
is a poor heart that never rejoices, however, and having
dispatched a couple of natives with a lorry to bring in
all the available " furniture " (empty barrels, boxes,
etc.) from a neighbouring store, old Peter, Jack's Zulu

50 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

cook-butler, was set to work to prepare a huge iron-
pot of venison stew from a fine blesbok.

Our thirteen guests sat on the stoep smoking their
after-dinner pipes and " Bostanjoglos " and discussing the
prospects of sport on the morrow over a glass of Scotch
whisky, and Mervin and myself were placing " shake-
downs " in all sorts of nooks and corners, when Tom P ,

the jovial huntsman of the then recently imported pack
of English foxhounds, which was kennelled a few miles
distant, rode up to the bungalow with a couple of hounds.
"Good-evening, gentlemen; the master's compliments,
and he's sent old Amazon and Guardsman for you to try.
I doubt neither of 'em has ever seen an otter since they
were whelped, but they entered kindly enough to both
jackal and buck," said Tom before burying his nose in
a long " sleever " of "Bass." "I hope you will lend
us a hand to-morrow, Tom," said Jack, as he gave
the couple of hounds into the charge of the Basuto stable
lad with strict injunctions to kennel them in a loose box
away from the rest of the pack.

" Well, sir, I've only been out with otterhounds once in
my life, and that was many years ago, but as it's an idle
day with me to-morrow, I shall be glad to hunt with you,"
was Tom's reply, who, the night being warm and dry,
elected to make his couch on the stoep.

At dawn every man was out of the blankets, and a general
rush was made for the little bathing-place which Mervin
had created by deepening a small willow-fringed spruit
or brook that ran at no great distance from the bungalow,
and which formed Jack's matutinal place of ablution in
fair weather and in foul.

It was well that the larder of the bungalow was well

A BOBBERY PACK 51

stocked, as no fewer than twenty-two hungry souls turned
up to breakfast, nearly half of whom had either hacked or
driven out of town long before sunrise, amongst them a
keen little Irish sportswoman, who declared in the richest of
brogue that, " sure if she had a five-pound note for ivery
drag she'd seen run with the King's otterhounds, it's a
warm woman she'd be to-day, indade."

The expression of Tom's weather-beaten face when we
took him round to inspect the " pack " which was
playing merry Hades in the stables would have been worth
a "Jew's eye" to a "Leech"; and no fond mother
ever hugged her offspring closer while passing through a
mob than did honest Tom his couple of aristocratic
English foxhounds when the canine rabble tried to
strike up an acquaintance with them.

" 'Ware cur-dog, Amazon ! Hold up. Guardsman — get
out ye ugly, yallow varmint " (with a flying kick at one
of the Kafir dogs which had evidently fallen violently in
love with old Amazon). " Dear me, I never set eyes on
such a lot o' rag-tailed divils in all my born days," cried
Tom in dismay as he whipped off the nondescript pack
from his beloved hounds. Gad, they were a lot of rag-
tailed devils in very truth, as Jack Mervin, M.O.H.,
was bound to confess.

No sooner had the " noble " animals been released from
durance vile than two and a half of the twelve and a half
couples started off on a bee-hne across the veld for town
and home, while the Kafir mongrel and his late companion
in distress — the half-bred Airedale — commenced a battle
royal to decide which of them should retain possession of a
shoulder of blesbok that had been commandeered by the
former from the breakfast-table. With much rating and

52 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

cracking of thongs two men galloped off to try and turn
the fleeting deserters back. The}^ (the deserters) divided
forces, however, and the gallant whippers-in only succeeded
in capturing the ancient spaniel which, as before mentioned,
carried a hind-leg up by choice, and was therefore not
among the speediest of his kind. There was nothing to be
gained in crjdng over spilt milk, or rather sped curs,
however, and having coupled what remained of the ' ' pack "
with pieces of old rope and reims, off we went in a body
to Dick Sullivan's hotel, where we found some twenty
fresh recruits waiting to be initiated into the art of otter
hunting.

It w^as now a good half-hour beyond the appointed
time, and away we all started for the river, with the
exception of a few thirsty souls, who remained to par-
take of a second or third " nerve-binder," fearful,
perhaps, that the sport would prove too exciting for
them.

Just before the bank of the stream was reached a
hare sprang from her form in a patch of rank grass,
and away across the veld she sped \nth the still coupled
curs yapping and scrapping and falling over one another
like so many boys in a sack race in their anxiety to get
on terms with Mistress Lepus, who, with one lug laid low
and the other pricked, loped quietly over the arid plain
as though she rather enjoyed the fun. Suddenly the
air was rent with loud and angry " 'Ware hare ! ware
riot ! Dang your blood ; ye ought to know better, ye
old fools, after all the leatherings you've had in the
old country."

The staid old couple of foxhounds, seized with the
rioting fever of the canine rabble, had — probably for the

A BOBBERY PACK 53

first time since puppyhood — broken away from their
astonished and outraged huntsman, and across the veld
they carried the hne of the hare, their deep, bell-hke
voices almost drowning the yapping of the struggling
tangle of cur dogs. Still rating and cursing, Tom jumped
on the pony of one of the field — who, owing to a great
breadth of beam, had been given permission to ride to
" hounds " — and off he galloped in pursuit of Amazon
and Guardsman as though his Satanic Majesty was behind
him, while the field laid into the other rioters indis-
criminately and with hearty goodwill. At length we had
them in hand again, and five minutes later the banks
of the river were being drawn, one half of the pack, piloted
by the Airedale, working the right-hand and the other
half the left-hand side.

For perhaps an hour nothing wearing fur or feather was
moved, and then one of the Kafir dogs made a sudden rush
into a patch of scrub that grew down to the water's edge,
and out bolted a meerkat, which led the pack a merry burst
across the veld of quite a minute and a half's duration.
Then, with a flirt of the " brush," as though to wish his
pursuers "a very good day! " he disappeared down his
burrow, which ran for many feet below the surface of the
sun-baked earth. Some little time was wasted in getting
the pack back to the water again ; but when they were
whipped back to try for the legitimate quarry, the Airedale,
after feathering round a growth of dry rushes for a few
moments, gave a whimper, and along the bank he
drove with the whole pack — barring the foxhounds, which,
probably mindful of the trouble they had already ex-
perienced through running the hare, refused to work out
a yard of the trail, but kept close to their huntsman's

54 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

heels — yowling and yapping for all, and more than,
they were worth.

The fun was fast and furious while it lasted, and the
manner in which the man of weight rode to the " flying
pack " and wheezily cheered it on, in spite of ant-bear
earths and other horse-traps with which in parts the veld
was honeycombed, was refreshing to witness. At length
" hounds " came to a check at the junction of a narrow
but steep spruit with the river. Thinking it not improbable
that the otter — I knew the quarry to be an otter from the
way in which the mongrels worked — had taken to the
smaller stream, I took the Airedale and half-a-dozen of
the most likely " hounds," among them the Kafirs, which,
although wild as hawks, possessed wonderful noses,
a short distance along the spruit, while Mervin tried
forrard with the remainder.

The old Airedale once more proved a ratthng good
worker, and under the shelving bank he hunted until,
with a whimper, he hit off the trail again, and then " hell
for leather " forward, with the others close in his wake.
With a " halloa " to Jack and the rest of the followers,
only three of whom accompanied me, I " footed it " for
all I knew to keep on terms with the " flying pack," which
ran eagerly enough, and at a pace that proclaimed a
breast-high scent.

Suddenly a loud " Hieu gaze ! " from a youngster, whose
long legs enabled him to outstrip every one in the field,
caused me to put on a spurt, and, looking forward, I saw
a fine otter running under the far bank of the stream,
about 300 yards ahead of the leading " hound." In
spite of the pitiable pack of mongrels which I was hunting,
every nerve in my system quivered with excitement.

A BOBBERY PACK 55

and how I longed for a few couples of good English otter-
hounds at that moment. On and on ran the gallant
animal, now on the level veld and now under the steep
bank of the narrow waterway, and those weasel-barrelled
Kafir hounds begin to press him, and the old Airedale
holds his own with the best of them. The spruit begins
to widen out and the quarry takes to the water, while
" hounds," puzzled by the sudden disappearance of their
game, come to a check, allowing Mervin and a few of
the field to come up with the remainder of the yapping
pack.

" Stickle the stream below ! There he blows ! " cried
the leggy youngster, who came rushing towards Jack
and me, pointing to a volume of bubbles rising to the
surface from the depths of the turbid stream. The
leggy youth, a West Countryman and no novice at the
sport in hand, is right. The otter finds he has made a
mistake in leaving the main stream, and tries to double
back to it under cover of water. In a moment half-a-
dozen of us are up to our breasts in water, hand in hand,
and with our feet moving from side to side to stop the
otter's passage.

The bobbery pack is now yapping all round us, some
on the bank and some in the water, amongst the latter
the three-legged spaniel.

" Hieu gaze ! " holloas some one from the bank, as a
lot of bubbles rise to the surface not a dozen yards away.
" Begad ! he touched my leg," cries the " centre link "
of the stickle in a half-scared sort of manner.

A great swirl of the churned-up water as the otter
— frightened by the moving array of legs — turns, tells us
that " centre link " does not err in his statement.

56 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" Hieu gaze ! Begad, old three-legs has him." But
alas ! the ancient spaniel has collared him too far astern,
and the otter, turning, fastens on to his canine antagonist.
The pair disappear from view into the muddy depths of
the stream.

" For Heaven's sake save my dog," cries the " man of
weight," as he rolls out of the saddle and commences to
run up and down the bank as though debating within
himself as to whether he should dive into the spruit
and rescue gallant old " three-legs."

Suddenly the leggy youngster jumps into the stream,
and, as the tip of the otter's " rudder " appears above
the surface*6f the water, he grasps the same, and the next
moment, with a great swing, he flings both dog and otter
on to the veld. Neither has relaxed its hold, but both
are too done to show further fight.

It was not without a feeling of repugnance that I watched
my bobbery pack worry the last spark of life out of their
game quarry; but were I to say that I did not enjoy
my first — and probably last — otter hunt on a South
African river, I should scarcely speak the truth.

TIM O'LEARY'S HARE

The little village of Longbally was gay with bunting,
and a huge bonfire blazed on Raven's Hill, for the
young Squire had returned to the home of his fathers
that day after completing his education on the Continent.
A brisk trade was being done at the " Egan Arms," where
the members of the local pack of trencher-fed beagles
had met to arrange the opening meet of the season, which
was to take place on the following Saturday.

" An' is it thrue what ye tell us, Tim, that the young
Squire has put his hand in his pocket and given five
goulden sovereigns to the dogs ? ' '

" An' why shouldn't it be thrue? " answered Timothy
O'Leary, a veteran hare hunter of some fifty-five winters.
" An' why shouldn't it be thrue, Mickey ? Sure, an' you're
dhrinkin' his honour's health out of that same five pounds
this very minute as is ; an' isn't it the illigant green coat
wid the gilt buttons I've just been afther ordherin' wid
Tim Daly, to lade the pack in for the Squire this saison ? "

" An' did the Squire ordher you breeches to match? "
asked one of the company.

" Did ye iver see a rispectable huntsman in green
breeches, ye gossoon?" replied Timothy scornfully,
" One would think that ye grudged me the trifle for the
coat, afther me tachin' ye all ye know about hare-
huntin'."

57

58 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" Whisht, ye divils ! " shouted Pat Lynch, Tim's right-
hand man in the field. " Sure, we've got to fix the meet
for next Saturday; let OLeary look afther his colours
himself."

In the Longbally district hares were few and far
between, as the estates were divided chiefly into small
holdings, and hares, therefore, very naturally fell a prey
to the guns of the tenants. Timothy consequently pro-
posed that the opening meet should be held at Black Bog,
a wide tract of sparsely populated moorland and swamp,
which lay some six miles from the village of Longbally.
This proposal met with the warm approval of the rustic
sportsmen, as a good day's hunting was assured by the
fixture.

On the appointed day, Tim O'Leary, in all the glory
of his new uniform, and surrounded by some seven or eight
couples of nondescript hounds, from twenty-inch harriers
down to the smallest of rabbit-beagles, started out of the
village, pursued by the good-natured witticisms of every
Biddy and Molly from her doorstep, to walk the six
miles or so of steep road which lay between Longbally
and Black Bog. Every now and again the old huntsman
would wind a loud call on his battered horn whilst pass-
ing some cottage or small farm on the road, and at
the sound a fresh addition to the pack would be seen
making its way across country towards the slashing
green coat.

So staunch were the hounds that day, and so fast the
runs, that the young Squire's initiation to beaghng was
attended with but little success in the way of gaining
a knowledge of the art of hare-hunting. But upon taking

TIM O'LEARY'S HARE 59

leave of Timothy and his companions, he expressed his
warm appreciation of the sport they had shown him, and
as a token of the same he handed Timothy the where-
withal for him, and the rest of the followers of the
Longbally Beagles, to christen the green coat. Right well
did the jolly beaglers keep up the ceremony.

The bells of the picturesque old parish church of Long-
bally were calling the good folk to their morning devo-
tions when Tim O'Leary, accompanied by a few other
members of the hunt, and followed by several couples
of jaded-looking hounds, made his way up the village
street. The worthy huntsman's coat had lost much of
its pristine splendour, and in spite of the fact that he had
pulled the peak of his somewhat rusty velvet cap well
over the left eye, he was unable to hide the dark halo
which encircled that organ of sight. In short, Timothy
and his friends had made " a night of it," while their
good dames at home nursed their wrath, and on the
arrival of their worthy spouses, they used their power
of speech to some effect. The Sunday home-coming of
the beaglers furnished scandal to the village gossips for
days, to the detriment of the fair fame of the members
of the hunt generally.

Some of the wiser heads amongst them, therefore, took
counsel together, and used their influence that the next
Saturday's meet should be well within the bounds of
their own parish, not on the same grounds as before, as
had been previously arranged. The younger members
remonstrated : " There wasn't a single hare in the parish
to hunt." But the babblers were speedily silenced and
overawed by their elders.

60 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" Whisht," said Pat Lynch, " we've hunted before
gossoons hke ye iver saw the hght, an' here's ould Tim
O'Leary has raised (found) hares on land where larks
looked big as turkeys, and where ye could have hunted
an earwig from one march ditch to the other, for all the
cover there was."

The Squire was advised of the change of ground, and,
acting up to his promise of the preceding week, he put
in an appearance at the meet, which was at Hogan's
Cross Roads, and that day the inhabitants of Longbally
heard the music of hounds within sound of their own
doors.

Anxious to learn the craft of hare-hunting, young Egan
stuck close to old Timothy, who had the reputation of
knowing all that was to be learned in that particular
branch of the chase.

Some likely-looking ground-cover on a scrubby hill -side
was first tried, but this proved blank, and during the
working of the hounds the young Squire was introduced
to some astonishing facts relative to the haunts and
habits of Lepus hibernicus, which it would be difficult
to find in any work on natural history or sport.

A good hour was spent in drawing grassland, plough,
roots, stubble, and rush-covered bottoms, all of which
proved as blank as the hill-side. At length hounds were
put into a large field of turnips, and they had not been
at work many minutes when Pat Lynch, who, by some
extraordinary means, had detached himself from the
rest of the field, gave a " view-halloa ! " from a far corner
of the turnip-field. The pack, piloted by old " Doctor,"
flew to the halloa, and no sooner were they on the line

TIM O'LEARY'S HARE 61

than with a burst of music they streamed across the next
field, while every man strove his utmost to outpace his
fellow. The Squire was the first to negotiate the stiff,
quick-set fence, with Timothy following close on his heels ;
nor were the other followers far behind, for all were keen
as mustard. Over plough and fallow, springy turf,
deeply rutted bramble-fringed lanes, high banks, and
thorny hedges, led the chase, the racing of the Httle
pack proclaiming a breast-high scent, and the music
almost incessant.

Hell for leather ran the " field," but, run as they would,
they were unable to keep on terms with hounds. " Ould
Pat Lynch is in over the head in the big flax-hole beyont,"
cried one of the followers, with a guffaw, as O'Leary's
bosom friend fell " neck over crop " into a foully-smelling
flax-hole.

" Take thunderin' good care I don't sit beside him at
supper, for he'll stink hke an ould weasel," replied the
man addressed ; and on they went, seeing the unfortunate
Pat had managed to pull himself safely to the bank.

For twenty-five minutes did that Httle pack of beagles
run without a check, and almost as straight as though
their quarry was a fox, so straight, indeed, that some
of the older hands began to wonder of what nature the
hunted game would prove to be at the death. No one
entertained the smallest doubt that hounds would gain
their blood ; " Trust ould Tim for that."

" Gamest ould hare as iver run," said one man enthu-
siastically to a neighbour, as he panted and pounded across
a heavy plough, a good quarter of a mile behind the sterns
of the flying pack.

62 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" Aye, by me sowl," responded another, " she's the
divil of a long-winded one, an' niver a view iv' her yet,
begob."

" An' niver did I run wid a sweeter ' cry ' iv dogs;
musha, God bless the darhnts ! " cried a third.

The words were scarcely uttered than hounds came to
an abrupt check on the banks of a small osier-fringed
brook, utterly at fault, and unable to puzzle out another
yard of the line. The welcome check allowed the Squire,
Timothy O'Leary, and those of the followers who had
managed to " stay the burst," to come up.

" Three good miles as the crow flies, the divil a foot less.
Did iver ye know a hare run so straight in all your life,
Tim?" asked McLoughlin, the village cobbler, as he
mopped his bald head with the tail of his checked woollen
shirt, which, in the scurry across country, had managed
to work itself free from the grip of the leathern belt
that he used to keep up his nether garments.

" She must be off her pad " {i.e., out of her habitat),
explained O'Leary, with decided confidence.

" Begorra, she is, Tim," added Pat Lynch, who came
up at that moment, clothed in a coating of the blackest
and most unsavoury mud imaginable. " An' she'll
never be on it again wanst we've done wid her."

O'Leary lost no time in getting to work again, and,
making a cast forward, he very soon had his hounds on
the line once more. His skill as a huntsman was warmly
applauded by his admirers.

" Takes ould Timothy yet," proudly remarked one of
the field to Pat Lynch.

"An' if he couldn't, who could?" retorted Pat.

TIM O'LEARY'S HARE 63

" Didn't his ould father before him break his leg jump-
ing a ditch afther the hounds, an' didn't he sit down that
very minute on the bank an' sphce it, and then, begorra,
he was in at the death ? "

" Go along, Patsey, wid your blarney ; ye got out iv the
flax-hole the wrong side this morning."

" Sure, an' it was a wooden leg he had," slyly added
Pat, as he sailed away in the wake of the pack as fast
as his waterlogged condition would allow. On and on
raced the pack, harder than before, in a catch-us-
who-can sort of style, the weedy harriers outpacing and
stringing away far ahead of their smaller cousins, the
beagles. Not a few of the short-winded or less game
members of the " field " began to lag perceptibly; but,
possibly spurred on by the idea of a second " christening,"
at the expense of the Squire, never a one threw up the
sponge.

Old Timothy, closely followed by the Squire, was
ever in the van, and every now and again the ear-
piercing "Forrard! forrard ! forrard ! me darlints," of
the veteran would be heard above the music of the
hounds.

At length the line began to ring somewhat, and some
of the followers declared that the hare would shortly
double back to her " pad " again. The swing taken by
hounds was but small, however, and up hill and down dale
they flew, pointing for a small whitewashed farm-house,
which lay nestling amongst a cluster of thatched barns
and outhouses about a quarter of a mile ahead. Suddenly
the report of a gun rang out, and, upon hearing the sound
Tim O'Leary cried, "Come on, boys; that ould divil,

64 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Tom Cassidy, is up to his poachin' thricks again, an' I'll
warrant he has popped our hare."

Helter-skelter ran the crowd of puffing, mud-soiled
hare-hunters, yelling vengeance against Cassidy, " the
cursed pot-hunter," and as they approached the home-
stead there, surely enough, stood the hated farmer on
the topmost rungs of a stock-ladder, pouring out curses
on the heads of the Longbally Beagles, which were baying
at the foot of his haven of refuge.

"Come down, ye murderin' thief; come down and
bring the hare ye killed this very minute as is, or I'll
shake ye off your perch to feed the hounds, ' ' cried Timothy,
violently shaking the ladder.

Without answering a word, the red-headed, foxy-looking
husbandman descended from the rick, and then,surrounded
by a score of angry, panting men, and with the hounds
jumping excitedly all round him, he pulled forth from the
pocket of his fustian coat an old charred boot, a dead rat,
and a tattered red herring, well anointed with aniseed,
and attached to a long length of twine.

" That's the only hare I've set eyes on this day, and
you're welcome to it, Tim O'Leary, and it's one iv your
own poachin', too, for it's meself saw ye layin' the thrail
wid it this morning," grinningly remarked Cassidy,
as he handed to the astonished and, we might add, out-
witted huntsman the damning " drag."

O'Leary was too taken aback to answer a word, and
for several moments he stood gazing vacantly at the
" bundle of tricks," which he still held in his hand.

" And that's the animal whose habits you were teach-
ing me all about so carefully this morning, O'Leary?"

TIM O'LEARY'S HARE 65

exclaimed the Squire, pointing to the drag, with a look
of disgust. " Is that the quarry we've been running our
legs off after for the last two hours ? Timothy, you are a
disgrace to your uniform."

" An' so he is, your honour," cried the rest of the beaglers
in a breath. No sooner were the words uttered than
Timothy O'Leary was borne down by a score of his late
admirers and boon companions, and, although the veteran
fought tooth and nail to save the green coat, it was
torn into a hundred pieces, and a strange figure did he
cut with his bare arms sticking out beyond several inches
of coarse Irish lace and linen.

" An' it's the illigant shirt you have on to-day, Tim,
wid the beautiful lace where the sleeves ought to be,"
roared one of the rioters.

" An' it's the illigant lot iv blackguards ye are to tear
the coat off the back of the man that learned yez how
to lay on the best ' cry iv dogs ' in the conthry," repHed
Timothy, not too anxious to discuss the subject of his
hnen.

" Musha lave off about the coat, Tim, that's past prayin'
for; sure, it's the foine shirt we're admirin'."

" An' if I wasn't a sportsman out and out, d'ye think
I'd be afther wearin' the ould 'ooman's ? Didn't I pledge
me own to back Joe Murphy's ' Betsy ' for the Long-
bally steeplechase ? Och ! you're a disthressin' set o'
villains altogether," cried O'Leary, as he stood shivering
and abashed at the unexpected exposure of his under-
wear.

O'Leary was made to undergo the further penance
of being " chaired " on the shoulders of his fellow hare-

66 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

hunters to the " Egan Arms " with the savoury " drag "
hanging gracefully round his neck. Great was the joy
of the villagers who flocked into the street to swell the
procession on its way to the hostelry, where the " wake "
of the green coat was kept up as fervently as was the
" christening."

POTTERING

" Come, old lady, let us go and potter."

These words were addressed to an old Cocker spaniel
bitch who for a number of seasons past has been my
good friend and trusty servant, and who upon this
dull October morning is to accompany me round the
boundaries of a certain shoot amidst the Chiltern Hills.

" Jet " clearly understands what is going forward,
for she lays at my feet an old rustic hat which I am
wont to wear a-gunning or angling, and which is orna-
mented with bedraggled-looking artificial flies of various
patterns — March Browns, Pheasant Tails, Alders, et
hoc. Dropping a few Nos. 6 and 7 shot cartridges into
the pocket of my coat — my better-half declares I com-
mandeered the dear old garment from some scarecrow —
I take a 12-bore gun, and with " Jet " twisting her
short black barrel almost into knots with delight, set
out with the intention of kilhng a brace of " hedgerow "
pheasants.

The way to the shooting leads through an orchard,
one side of which is flanked by a high and thick quick-
set fence — a sure find for a rabbit. With a backward
glance over one shoulder as though to say, " Look out,
master, and I'll hustle out a bunny for you ! " " Jet "
disappears into the hedgerow. Ere many minutes have
passed, an excited little whimper from the old bitch
67

68 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

puts me on the alert. The whimper is followed by a
dash amidst the undergrowth of the hedge, and out
darts a rabbit, offering a very pretty snapshot as he
flashes through the foliage of the trailing bramble vines
en route to a friendly bolt-hole. But that nimble rabbit
is too quick for me, and before I have time to salute
him he has taken sanctuary. " Jet," hot on his line,
now shows herself from amidst the tangle of bramble
scrub, and, having satisfied herself that the rabbit has
" gone to earth," she looks up at me with a puzzled and
disappointed expression in her liquid-brown eyes, and
as though asking why I had failed to execute my part
of the contract.

The old Cocker works every inch of the orchard hedge-
row, in many places a thorny jungle of briers and bramblesi
through which nothing but her extraordinary love of
hunting would force her to hunt. But mark how
she " feathers " among the fir saplings in the corner
of the orchard, her stump of a tail revolving like the
propeller of a steamer ! She is on feather, not fur,
this time. A swishing of the stump from side to side
is an infallible sign of hare or rabbit, while a rapid cir-
cumrotary motion of what remains of her caudal ap-
pendage indicates feathered game of some kind. In
this case it tells of the presence of an old and some-
what disreputable-looking cock pheasant, which rises
from a patch of coarse herbage with a great amount
of fuss and " cocketting." I strongly suspect the bird
to be a wanderer from a neighbouring game-farm ;
but, whether he be or not, he finds not his way into my
bag, and leaves but two or three scapular feathers behind
him. Again does " Jet " look at me in reproachful

POTTERING 69

surprise, and I doubt not she imagines me uncommonly
slack this morning.

Braving the very remote possibihty of my worthy
landlord prosecuting me for damaging his hedge to the
extent of one halfpenny, I enlarge a gap in the same
and enter a big wheat stubble. The sun now emerges
from the bank of leaden clouds behind which he has
been sulking since early morning. What a vast differ-
ence does a little sunshine make to either man and beast !
Half-an-hour ago it was a " toss up with a button " as to
whether I remained at home or took out a gun for a
stroll in search of a brace of " little brown birds " or
wild pheasants. Now that the sun is shining, however,
I feel like " beating the boundaries " from point to
point, while my four-footed companion also seems to
appreciate the belated but thrice-welcome visit of King
Sol.

That time and labour-saving invention, the self-bind-
ing and reaping machine, has shorn the stubble well-nigh
as close as a cheap German barber crops the heads
of his customers. One does not, therefore, expect game
to lie Hke the proverbial stones in such sparse ground-
cover as this. Nevertheless, a covey of twelve well-
grown birds are flushed from the headland of the field,
and within easy range, a few minutes after I have forced
a passage through the before-mentioned gap. How
I managed to miss with the first barrel will ever remain
a mystery to me, for it was an absurdly simple shot ;
but miss I did, and only succeeded in " winging " one
of the old birds with the second. The " runner " sprints
into a ditch half-filled with water and overgrown with
brambles. " Jet " very quickly brings it to hand.

70 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

however, still alive, but wet and bedraggled from its
immersion in the muddy drain— a very poor beginning,
especially as the eleven birds remaining have crossed
over to the adjoining land, upon which I have not the
sporting rights. Better luck next time, perhaps.

A second covey rises from near the headland, but a
good two gunshots distant from me. The birds settle
in the centre of a patch of late and still standing oats,
and, having marked them down, I have perforce to
leave them there. Near one corner of the wheat stubble
lies a small reed-fringed pond, and, with the intention
of affording the old spaniel an opportunity of hunting
for a moorhen, I take her over to the place. Scarcely
has " Jet " entered the clump of sedges than, to my sur-
prise, a bunch of five wild duck spring therefrom. In
less time than it takes to record the fact, a couple are
floating on the weedy surface of the pond paddles
upward, while a third duck, after carrying on bravely
for some little distance, flutters on to the stubble and
commences to waddle towards the nearest hedgerow.
" Jet " retrieves the dead ones from the water in good
style, and then starts off in pursuit of the cripple and
brings it to hand as tenderly as though she loved it.
The finding of those mallard proved a very pleasant sur-
prise, for during the several seasons I have exploited the
shooting in question, never a feather of more import-
ance than a moorhen or dabchick have I seen on the
pond. I more than half suspect that the duck strayed
from some neighbouring farm, as the majority of the
farmers in the district rear a few mallard by hand, and
even hand-reared wild duck will wander.

While I am in the act of stowing away the broad bills

POTTERING 71

in the " poaching pocket " of my much mahgned coat,
Mistress " Jet," who has been working round the margin
of the pond on her own account, suddenly gives tongue.
Looking over my shoulder, I view a thumping hare
loping over the ground, and, to my horror, " Jet " —
that sedate and steady old matron of eight seasons
— just starting off in pursuit. My cry of " 'Ware chase ! "
pulls her up short, and she comes slinking back, stump
down, and looking thoroughly ashamed. Remem-
bering it is the old lady's first day out with the gun this
season, I do not rate her too severely, and off we go again
on our quiet potter.

For some little time after the passing of the hare,
nothing, with the exception of a rabbit which gets away
unscathed, is met with.

At length we arrive at the apex of a triangular-shaped
enclosure of rough, knee-high bents interspersed with
firs and other young trees. " Hie in, good bitch !
Steady ! " and old " Jet " crawls through the low posts
and rails that enclose the plantation, and commences to
work the rank ground-cover up-wind. With a loud
and startling " whirr," up gets a nide of seven pheasants,
so near to me that I notice how forward in plumage two
of the young cocks are. Five of the " long-tails " —
their " steering-gear " is remarkably well developed
— go on their way rejoicing, while the brace of young
cocks in question come crashing through the firs, to the
evident delight of the Cocker, whose dusky, satin-like
head is just visible above the bents.

A few minutes later " Jet " puts up a well-grown
leveret, and, although the black of her lugs are the only
portion of her anatomy showing above the cover, I

72 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

manage to bowl her over with the contents of my first
barrel. Not wishing to burden myself with an extra five
or six pounds of dead weight, Miss Lepus is laid on a
bed of dry rushes to be called for on the return journey.

An overhead double shot is next attempted at a wood-
pigeon passing high over the rich, autumnal-tinted foli-
age of a belt of giant beech trees. Result : A brace of
clean misses.

" But what is ' Jet ' on to now. Steady old girl,
steady ! " A barren old redleg, begad, running before
the excited dog at a deuce of a bat, and " Jet " half-
inclined to chase again ! Up gets the old sinner at a
good fifty yards' range, but i|oz. of " No. 6 chilled "
proves too heavy a dose for the " Frenchman," and he
doubles up instanter.

" Hallo, here comes the rain ! Well, we'll call this
a morning's work, old lady ! "

THE PUNCHPUDDLE HUNT

In the Punchpuddle Hunt there are tinkers and tailors
And rich men and poor men of every degree;

There are beggarmen, thieves, there are soldiers and sailors
The only thing lacking's a Labour M.P. ;

There are butchers and bakers (old men with new acres).
And of sportsmen — at times — a stray couple or three.

Oh, happier far with a duckgun and punt

Were the Nimrods that follow The Punchpuddle Hunt !

II

See The Punchpuddle Hunt on " The Walnuts " converging,

The seat of Sir Solomon Ikestein (we'll say).
Through villages surging, from stations emerging.

The high-roads and by-roads with scarlet are gay.
On covert-hacks spurring, in motor-cars whirring.
In hundreds they flock to the breakfast to-day.
The steeds of the Ikestein are turned in the stalls ;
The ancestor Ikesteins leer down from the walls ;
On the chairs in the halls are the famous Three Balls,
Or, on a field sable ; while yonder the table
Is groaning beneath a repast that appals.
Oh, the food and the drink and the roads bear the brunt
Of the damage that's done by the Punchpuddle Hunt !

73

74 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

III
See the Punchpuddle Hunt on the terrace assembhng,

All swelhng and pompous and ripe for the fray.
How the horses are josthng and wincing and trembhng
As they push to the front of the motley mUSe.
See the head carried high,
See the crop-hand on thigh,
For the local photographer's busy to-day.
It is done : they are off to the Ilkestein plantations —
There's a fox, goes the song, in the spinney, they
say ;
" Eleu, in ! " and the whips hurry down to their stations ;

" Tally-ho ! " from the laurels — the fox is away !
View-halloes are pealing; yes, there he goes stealing.

His pads full of sawdust, his brush full of hay.
O'er the tennis-lawn sailing, he slips through the paling,

And a strong scent of aniseed cHngs to the clay.
With the dog-pack behind and a bagman in front.
See the- charge down the drive of The Punchpuddle Hunt !

IV

See, The Punchpuddle Hunt on the gravel are striding

Away to the lodge-gate as straight as a die.
The huntsman is riding : the field-master's chiding :
And behind them, amongst them, the hounds in full cry.
At the lodge one cries, " Whoa ! "
And again, " Tally-ho !
There's the fox ringing back to his crate in the sty ! "
Through a gate on the right throng the gallant first flight,
And the wily one crossing the orchard they spy.

THE PUNCHPUDDLE HUNT 75

On the musical grey
And the collar-marked bay
And the job-master's hack that goes out every day,

Feet home, shoulders up, through the meadows they fly,
Under branches low-hung and through gates widely swung

Till a ragged, black bullfinch looms hairy and high.
Right round to the left see the multitude swerving,

For yonder goes Reynard the bold and the sly —
Ah, right in the line is a vision unnerving,

A grim, four-foot drain, terror-striking — though dry !
So they circle like birds, using horrible words.

As they search for the bridge which they hope to be nigh ;
Save a youth on the roan with a will of its own;

See him rise to the sky : hear him yelling " Almigh — ! "
See him chng to the saddle and land with a grunt —
Tis the " Hard-riding Dick " of The Punchpuddle Hunt !

Oh, The Punchpuddle Hunt are unflinching, untiring !
Three times round the house at full gallop they sail,
Red, panting, perspiring — domestics admiring —
Already the leaders are catching the tail.
Three times has the fox
Had a try for his box.
And three times have they headed him off with a pail,
And now through the meadows once more he is slinking.

Since attempts at the pigsty in nowise avail;
He's right back for Leadenhall, beaten and sinking;
He'll run the embankment — ^he came down by rail.
" Tally-ho ! " in the lane;
He'll be crossing that drain !

76 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

There's the governess waving with might and with main.

See her walking-stick thumping his back Hke a flail !
The hounds in full cry close behind him are tearing;

His limbs seem to totter, his lungs seem to fail;
He leaps for the bank with an effort despairing,

And into a rabbit -hole creeps like a snail.
The spade and the pick get him out double-quick;

" Who-hoop ! " and the bagman is dead as a nail.
" Forty-five of the best. Now for luncheon and rest ;

And let Leicestershire envy and Lincolnshire quail ! "
(Oh, a three-legged fox and the words " Quid prosunt ? "
Should be motto and crest for The Punchpuddle Hunt !)

[ To face /. 76

JET: A GOOD TYPE OF RETRIEVER

THE HIRED GUN-DOG

" Where can I hire a really well-broken and reliable
retriever or spaniel ? I can spare but a couple of weeks
in September away from business, and have arranged
to spend my brief hoHday among the partridges. If the
dog suited me I might purchase it." A somewhat
difficult question to reply to is this. Glance through the
advertisement columns of the sporting journals, and you
will see any number of gun-dogs advertised for sale, and
in many cases a trial is offered prior to the purchase being
completed. There are also several professional dog
breakers and owners in the kingdom, especially in the
North, who advertise well-trained dogs for hire during the
shooting season. In some cases, without doubt, these
people do own and hire out to their clients reliable dogs,
or teams of dogs, which perform all that is required of
them, more especially when in charge of an experienced
man whom the dogs know, and who understands how to
work them. On the other hand, hundreds of so-called
steady and well-broken sporting dogs advertised for sale
and hire are absolutely useless and worthy of nothing
better than a dose of shot ; wild, hard-mouthed brutes,
which will chase anything wearing fur or feathers, mouth
the entrails out of everything they retrieve, run in and
flush game far out of range — in short, play the very deuce
generally, to the utter detriment of sport and temper
alike.

77

78 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

There is an ancient axiom which runs something as
follows : " Lend not your dog, gun, or wife to a friend "
— perchance I have misquoted, and the wife should be
given the place of honour among the trio. In such case
may I crave forgiveness from readers of the fair sex?
Now it seems to me a vast amount of wisdom and good
advice is embodied in that old saw. Be this as it may,
I for one would consider long and earnestly before lending
either one or the other to my very dearest friend even.
Setting aside both wife and gun, precious few sportsmen
with a true regard for their pointers, setters, retrievers, or
spaniels would hire out their dogs to strangers, I think.

No two men handle a gun-dog precisely alike, and an
incalculable amount of harm may be done to a dog within
a very short space of time at the hands of a duffer. In
many cases the hired sporting dog will have travelled
a long distance by rail, and arrives at his destination
half scared to death with the unwonted noise and bustle
of the journey, besides being half famished from lack of
food and water. He is then taken in tow by a perfect
stranger — a lad, perchance, who regards an ash plant as
being the best and only true remedy for canine timidity,
and doses his charge liberally enough with the same —
and kennelled in surroundings which are absolutely
strange and new to him. Next day, in company with
others of his kind, who resent his presence as a stranger
and " rag " him accordingly, the unfortunate alien is
taken into the field, and great things are expected of
him by his new, albeit temporary, owner. The poor
creature's heart is with his old master, however, whose
voice and methods are so different to those of the new man,
who, by-the-bye, has scarcely bestowed a word upon him

THE HIRED GUN-DOG 79

since his arrival the preceding evening. Besides, he has
not yet quite recovered from the effects of his long journey
by train, and is far more fit for the kennel than the field.
Under such conditions the hired dog — or any other dog
for that matter — be he never so good, will not work, and
long before the day's sport is over he will have been roundly
anathematised as a skulking, useless brute, which ought
to be " peppered " to save other unsuspecting shooters
from being similarly victimised. Well, the chances are
that the value of the hireling as a gun-dog is rather less
than that of a " pepper-caster " in the shape of a 12-bore
cartridge, otherwise he would not have found his way
down to Mr. Eastcheap's manor. But even had he been
the most perfectly-trained dog ever whelped, ten to one
he would not, under the circumstances suggested, have
shown himself in anything approaching his true colours.
Very few dogs will work even moderately well with strange
" guns," and any sportsman who has had practical ex-
perience will be willing to admit that no two dogs of
precisely similar characteristics and temperament ever
came under his notice. In this respect the canine race
resemble their human masters, and — tell it gently — we
have met with more than one dog that was gifted with
common intelligence of a higher order than was his owner.
But let it be clearly understood that in neither instance
did the intelligent creature belong to us.

One of the steadiest and best working Cocker spaniels
we ever shot over was of such jealous disposition that he
would not hunt one inch of ground if another dog happened
to be in the same field or covert with him, and upon an
opportunity occurring he would give his rival a thundering
good trouncing on the quiet. When alone, old Jock was

80 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

as good an all-round dog as one would wish to shoot over,
but with other dogs in the field, the most useless and jealous
brute imaginable. What would have been the probable
result had we sent that particular spaniel out on hire
without fully explaining his peculiar traits ? Simply this :
The dog would have been returned as absolutely useless
and its owner dubbed an infernal impostor for having
hired him out as a reliable gun-dog. A number of years
have flown by since our good and faithful servant Jock
departed to " the happy hunting-grounds." We have
owned and trained not a few dogs since then, and have
discovered some peculiarly interesting traits, good and
bad, in well-nigh every individual animal taken in hand.
We repeat that the hired gun-dog usually proves " a
snare and a delusion." As before mentioned, however,
there are a few kennels from which good working dogs may
be obtained at reasonable rates — anything cheap is gener-
ally nasty — per week, month or season, as required.
Any one who wishes to hire a gun-dog would be well
advised in requesting the editor of one of the sporting
journals to furnish him with the name of an owner or
breaker of good repute. Having hired your dog, grant
him a fair chance and sufficient time to become used to you
and to his new habitat. Do not take the poor creature
into the shooting-field the day after his arrival in your
kennel and then return him as useless because, forsooth,
he does not work to your satisfaction. Rather try him
round the boundaries of your shooting with a gun in
the first place, and by so doing you will very soon learn
whether he be of any use or not.

DOWN ON THE SALT-MARSHES

It was still a good hour before sunrise when the cur-
lew-like whistle of old Jasper Collins, the professional
wildfowler, prompted me to hurry over my toilette.
Candle in hand, I groped my way down the narrow
staircase of the small, old-fashioned hostelry which
forms my head-quarters when I go a-fowling. A glass
of fortified milk and a biscuit furnished an ample break-
fast for me at such an early hour of the morning, but
the old gunner gave preference to a pint of purl (a
villainous concoction of beer and rum stirred with a
bunch of wormwood, but held in high esteem by marsh-
men and fenmen) and a " mossel o' cold spotted-dog
puddin'." Then we clattered up the narrow, crooked
street, the iron-studded soles of our heavy tuck-boots
playing the Devil's tattoo on the time-worn cobble-
stones.

" Wind be roight, tide be roight. But do 'ee knock
out that flamin' fowl-scarin' pipe o' yourn, maister,
afore we reaches the wall ! " ejaculated my companion
as we neared the high embankment, beyond which lay
the salt-marshes.

Jasper, though by no manner of means a teetotaler,
is wont to vote the smoking of tobacco " a masterful dis-
gustin' habit." But, truth to tell, he retires to rest
with a goodly plug of the soothing and aromatic herb

G 8i

82 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

deftly stowed away in one cheek, rises in the morning
with a chunk in the other, and so chops and changes
from cheek to cheek throughout the day. But smoke a
pipe — nay ! The very idea is hurtful to Jasper Collins.

Notwithstanding that the morning is as black as the
proverbial hat, the old marshman pilots me across the
drain-intersected saltings to a gunning-pit, sunk in a
patch of salt-marsh lying near the mouth of a small
tidal creek, with almost as much ease as though it were
broad daylight. Recent high spring tides have left the
duck-hole half-full of sea-water and rubbish, and with
a " Do you hode the shootin'-irons while Oi diddle out
t' owd duck-hole," my companion sets to work to bail
out the superfluous water with a superannuated bucket,
which is prevented from floating away on the rising
tide by a length of cod-line fastened to one of the moulder-
ing timbers of the gunning-pit.

Old Jasper is not long occupied in dipping dry the
hole, and bidding me " 'Bide patient a diddy while," he
pays a visit to a straw-stack on the adjacent marsh, and
very soon returns with a bulky bundle of clean wheat
straw under either arm. Then, having lined the duck-
hole with the " borrowed " Htter, he once more dis-
appears into the darkness, this time to take possession of
a second gunning-pit further across the salt-marshes »
declaring the while that I should be as warm and com-
fortable as " a caddler (jackdaw) in a chimbley corner."
Personally, I feel more inclined to vote my temporary
retreat as being unpleasantly moist and uncomfortable
in the extreme. A piercingly cold nor'-easter comes
howling in from the main to search out every nook and
corner of the unsheltered levels, and, though the greater

DOWN ON THE SALT-MARSHES 83

portion of my anatomy is sheltered below the surface
of the surrounding salt-marshes, the wind blows round
my head most icily.

The roar of the serf on the treacherous sand-bar, and
the dancing of the will-o'-the-wisp-like lights of weather-
bound sailing craft anchored in the ship roads, tell
of a heavy sea running in the main. Ever and anon the
weird, far-ranging cry of the curlew and redshank, the
plaintive call of the ring-plover and lapwing, and the curi-
ous bleat of a bar-tailed godwit are heard from the ooze-
banks lying beyond the fringe of saltings ; while the
distant, hound-like clanging of a herd of grey geese
passing inland comes down to my tingling ears from
high up amongst the clouds.

At length the grey streaks which herald the advent
of dawn begin to appear on the eastern horizon, and the
dancing lights of the shipping grow dim and pale as
darkness slowly but surely gives place to the uncertain
light of " peep o' day." Very soon now will the flight
commence, and, standing my old 12-bore in a corner of
the pit, I anxiously await the coming of anything wearing
feathers and worthy powder and shot.

" Swish — swish — swish ! " — a bunch of mallard flash
past the old duck-hole, and I obtain a momentary
glimpse of a number of hazy forms winging seaward at
something approaching one hundred miles per hour.
But ere I can get my gun up the ducks are out of danger.

Well, better luck next time ! Nor am I kept long in
suspense, for following close in the wake of the mallard
comes a " spring " of teal, flying low and clean over
my hide. The " Normalis " in the old gun awakens the
slumbering echoes of the marshes. The report of the

84 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

second barrel is replied to by a splash in a neighbour-
ing swidge — a sure token that one at least of the teal is
down ; and, lest it should be crippled and able to har-
bour amongst the dense growth of saltwort, or in some
friendl}^ gull5^ I lose no time in gathering it.

From time to time the report of Jasper's antiquated
8-bore comes booming across the salt-marshes. No-
thing worthy a cartridge comes within range of my
" lay up," however, and I begin to think that a solitary
teal ma}' prove the sole occupant of my game-bag at
the close of the morning flight. But luck sometimes
falls to the lot of the shore-shooter when he least expects
it, and in this case luck takes the form of a small bunch
of tufted duck, which come swinging over the salts at a
great racket, and heading straight for the gunning-pit.
On and on come the " tufties," swerving neither right-
handed nor left, and travelling at astonishing speed on
their short but powerful wings. The leader is now within
shot, and a dose of No. 3 sends him hurtling into a bed
of saltwort, while one of his fellows, after a halting flight
across the salts for a distance of some 200 yards or so,
crumples up like an old glove and drops with a splash,
that is heard from the gunning-pit, into a small gully,
and I am compelled to pull my high boots well up before
venturing to wade in and retrieve the duck.

The golden spears of the rising sun now scintillate
upon the horizon, and very soon the eastern heavens are
one blaze of colour — gold and scarlet, burnished copper
and turquoise-blue, rose and crimson — and the rising,
foam-flecked tide is transformed into a veritable painted
ocean. The sea-walls no longer appear like leaden
clouds against the skyline, but are high, grassy escarp-

DOWN ON THE SALT-MARSHES 85

ments of solid and unvarying structure; while stunted
trees and thorn-bushes on the contiguous marshes lose
the grotesque forms which they assume under the pale
beams of the moon and in the uncertain hght of early
morning. The dawn of a stormy day is here; the
morning flight is finished.

HELD UP

Times in the Golden City were just about as bad
as they could well be, for a dead slump had fallen among
the Rand, and day by day fresh stories of crime and
outrage were rehearsed in police court, club, and drinking
saloon.

Among the most eagerly sought after of all " quarry ''
by " gentlemen of the road " were the treasurers or pay-
masters of gold mines and other persons holding similar
positions of trust in outlying districts. The veld-bandit's
mode of procedure was as follows : Having ascertained
the date upon which the wages of a certain gold mine
or factory were paid, he, accompanied by an accessory —
or, perchance, half-a-dozen — would follow on the heels
of the victim as he drove into the Golden City by Cape cart
or buggy to draw from the bank the monthly wages for
the employees of his mine or factory, as the case might be.
The unfortunate man would, of course, be "shadowed"
during his visit to the town, and as he drove along some
quiet spot on the veld on his return journey he would
suddenly be " held up," relieved of not only the specie
in his charge, but also of every " tickey " (3^.) and
article of value he happened to carry on his person. He
would then be gagged, bound hand and foot, and left on
the open veld, or in some eucalyptus or mimosa plantation,
prospecting pit, or any other convenient dumping-place

86

HELD UP 87

contiguous to the scene of the outrage, until some passing
Samaritan, white or black, happened to stumble over
him. The jehu would be meted out the same kind of
treatment as his master; but, being a native, he would
receive sundry " cuffs " and "shinnings" to boot, while
his equine charges, if not shot dead during the early stages
of the proceedings, were released from the vehicle, and
allowed to roam at their own sweet ^vill, for clip, dock,
or alter the general appearance of a South African horse
as you will, the animal still remains an uncomfortable
incubus to the man who " jumps " it. — The brand-
marks give the game away.

These robberies on the high veld usually proved entirely
successful, so much so indeed that the " man in the street "
began to suspect — and even to hint — that more than one
of the " held up " treasurers deserved also to be " hauled
up " as accessories before the fact.

On the other hand, however, these gentlemen of the
veld occasionally met with a Tartar, as this sketch will
presently show.

A certain young Britisher who had tried his hand
at almost everything under the African sun, without
" setting the Thames — or rather the Vaal — on fire,"
at length obtained a surface billet on one of the principal
gold mines on the Rand. Z's duties were by no means
arduous, and, being a fine horseman and devoted to Nature
and sport, he spent much of his leisure time in the saddle
and in studying the fauna and flora of the veld. A boon
companion and an excellent raconteur, Z was a general
favourite, and although of a somewhat wild, devil-may-
care nature he always managed to scrape out of his pecca-
dilloes with a certain amount of eclat, and no dance or

88 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

dinner, christening or burying, was complete unless he
made one of the party.

Amongst Z's many friends and acquaintances was Mr.
X, the treasurer of the mine, and the official who paid Z
his hardly-earned (?) monthly " screw."

There being no railway available, X had perforce to
travel to Johannesburg by road whenever called upon
to visit that city of gold and dust and hustle. Day by
day the news of some murder or robbery on the veld
and in the town reached the ears of the treasurer, and he
invited Z, over a glass of grog, to accompany him on his
next visit to Johannesburg, casually mentioning the while
that the object of his mission was to bring back money
from the bank for the working expenses of the mine.
Scenting a good luncheon at the club, Z accepted the
invitation with alacrity, for to tell the truth he was a bit
of an epicure.

The morning of what was to prove an exciting day for
Z and the treasurer at length came round, and shortly
after ten o'clock a.m. off they started in a Cape cart drawn
by a pair of upstanding " Free Staters "; a Cape boy,
rejoicing in the name of Ticky, acting the part of
jehu.

The eight-mile journey into town proved uneventful
enough, and having partaken of lunch at the club, a large
sum of money in gold and silver was drawn from the
Standard Bank, packed in bags, and stowed away. Then
the return journey was begun.

Johannesburg left behind, the rough boulder-strewn
road ran along the base of a short range of rugged kopjes,
while on the other hand extended a wide expanse of
level veld interspersed with clumps of stunted acacias

HELD UP 89

and wait-a-bit thorn, and flanked by a second range
of hills.

The little treasurer and his companion had not proceeded
far along the valley before their attention was attracted
by a couple of horsemen who, although but mere specks
upon the veld when first sighted, by dint of making a
detour at a hand-gallop, very soon approached to within
almost hailing distance of the Cape cart, and then rode
parallel and a little in advance of the vehicle. As both
men were mounted on good-looking ponies, and there being
a stable of racing ponies and galloways in the neighbour-
hood, Z took but small notice of the strangers, imagining
that they had been running off a trial. The momentary
glint of steel in the brilliant rays of the afternoon sun,
however, warned Z that at least one of the men was
armed with either a rifle or shot gun ; and turning to his
companion he said, " Don't like the look of those chaps
very much."

The paymaster did not appear to grasp the import of
Z's laconic speech, and turned to the latter for enlighten-
ment. Being quite fearless himself, Z did not notice that
the treasurer's naturally sallow complexion gradually
assumed an ashy-grey tint, as he (Z) blurted out, " They
mean to ' hold us up ' or I'm a Dutchman. You'd
better get out the pistols."

Notwithstanding that the mere idea of being " held up "
had, but a few evenings previously, given X a severe
attack of " nerves," he had neglected to arm either Z
or himself with any fire-arms of more importance than a
brace of army revolvers of antiquated pattern, which,
in the hands of any one but an expert pistol-shot, were
just about as harmless, if fired at anything smaller than

90 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

a barn-door standing at more than fifteen yards range
from the firer, as a couple of boy's pea-shooters. But
to hark back to our friends on the veld.

With a hand which was anything but steady, the
treasurer gave Z one of the revolvers, and the latter,
having ascertained that all six chambers of the weapon
were loaded, dropped it into the side pocket of his jacket,
ready to handle at a moment's notice. The Cape cart
had by this time been driven to within a couple of miles
of its destination, and reahsing that if the horsemen —
who, by-the-bye, kept in pretty close attendance —
meant business the only possible chance of escaping
them lay in making a dash for the mine, the high smoke-
stacks and head -gears of which were now visible above
the brow of a steep incline that had to be negotiated by
the cart ere assistance and safety could be hoped for.
Z ordered the driver to " spring " his horses gradually,
and, in the event of the men ahead pulling up,
to gallop them as hard as they could lay hoofs to
ground.

Scarcely was the order given than the bandits — for
such they proved themselves to be — put spurs to their
ponies, crossed the road some 500 yards ahead of the Cape
cart, and, having gained a cluster of outcrops, one of them
dismounted, threw his bridle-reins to his confederate (who
remained in the saddle with the lower part of his face
hidden in a bandana), and, taking cover behind a high
outcrop, he commenced " pumping " out lead at Z and
his unhappy companion with a repeating rifle.

The first two bullets went wide of the mark, albeit
they whistled unpleasantly near the ears of the human
targets. Z urged the driver— who stuck manfully to his

HELD UP 91

box — to set his pair going at their utmost speed. The
cart was now within seventy yards' range of the bandits,
and while bullets began to rain round the vehicle —
the body of the cart was hit in several places — Z discharged
all six chambers of his revolver at the men behind the
outcrops, needless to say without doing the smallest
hurt to either. Fortunately the man with the rifle was
but a very poor shot, otherwise not a soul aboard
the cart could have escaped his bullets. Then, again,
he was but a tyro at the gentle art of " holding up,"
or he would have first turned his attention and rifle to
the horses, and, having killed or maimed one of them,
the travellers would have been more or less at his mercy.

On galloped the scared horses until the cluster of
outcrops was almost abreast, when the near side one
stumbled on to his knees. The gallant animal was up
in a moment, however, and at break-neck speed the sway-
ing, bumping vehicle passed the outcrops and began to
ascend the incline leading to the mine, while a number of
men both mounted and afoot, who had heard the firing,
came rushing pell-mell towards the flying Cape cart.

Suddenly, with a groan, the near side " Free Stater "
gave a great plunge forward and pitched on to his head,
bringing the other horse down also, and depositing the
driver into a shallow but particularly foul refuse drain
which ran in close proximity to the road. The animal
had been shot through the lungs, but, spurred on by fear,
had managed to gallop to the foot of the hill before lying
down to die.

Although the " quarry " was still close at hand, the
bandits saw that the game was up. Clambering into
the saddle, the highwayman and his lieutenant put

92 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

spurs to their horses and were soon but mere dots on
the arid veld. Chase was given, and for some Httle time
the fugitives were kept in view by the half-dozen or so
men on horseback who formed the pursuing party.
But the scoundrels had a long start, were well mounted,
and got clean away.

Thanks to the pluck of Z and the Cape boy, not one
" tickey " of the treasure was lost during that exciting
drive, but as to whether X ever again ventured upon a
similar mission during his official connection with the
Mine is very questionable.

THE DERELICT— AN EX-TRANSPORT RIDER'S
STORY

" I'm a thundering bad hand at spinning a yarn, boys,"
said Conway Barton to half-a-dozen young Templers
who had raided his chambers for a chat, a whisky and soda,
and a cigar ; " but as you have each in turn been trjring
your hardest to outhe the late lamented Baron Mun-
chausen, I suppose I must have a shot also. So here goes.

" You all remember poor old Jack Mortimore of the
I.L.H., who was laid low on Spion Kop. Well, shortly
after the last Matabele row, when supphes in Bulawayo
were at famine price. Jack and I went down to Johannes-
burg and sunk what few hundreds we were able to beg
and borrow in mules, buck-wagons, and provisions.
We decided to trek through Pretoria and Pietersburg and
across the Limpopo instead of taking the usual route via
Maf eking. All went as merrily as marriage bells until
we got well into the low country, when the isetse-^y
attacked my companion's spans, and within three days
he had lost four of his best mules. In spite of reduced
teams we managed to continue the trek until within
a four days' journey of the Limpopo. One evening,
however, just as I was sitting down to an al fresco supper.
Jack rode up to my uitspaan, and, seating himself before
the arba longua fire, he opened as follows : ' Three more
of my mules are down with the cursed " fly," and half a

93

94 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

dozen of those hideous ass vogels (vultures) are awaiting to
feast upon their carcasses . Just my luck, ' continued Jack,
as he blew great clouds of ' Pioneer ' tobacco smoke in
the vain endeavour to drive away a cloud of bloodthirsty
mosquitoes, which buzzed about our heads like a swarm
of bees round a hive.

" I agreed that it was very hard luck, but the crippled
span had to be made up with fresh mules or donkeys,
by fair means or foul, otherwise one of the wagons would
have to be abandoned, and bang would go a fourth part
of our aggregate fortune. For some little time we puffed
away at our ' corn-cobs ' in silence, and but for the distant
' yap-yapping ' of a prowling jackal dead silence would
have reigned over that vast expanse of rolling veld,
for the Kafir drivers and loep-boys were fast asleep under
the wagons, and the mules were haltered to the dessel-
booms, round which had been built a laager of 'mcopi
thorn to secure the animals from beasts of prey.

" At length I suggested that either Mortimore or myself
would have to set out at daybreak and scour the country
for mules, or failing mules, horses, or donkeys. A coin
bearing the efiigy of Oom Paul was spun in the air, and
the same fell within the glow of the fire the reverse side
uppermost. Jack had lost the toss, and muttering some-
thing that sounded very unlike a blessing on specie
generally, and that of the late Transvaal Government in
particular, he jumped on his pony and cantered off
through the darkness towards a distant glimmer of light
which marked the scene of his own uitspaan, for owing to
one of my mules having cast a shoe I called a halt some
three miles to the rear of the leading wagons.

" The first golden spears of early morning were gilding

THE DERELICT 95

the broken summits of a distant range of hills when
Mortimore rode out of camp carrying a two days' ration
of biscuit and biltong, a prismatic compass and a Mann-
licher rifle to search the surrounding country for the
required animals. For many miles with the scorching
sun beating upon him did he ride across the arid veld,
halting here and there at a spruit or dam to water
his pony. But neither Dutch homestead, Kafir kraal,
or human habitation of any kind did he fall in with,
and an occasional antelope, paauw, or koorhaan were the
only signs of life on that vast expanse of sun-scorched
plain. But no ; not quite the only signs of life, for as
Jack looked upwards into the cloudless heavens he saw
a number of dark specks wheeling at a great height
over head. The ' specks ' were Egyptian vultures, those
loathsome winged scavengers of the veld, and grim was
the smile that hardened Mortimore 's sun-tanned face as
he muttered, ' Mule meat begins to pall upon your appe-
tites, does it, you ugly devils ? ' and then, pushing forward
at a smart canter, he added, ' But you won't make a
meal off old Bushman or his rider just yet.'

" At midday Jack off-saddled on the shore of a reed-
fringed pan of water to eat his banquet of macadam-hke
biscuit and buck-biltong. He had just finished the repast
and was in the act of lighting a pipe, when suddenly
he heard a rustling amongst the reeds. A few minutes
later a tall, gaunt, tatterdemalion of a white man emerged
from the dense cover. ' Good-morning sir ; you have
wandered far away from civilisation; may I ask what
brings you to this God-forsaken corner of the earth ? '
opened the stranger as he approached Mortimore, carrying
an antiquated muzzle-loading gun over his shoulder.

96 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Notwithstanding his haggard, unkempt, and scarecrow-
like appearance, this strange man spoke Hke a cultured
and educated person, and the sad, far-away expression
of his world-weary face touched poor old Jack, who, as
you fellows know, was as soft-hearted as a woman.

" Having briefly explained the object of his mission,
Mortimore handed his saddle-flask to the stranger who,
after taking a long pull at the dop, remarked that he
believed he could obtain the required mules from a
neighbouring Dutchman if Jack would spend the night
at his hut and accept what poor hospitality he was able
to offer him. Delighted at the prospect of getting our
crippled wagons once more under way, and if the truth
were known, not a little curious regarding the history
of the ' dead beat ' Samaritan, Jack willingly accepted
the proffered hospitality.

" ' You will find my cabin at the foot of the kopje,'
said the stranger, as he pointed towards a rugged thorn-
clothed hill that towered high and gaunt amidst the vast,
verdureless waste. ' Go in and rest, and tell Boowin,
my Kafir servant, to make you some coffee ' ; adding with
a soulless smile : ' That is the best fare I can offer you
until my return, when I hope to bring in a brace of koorhaan
or pink-bill teal for supper.'

" A twenty minutes' canter took Jack to the kopje,
where he off-saddled, knee-haltered, and turned loose
his pony to pick up what scanty herbage it might be able
to find on the sun-scorched veld. For some Httle time
not a sign of a habitation could he see among the huge
boulders and outcrops of quartz which lay scattered round
the base of the hill. At length a thin spiral of blue smoke,
ascending, apparently, from the midst of a clump of those

THE DERELICT 97

strange thorn-armed trees, or rather bushes, which,
from the tenacious manner in which their long double
thorns cling to one's clothing are known as wait-a-bit
bushes, attracted his attention. After a stiff climb up
the steep side of the kopje, Mortimore found himself
standing on a level, fertile spot through which babbled a
little lily-decked stream of water fringed with tree-ferns
and beautiful flowering shrubs. Still there was no trace
of the hut to be seen, and the mysterious spiral of smoke
had disappeared as though by magic.

" ' Devilish queer thing ! ' muttered Jack as he looked
above and below, to right and to left. ' Devihsh queer
thing ! I'll swear that smoke came from within ten
yards of this very spot.' Scarcely were the words uttered,
than a huge and magnificently proportioned Zulu, very
airily attired and armed with a formidable knobkerrie,
glided out of the foliage and stood towering and motion-
less like an ebony statue before the somewhat startled
Englishman.

" ' Whom do you seek, baas ? The great white Induna
has gone hunting and will not return until the sun has
sunk beyond those far-away hills,' at length said the Zulu,
in the soft musical language of his race, as with knobkerrie
held high over his head in salute, he pointed first to the
sun and then to a distant chain of mountains to sign
that his master would not return until the first shades of
evening had fallen. Jack told the sable giant that he
had just left the great white Induna, and then Boo win,
with the natural courtesy of his tribe — the Zulu is the
native gentleman of South Africa — said, ' Your visit,
baas, is as welcome as rain after a long drought; come
up to the kraal and I will cook meahes and coffee.'

98 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" A few minutes of difficult climbing up a narrow,
tortuous pathway through the thorn scrub, and Mortimore
found himself at the doorway of the strangest human habi-
tation he had ever set eyes upon. Standing in a cleft of
the kopje, the walls of the cabin were constructed of
small boulders and darga (mortar made by mixing the
earth of ant hills, cow-dung, and water together), a thick
plaster of the latter material being laid over all to keep
out the wind and rain. In lieu of slates, pantiles, or
corrugated iron, the skins of antelopes, jackals, klip-das,
and other animals, stretched across strips of raw-hide
reims, acted the part of roof. A little loophole of a
window, open to the wind and weather by day, and closed
with the beaten-out tin of an old biscuit tin by night,
gave light and ventilation to the interior of the hut,
while the entrance boasted a leathern-hung, dilapidated
door, which, in years gone by, had probably belonged to
one of the early Transvaal Government mail-coaches,
for the motto was still legible although the coat-of-arms
had long been obliterated by the elements. High above
the hut and its well-kept mealy and melon patch towered
the almost perpendicular side of the kopje, a pair of great
Egyptian vultures keeping watch over their nest on one
of the topmost spurs of rock, like grey sentinels of evil.
To north, east, and west stretched a seemingly boundless
expanse of perfectly level desert; a broken chain of
rugged hills, a patch of stunted acaciae, and a small
lagoon of water glinting in the rays of the afternoon sun
being the only objects to break the wearying monotony
of the desolate scene.

" Pushing open the obsolete coach-door. Jack
found himself in the strangest and, from a sports-

THE DERELICT 99

man's point of view, most interesting interior imagin-
able. The hut consisted of but one room, the walls
of which were hung from roof to floor with skins and
trophies of many different kinds of animals and birds.
The daraa floor of the room was also carpeted with pelts,
a magnificent lion skin forming the centre trophy. A
roughly-hewn table, a loosely-swung hammock, an old
deck-chair, a huge brass-fastened oak chest, and a htter
of saddlery and rusty ' odds and ends ' thrown carelessly
into a corner completed the inventory of furniture.
Thoroughly fatigued after the long ride, Jack flung himself
at full length on the lion skin, and within a very few
minutes he was wrapped in that deep, dreamless slumber
which comes to little children and weary men only.

" Upon awakening Jack found that his host had returned,
and that he was busily engaged in plucking a leash of
lesser bustard, or, as the Boer has it, koorhaan.

" ' 1 am afraid bean coffee and boiled mealies are not
much to your taste,' said the owner of the hut to Morti-
more, as his eyes rested on a pannikin of cold coffee and
a couple of boiled corn-cobs which lay on the table un-
touched. Jack declared, however, that so soundly had
he slept he did not hear the native bring in the improvised
meal.

" It was during the dressing and cooking of the game
that Jack learned something of the history of his host,

whom henceforth I will call G . G was a younger

son of one of the oldest and best-known families in the
west of England, and after distinguishing himself at
Winchester and New College, Oxford, he was launched
into the ocean of so-called fashionable life — that sea of
shoals in which so many impecunious younger sons have

100 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

foundered during their first voyage. He spoke of Hurling-
ham, Ascot, Cowes, and other well-known resorts of the
English world of leisure. But when telling of the good days
he had spent with horse, gun, and rod amongst the heather-
clad valleys and tors of the home of his boyhood, and of
the wild red deer, Exmoor, it was that the hard, world-
weary face softened, and the deeply sunken eyes lost
something of their usual hunted expression. Then came
a blank page in the stranger's book, and he spoke no
more of the land which Jack knew his heart yearned for.

Of his life in South Africa G said but httle, but from

that little Jack gathered that after squandering the greater
part of the few hundreds which his father had given him
to start afresh in a new world, he had found his way up
to Kimberley, where with a fellow adventurer, he seemed
to have done fairly well at the ' poor man's diggings.'
Having sold his share of the claim to his partner, he
journeyed to Natal with the intention of trading amongst
the Zulus and Basutos. For a time he thrived in his new
venture, and it was during one of his expeditions to Zulu-
land that he met with his faithful servant Boo win. His
gambling spirit once more got the upper hand of him,
however, and between horse-racing and cards he lost
nearly every ' tickey ' {^d.) of his hard-earned savings.
Then, as he grimly remarked, he crossed the Transvaal
border ' for the benefit of his health ' — there was no
extradition treaty between Natal and the Transvaal in
those days. At length, after experiencing many hardships
on the journey, he made his way to Pretoria, and became
driver of a mail-coach running between that town and
Pietersburg. How long he held the post or his reason for
leaving it did not transpire. From coach-driving he

THE DERELICT 101

descended a step lower and became waiter and man-of-
all-work in a roadside store and eating-house.

" ' Couldn't stand " slinging hash " and serving tickey's-
worths of sugar to a lot of cursed, unwashed doppers, so I
found my way to this God-forsaken spot with Boowin,
and here I shall die,' declared he, as he finished the last
drop of dop in his guest's flask, adding, ' But I must
turn in and snatch a few hours' sleep, for I want to be
in the saddle before daybreak to try and get those
mules for you.'

" It was two good hours before sunrise when G

mounted Mortimore's pony. Striking a bee-hne in a
northerly direction, he galloped across the veld, heedless
of the innumerable aardvark earths, meerkat holes, and
other horse traps with which in many parts the ground
was simply honeycombed. Jack was discussing the
remains of the game stew which Boowin served for break-
fast, when he heard a great clatter of hoofs on the rocky
ground at the base of the kopje ; and looking out of the
hut door he saw his tattered host bringing in three pairs
of as good-looking mules as he had seen for many a long
day. * Old Jos6 Swartz let me have them at twelve pounds

a head, and every animal " salted ! " ' exclaimed G as

he entered the cabin. The price was ridiculously low,
for ' salted ' mules at the time were fetching at least
thrice that sum in Pretoria and Johannesburg, and as
Jack counted out the purchase-money and commission
he wondered within himself whether those same animals
would be claimed by Oom Swartz ere they were safely
across the Crocodile River.

" Jack lost no time in saddhng up, and having promised
to bring G a stock of necessaries and ' medical com-

102 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

forts ' on his return from Rhodesia, he bade him good-bye,
and arrived at our uitspaan with the mules late the same
evening.

" To cut a long story short, we rode our transport up
to Bulawayo with the loss of but one other mule, and
meeting with no further adventures worthy of mention.
Our stock-in-trade was sold at a handsome profit, and,
as luck had it, we obtained a sub-contract to carry railway
materials for the then new line between Fort Salisbury
and the Rhodesian capital.

" One blazing hot day, as Jack and I were drinking a
' long schooner ' of beer in the ' Grand Hotel,' three men
of the B.B.P. came in, one of whom had served with
Mortimore in the first Matabele war. In the course of
conversation Jack mentioned his strange meeting with
G .

" ' Did you notice whether your man had lost the index-
finger of his right hand? ' suddenly asked one of the
troopers, a tall, bony Scotchman, who had hitherto
remained silent.

" Jack declared that G had lost the finger

mentioned, and also he bore a big ' horse-shoe ' scar
on his forehead.

" ' Then, begad, it was the same chap who gave
me the slip when I was in the N.M.P., and
after him with a warrant for I.D.B. ! ' exclaimed the
Scot.

" More of the history of Jack's former host was now
told. For eighteen months or so after leaving Kimberley
he had passed from more or less reputable trading in
Basuto and Zulu lands to illicit diamond running, but,
having got wind that a warrant was issued for his arrest

THE DERELICT 103

on that serious charge, he managed to elude the law —
and perchance the ' Breakwater ' — by crossing over the
Transvaal border. Then — as he himself told — he drove
the mail-coach between Pretoria and Pietersburg, but so
frequently was his charge held up and robbed that the
authorities began to entertain suspicions that he was
imphcated in the outrages, until at length things grew
so hot for him that he was obliged to fly, and nothing had
been heard of him for some years.

" ' It's long odds that he " jumped " those mules,
for he's got the cheek of the Devil, and has no more
care for his neck than a Kafir,' said the Scot, helping
himself to a four-finger peg of ' Black and White ' from
the bottle.

" Four months later Jack made the return journey
from Bulawayo to Pretoria by Cape cart, for the purpose
of bringing up another lot of transport, while I remained
to ' boss ' the railway contract. He did not forget his

promise to G , and took a goodly store of the best

provisions, hquid and sohd, obtainable in the town of

Bulawayo. Mortimore saw no sign of either G or

Boowin as he chmbed up the kopje; but upon gaining
the plateau, the first object that met his eyes was a heap
of stones piled up on the bank of the little fern-fringed
stream which flowed below the hut. Then he knew that

either G or his faithful henchman had trekked to his

last uitspaan. The Zulu, hearing footsteps on the pebbly
path, now appeared on the scene carrying his knohkerrie,
blanket, and cooking pot, and coming towards Jack,
he exclaimed, ' The great and good white Induna passed
to the happy hunting-grounds as the sun dropped behind
the hills last night. Boowin returns to the land of his

104 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

fathers with a heavy heart and sad for the loss of his
master.'

" Then extending his open hand high above his head,
Boowin stood hke a magnificent ebon statue and chanted
a strange, weird dirge over the poor heap of stones.
Then, with the stately stride of his race, he passed down
the narrow trackway, and Jack lost sight of him for ever.

" The interior of the hut appeared just the same as it
did when Mortimore paid his first visit there ; the same
skins were on the floor and walls, and the muzzle-loading
gun stood in its wonted corner. Deeming it possible
that the dead man had left some token or written message
behind him, Jack searched every likely and unlikely
corner. For some httle time the hunt proved fruitless,
and he was in the act of leaving the sad, sohtary chamber,
when his attention was attracted by two white objects
lying half hidden amongst the folds of the lion pelt.
They were the portraits of a woman and of a golden-
haired child exquisitely painted on ivory. The woman
was dark and very beautiful, but of a type witch-like and
evil, a type that contrasted strangely with the angelic
loveliness of the child. Jack made a further search of
the hut, but the outlaw had left not a scrap of writing
behind him. He died — as did many a better man before
him — unknown, uncared, unprayed. Still not quite
uncared or unprayed, for Boowin the Zulu loved and
honoured his master, and though the dirge that flowed
from the unsanctified hps of the half-naked savage as
he bade farewell to the mortal remains of ' the good and
great white Induna ' may not perhaps appear in the book
of the Recording Angel, who will believe that it was but
a mere fleeting echo amongst the kopjes ?

THE DERELICT 105

" ' A worthless blackguard,' did you say, sir ? Perhaps
he was, but I wonder had that beautiful woman, whose
picture was probably the last earthly object the ' worthless
blackguard's ' dimming eyes looked upon, anything to
do with the downfall and solitude of his hfe ? "

AN EARLY MORNING RUN ON THE VELD

It was a glorious African winter's evening when I left
the dust and bustle of the Golden City (Johannesburg)
behind me and rode along Bezuidenhuit's valley for the
double purpose of paying a visit of inspection to the then
recently imported pack of English foxhounds and of
spending the night at the kennels on the Geldenhuis
Estate ; for, at the invitation of the Master, I had arranged
to act the part of volunteer whipper-in the next day, when
the hounds were to meet on the old coach road at a point
about midway between Johannesburg and Pretoria.

I had ridden to within a mile or so of my destination,
when my heart was gladdened by a sound sweet as a peal
of church bells chiming across a wide river, now swelling,
now falling in volume, until softening and softening,
gradually lower and lower, the melody died away, and
death-like silence again reigned over that vast expanse
of rolling veld. It was the " singing " of the little pack
of English foxhounds, exiled seven thousand long miles
from their native shires. Only a true sportsman could
imagine what fond memories of Home that hound-music
brought back to me. For a time the bustle and excite-
ment of everyday life abroad will teach a man to forget
many things, but, if he be at heart a sportsman, the
" whimper " of a single hound even will awaken the

slumbering memory of many a good run enjoyed with
1 06

EARLY MORNING ON THE VELD 107

the dappled beauties in the dear old country at home ;
or, perchance, his thoughts will hark back to that day
at covert-side — ah ! so many years ago — when a certain
pair of bright eyes looked into his own so fondly, and — .
But hold ! The rest of the story is sacred.

How well does the writer remember a pathetic little
incident he witnessed one morning when out with the
Johannesburg hounds. Hounds were dra\\dng a big
blue gum plantation, and I had been " told off " to view
away any buck which might happen to break at the far
end of the covert . There was but one other man anywhere
near me, a ragged unkempt old fellow, mounted on a
rough Basuto pony, whom I had often noticed loafing
about the Johannesburg horse market and on the Turffon-
tein race-course. Hounds had not been in covert long
when a whimper was taken up by the full chorus of the
pack, and the plantation was filled with glorious music.
Suddenly the sound of deep sobs as of one in dire distress
reached my ears, and turning in the saddle I saw the old
loafer with head bowed down upon his pony's neck,
sobbing as though heart-broken. I rode towards him,
but with a gesture he signed me not to approach nearer
and brokenly exclaimed, " Don't take any notice of me,

sir, I'm a d d weak old fool, but the cry of those hounds

reminded me of the old home I left twenty-five years
ago, and which I shall never see again."

Would the most eloquent sermon ever preached from
the pulpit have touched the one soft chord of that tough,
world-beaten old heart as did the cry of that little pack
of exiled foxhounds? I think not.

But enough of this babbling, and now that the singing
of the hounds has died away, I send my pony along at a

108 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

smart canter across the arid veld, jump the wide spruit
that has to be negotiated ere the kennels are reached,
and five minutes later I draw rein before the huntsman's
bungalow. Having done ample justice to an excellent
little dinner, I pay a visit to the kennels to find as good-
looking a little pack as one would wish to see comfortably
benched for the night. Then the huntsman takes me to
view the first litter of foxhound puppies ever whelped
in the Transvaal.

" Isn't it a lovely picture ? " exclaimed Tom Parker,
as he gazed fondly at the sleek and beautifully marked
little hounds nestling up to their matronly-looking badger-
pied dam, old Amazon. Yes, indeed, it was a lovely
picture. But, alas ! not one of that litter of eight ever
lived to hunt either jackal or buck (there are no foxes
in the Transvaal; the pack were therefore entered to
both jackal and antelope). Neither was Tom, although
a most painstaking and good houndsman, ever successful
in rearing a litter of whelps. For a time they would
apparently thrive remarkably well, but would suddenly
contract a virulent form of distemper, a couple of days
of which malady generally sufficed to wipe out a whole
litter.

" We must leave home before sunrise to-morrow, sir,
for it's a good ten miles from the kennels to * Halfway
House,' and it isn't worth the price of red-herring trying
to hunt after the dew has gone, for the veld don't hold
a scrap of scent then," were Tom's parting words to me
as I jogged off to the Master's house which stood within
a stone's throw of the kennels. It wanted yet a couple
of hours to daybreak when a long-drawn blast from the
huntsman's horn caused me to jump up from my bed ; but

EARLY MORNING ON THE VELD 109

so brilliant were the stars that we experienced but little
difficulty in striking a bee-line towards the appointed
fixture at " Halfway House." More than once during
the ride across the veld the hounds got on to the line
of a "jack," but they were, of course, whipped off im-
mediately, for the business of the day was not to begin
until later.

" Halfway House " being anything but a get-at-able
place from Johannesburg, not more than a score members
of the J.H.C. put in an appearance at the meet, including
two ladies, both of whom, before their migration to
South Africa, were well-known followers of the Oakley.
After we had made a substantial breakfast, hounds were
taken off to draw a large blue wattle (mimosa) plantation,
in which, the landlord of the hotel informed us, often
harboured a small herd of blesbok. By the time we were
in the saddle the sun was just appearing above the summits
of a distant range of chocolate-brown kopjes, and a
peculiar haze floated in the air a few feet above the sur-
face of the earth, while the " hanging " of the aroma of
our cigars, cigarettes, or pipes gave promise of good scent.
But then, as Tom Parker very truly declared, " Scent
be the trickiest thing in creation ; there's no getting to the
bottom of it."

The huntsman now waves hounds into covert, and the
cheery cry of " Yeaw-eup ! Push 'em up, my little
darlings. Yooi wind 'im ! " re-echoes through the planta-
tion as he cheers them on to draw. Suddenly a challenge
from Guardsman is taken up by the full chorus of the pack,
and a few minutes later the soul-moving cry, " Tally-ho !
gone-away ! gone awaaay," is shrieked out by some one at
the far end of the covert. In almost less time than it

110 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

takes to record the fact, the pack is out of the plantation
and streaming across the veld at a pace that proclaims a
breast-high scent.

The Master, huntsman, and perhaps a dozen of the
" field " get well away with hounds, and the ladies hold
their own with the best of us. In parts the high, rank
vegetation of the veld reaches well above the saddle-
girths, hiding completely from view the waving sterns
of the flying pack, and galloping through this rough veld
" grass " and sage bush is rendered dangerous by innu-
merable antbear earths, meerkat holes, and other horse
traps quite invisible from the saddle. It is little less
than marvellous, however, the manner in which the
native-bred horses, more especially the Basuto ponies,
dodge these pitfalls by jumping over, or swerving to
one side of them. But mark ! Hounds — which might
almost be covered by the proverbial sheet — turn off right-
handed and point for 3^^onder Dutch farm, round which
is built a high and roughly constructed stone wall. The
hunt ponies have been schooled over every kind of
obstacle and jump like deer ; but a good number of the
horses ridden by the " field " have never been over any-
thing of more importance than the average spruit or
nullah, and at least two-thirds of the hunt go off at a
tangent before the wall is reached. The master and
huntsman fly the obstacle girth and girth, and the ladies,
following their " lead," manage to get over safely. It
was " touch and go " with one of them, however, as her
galloway pecked badly on landing, and very nearly
deposited his fair rider in to a prickly pear bush. One man
comes a " cropper," but on the right side of the wall,
and, although a little stream of scarlet trickling from a cut

EARLY MORNING ON THE VELD 111

on the forehead tells its own tale, he is very soon in the
saddle again.

For twenty-five minutes we have been riding at almost
steeplechase pace, and the quarry is now running in view,
for the veld here and for a couple of miles ahead has been
fired, and not a vestige of herbage is there to be seen.

" Forrard ! forrard ! forrard ! " shrieks Tom as he
cheers on the eager, straining pack, fearful that they may
not gain the blood they thirst for, and so richly deserve,
for he, with the experienced eye of a huntsman, knows
full well that if once the buck gains yonder boulder-
strewn kopje, towards which it is heading, the run will
prove bloodless. No horse ever yet foaled could find
footing up the face of those steep, rocky hills, and the
hot rays of the sun will already have dissipated what little
scent might have been found when the scant vegetation
of the hills was drenched with dew.

The Boer homestead is nov/ but a mere white speck on
the sun-scorched plain, for hounds are running at a pace
they seldom, if ever, showed in their native country.
Not the sign of a check has occurred since they left covert,
nor, with the exception of the stone wall, have they met
with a single obstacle to hinder them. By Jove ! the
buck is heading towards the reed-fringed pan of water
which lies shimmering in the bright rays of the sun like
a sheet of molten silver. Yes, in he plunges, and now it is
a case of sit down and ride and the devil take the hind-
most. " Forrard ! forrard ! forrard ! " again shrieks
the huntsman, as he rides close to the sterns of the hounds
as though his Satanic Majesty were behind him.

Headlong we go, each man striving to outride his
fellow, heedless of the fact that his mount is sobbing out

112 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" bellows to mend," heedless of everything on earth in
his struggle to be in at the death.

A mighty splash and some ten couple of hounds are
madly swimming across the shallow lagoon towards the
antelope, which, having " soiled," is struggling gallantly
to reach the further shore.

But, alas for him ! he has stopped to " soil " too long,
for several couple of the older and more knowing hounds
have skirted the shore and are already baying round the
clump of tall reeds towards which he is swimming, and
those in the water are close to his haunches. At length
he touches ground, and, with a mighty spring, the gallant
little antelope jumps clean over the heads of the waiting
hounds. His last bolt is shot, however; old Amazon
has fastened on to his throat, and next moment he is pulled
down by a living, dappled torrent. " Who- whoop,
whoa-whoop ! " the run is over.

A RECORD RUN

Farmer Sanders, one of the old school of yeomen,
was well known throughout his native county as a fine
horseman, a dead shot, and a rattling good fellow; and
the six-acre covert lying near the centre of his well-tilled
farm invariably proved a sure find for a fox. The
worthy yeoman boasted that the wood had not been
drawn blank for twenty years; but twenty years is a
far-away cry, and we are bound to confess that " we
ha'e our doots." Anyhow, on the day preceding the
hunt we are about to tell of, Sanders sent his baihff>
Tom Thorogood, down to the wood to ascertain if the
artificial earth therein harboured a fox ; and to the dis-
appointment and disgust of the farmer, Thorogood
returned with the report that the earth had not been
used for at least a week. But as this story will
presently show, Sanders determined that the hounds
he loved so well should, by fair means or foul, obtain
a run next day. We happened at the time to be staying
with an old friend who resided within a short distance
of Sanders' homestead, and upon the morning appointed
for the meet at the cross roads, our host and ourselves
had taken our guns out before daybreak for the morning
flight of the duck as they passed from their nightly feeding
grounds inland to the neighbouring estuary. We were
returnmg home with a solitary mallard, when we met
I 113

114 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

the farmer hurrying along the road leading to his home-
stead as though his Satanic Majesty were behind him.

Upon approaching nearer we discovered that he was
splashed with mud from head to foot, his clothes were
rent in many places, whilst his face was scratched and
bleeding as though he had been dragged through a
Leicestershire bullfinch.

The farmer looked particularly sheepish as he hurried
past us with " Morning, gentlemen, morning ; just
been to look at my fat beasties up in forty acres."
" What the devil has Sanders been up to ? " ejaculated
our companion, when the farmer had passed out of ear-
shot. " If I didn't know him well, I should have said he
had been on a poaching expedition."

It was a grand hunting morning, and at least 300
sportsmen and sportswomen, of aU sorts and conditions,
met at the cross roads, amongst whom was Sanders, very
smart in cords and butcher-boots and mounted on a
good-looking and well-bred chestnut mare.

Just as the last stroke of eleven o'clock sounded from the
tower of the old grey Norman church hard by, the M.F.H.
arrived on the scene, and the beautifully level pack was
taken off to draw the Round Wood. Nor had they been
in covert two minutes when a challenge from old Amazon
was taken up by the rest of the pack, and in less time
than it takes to write it hounds were out of covert
and racing across a big grass field. But strangely
enough, not one of the score or so of men, who, waiting
within a yard of the spot whence the fox should have
broken, had viewed him away ; nor was the soul-stirring
cry of " Gone away ! Goo-ne awaaay ! " heard from any
part of the wood. There was no time, however, to com-

^^■^v;.^-v /

'A BULLFINCH AND A DROl' "

[ To face />. 1 1 5

A RECORD RUN 115

ment upon such details, for hounds were carrying a breast-
high scent, and were heading for a lovely line of country.
Farmer Sanders was one of the first over the big bank
and newly-cleared ditch that had to be negotiated ere
the grass field was entered. Quickly following in his
wake rode the Master and perhaps a score of others;
not more, for the preliminary jump was a bit of a " yaw-
ner," and a convenient lane, running parallel with the
line taken by hounds, afforded excellent going to the
" tailor and cockney " sportsmen, from which classes
of horsemen the field on that particular day was largely
recruited. The pace was a " clinker," the going all that
could be desired, and a finer line of country it would have
been hard to find in any corn-growing country.

" Yonder 's a double with a big drop and a brook on
t' other side," shouted Sanders pro bono as he pointed
towards a stiff bullfinch which was of such a height as
to render it impossible to see what lay beyond. " Swish ! "
and old Kitty bored her way through the thorny fence,
and dropped, cat-Hke, at least eight feet into the rutty
lane beyond. Then a stride and a half, another cat-like
scramble on the part of the old Irish mare we were riding ;
bang through a thicker and thornier bullfinch than the
first, and we found ourselves, minus a hat, and with face
scored like the back of a Christmas sucking pig, safely
over the double.

Still there lay a wide, rotten-banked brook yawning
a dozen lengths ahead. But Kitty — an ancient chaser —
knew her business as well as she loved it, and with a
snort and a toss of her ugly old coffin head, she put on full
steam and flew the obstacle with a good six feet to spare.
The man on our right, however, a well-known sporting

116 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

medico who rode not an ounce over eight stone, was
not so fortunate, for although his clever Httle blood mare
landed on the right side of the brook, the undermined
bank gave way under her weight, and she fell into the
discoloured water with a broken back.

Having ascertained that the doctor was unhurt, and
being unable to render him any assistance, we sat down to
ride again; for so fast was the pace that hounds were
running almost mute. Gad ! how hounds flew that day !
And such a head did they carry that the proverbial sheet
would almost have covered them.

But never was there such a silent hunt. Scarcely
a note of music, and never a cheer nor a halloa was
heard from the time they were put into covert, nearly
thirty minutes before.

Hounds suddenly turned off left-handed and pointed to-
wards Sanders' farm, which lay but a short half-mile ahead.
There soon they checked in the stackyard, utterly at
fault, and although the huntsman did everything possible
to assist them, they seemed quite unable to puzzle out
another yard of the line. A buxom woman now appeared
on the scene, and walking up to the Master, opened as
follows : " Oh, sir ! that lazy varmint Dick forgot to
take the vox Maister Sanders sent over last night out of
the bag, and this mamin' when my good man loosed
him in the stackyard, as Maister Sanders told he to do,
the poor creetur wor that stiff and bad he couldn't
hardly crawl, and so we put him into a pail o' warm water,
but it didn't seem to do him no sort o' good 'cept to make
snap and prowl loike a madun, so we shut 'un up in the
granary. But Oi do hope as yew 'ont give him to the
'ounds, sir."

A RECORD RUN 117

To the granary we went en masse, and there, surely
enough, curled up in the corner of an old sack was a
wretched bedraggled creature, which bore some kind of
resemblance to a fox.

" First time ever I saw a fox sweating in the coat,
gen'lmen," grinned the huntsman as he raked up the
miserable animal with his crop.

" And begad, it's the first time during my ten years

of mastership that I've hunted a d d red herring to

find a half-drowned ' bagman ' at the end of the run.
Where's Sanders? Hang him ! " roared the Master.

" Gone to look at his fat beasts, sir," suggested one
of the field.

THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER ON THE MARSHES

To the man who is wont to shoot on the uplands, where
coverts abound and hedgerows separate one field from
another, a day's partridge shooting on the marshes would
not greatly appeal, perhaps. More especially would this
be the case if the " uplander's " method of shooting took
the form of driving, and not the older-fashioned mode of
" walking "up or " dogging."

Not a hedgerow, nor anything bearing the slightest re-
semblance to one, will be found on the vast expanse of
marshlands that fringe many portions of the east and
south-east coasts. Generally speaking, indeed, these
low-lying levels are devoid of timber, trees, and bushes,
beyond, perchance, a stunted elm or willow, with here
and there a clump of bramble-shrub growing under the
more sheltered sides of the sea-walls. These high escarp-
ments in many cases entirely surround the marshes, and
thus prevent the incursions of the spring tides, which would
otherwise inundate them. In lieu of fences, one marsh is
divided from another by a system of narrow dykes or
drains, which not only carry off the superfluous surface
water from the levels, but also, to a certain degree,
irrigate them. On the majority of marshes, will be
found one or more small sedge-fringed lagoons, or,
as they are locally called, fleets, of fresh water. These
lagoons give excellent harbourage for wild duck and

SEPTEMBER 1 ON THE MARSHES 119

other kinds of waterfowl ; the bents and rough herbage
that flourish in rank profusion on the inner face of the
sea-walls afford warm and well-sheltered nesting sites
for partridges; while great numbers of lapwings, red-
shanks, et hoc, breed on the marshes.

On cultivated marshes, such as E Island, which

forms the topographical subject of this sketch, very fair
bags of partridges are sometimes made during earlier
stages of the season, and the fleets and dykes usually
hold plenty of mallard, teal, coot, etc. ; no fewer than
fifty-three couple of young wild duck, or " flappers,"
having been killed on August 12 last by five " guns "
working the sedges and reed-ronds with spaniels. Con-
taining an area of some 1600 acres of exceedingly rich
pasture and arable land, this minute dot on the map
of England faces the North Sea, and lies seven good miles

from anywhere. E Island is only approachable

during low tide, for the very simple and sufficient reason
that the road — or, rather, track — leading from the main-
land thereto, is beaconed out across a vast expanse of
treacherous sands and ooze flats, which are awash shortly
after half-flood of ordinary tides. A navigable tidal
river or creek of considerable breadth runs round three
sides of the island, the waterway being bordered by salt-
ings and mudflats, such as are beloved by many species
of wading birds. Of the latter, heavy toll is sometimes
taken by local punt-gunners and shore-shooters ; the
foreshores being what are known as Crown rights, and
therefore any man's shooting ground.

The island boasts two human habitations, namely, a
quaint, but by no means picturesque, early Georgian
homestead, occupied by a ruddy-complexioned old farmer

120 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

and a baker's dozen or so of equally ruddy sons and
daughters; and a cone-shaped hut, thatched with reeds
cut from the neighbouring ronds. The latter strange, hive-
like dwelling is inhabited by a species of Robinson Crusoe,
who earns a livelihood between " watching " oysters and
capturing eels. In other words, an octogenarian eel-
catcher and oyster-watchman ; great numbers of oysters
being cultivated in the river, while eels, in their season,
simply swarm in the dykes and fleets. Not a timber
tree of any kind, and scarcely a bush even, is there to be
seen on the marshes. Nothing, in fact, to break the mono-
tony of the wide stretch of perfectly flat, drain-intersected
levels, with the exception of the before-mentioned build-
ings, and a few horses, cattle, and sheep dotted upon the
lush pastures. A dour and inhospitable-looking landscape
enough, but excellent shooting for all that.

To attempt to drive partridges on a small marsh would
but end in disaster, for, although the birds might be driven
over artificial " blinds," or guns placed behind the
sea-walls, practically every covey set awing would very
quickly pass over to the neighbouring marshes lying
beyond the creeks. Indeed, this usually occurs when
either partridges or duck are flushed near the outside
boundaries of these marshy islets. The birds are, there-
fore, generally walked up, steady and well-broken spaniels
accompanying the guns for the purpose of working the
dykes and fleets for duck, snipe, etc. From lack of better
accommodation, our small party of four guns, on the
Sunday night preceding the First of September, slept
on pallets of wheat-straw laid down on the oaken thresh-
ing-floor of a more or less wind- and weather-proof barn,
which the farmer declared to be " free from all sich pesky

SEPTEMBER 1 ON THE MARSHES 121

varmin as rats, and mice, and vampires." I had reason
to suspect the old marshman's veracity anent the non-
existence of rodents in our improvised lodging ere dawn
began to appear through sundry chinks in the roof and
walls of the barn. Still, men who have slept for months
at a stretch on the bare veld, as had two of my companions
and myself, make light of such small details, and we
deemed a couch of clean straw and blankets preferable
to lying soft upon feather beds in the frowsy old rooms
of the homestead.

The sun had not climbed very high above the blue
horizon when, clad in flowing blankets, we four sprinted
down to the brimming tidal river for a swim, and emerged
therefrom greatly refreshed. Ere the majority of shooters
had left their beds we had breakfasted, and one of the
first partridges of the season, in the shape of a barren
old " red-leg," was hanging limply from the game stick.
" First blood " was drawn by Capt. N., the centre man
in the short line of guns and beaters ; the latter consisting
of five bronzed and stalwart marshmen, who had been
granted half a day's respite from their work on the land
to beat for us. " What little corn be left standing may
stand for another day, while that in the stooks be muck
wet, growing fast, and only fit for feeding pigs," declared
Farmer P. ruefully, as he gazed across the rain-sodden
marshes, which, but a few days previously, had been
practically flooded, and were, in parts, still ankle deep
in water.

Near the centre of the marshes were some eighteen
acres of roots, consisting mostly of swede-turnips and
mangolds, which flourished exceedingly well on the island.
The idea was to drive the birds from the outlying marshes

122 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

into these roots. As outside gun on the left flank, my
beat led me along the bank of a wide and brimming,
sedge-fringed dyke, which looked as though it might
hold duck. I had almost forgotten to mention that a
steady old retriever, of the now well-nigh extinct brown
curly breed, and a brace of somewhat leggy but remarkably
fast-working and clever water spaniels, formed a very
important part of what our American cousins are wont
to call " the outfit." One of the spaniels, who — seeing
that she was a bitch — bore the somewhat incongruous title
of " Captain," accompanied me, and into the dense reed
cover she went, throwing me a backward glance as though
to say, " If there is anything to be found, you bet I'll
find it ! " The first marsh shot happened to consist of
rough grass, dry bushes, and other rank ground-cover,
and being but a narrow strip of land, one beat sufficed
to shoot it. The guns on my right were soon busy, for
a covey of ten or eleven well-grown partridges, after rising
just out of range of myself, ran the gauntlet of the line.
Four of the covey failed to reach the neighbouring marshes
situated on the further side of the tidal creek, and as I
watched the remainder pass over the sea-wall, it seemed
to me that one of their number dropped on to the saltings
beyond the escarpment. My eyes probably deceived
me, however, as old Rake, the retriever, failed to find
the supposed " dropper " when taken to the spot. A
thumping big hare was next set afoot and very promptly
bowled over by N., the report of whose 12-bore had hardly
died away when " Captain " gave a whimper, which
put me very much on the alert. Another whimper,
followed by a little dash amongst the sedges, and up
sprang a leash of mallard from apparently under the nose

SEPTEMBER 1 ON THE MARSHES 123

of the spaniel, and within a dozen yards of myself,
offering very easy crossing shots. It would have required
a precious poor performer to have " muffed " either of
those duck, and a couple dropped dead as the proverbial
door nail to the contents of my two barrels. The survivor,
after wheeling over the marsh, settled on the big fleet.
I had just reloaded when out of the dyke blundered a coot.
The sable bird also dropped, to the evident delight of
the marshman who carried my cartridge bag, for he
declared in a kind of stage whisper that " the ode bald-
'ead, cooked with a morsel o' salty pork or beef, would
make a masterful good supper for the missus loike."
From this it will be gathered that any coot shot on

E Island are given to the marshfolk, who, by

the way, seem to prefer them to wild duck, widgeon, or
teal.

An extensive wheat stubble was now reached, and
scarcely had we set foot therein than two rattling good
coveys of partridges rose almost simultaneously, and within
easy range. A considerable amount of powder was
burned, the result being one old and a leash of young
birds down. The man on my right accounted for a brace
of the latter, while I missed as easy a right and left as
one would meet with in a season's shooting. But I
was not the only man in the field who " muffed " those
two beautiful coveys — twelve and thirteen birds respec-
tively— nor did I excuse myself by swearing that my gun
was an adjective gaspipe, or my ammunition rotten, etc.
Four beats up and down the stubble resulted in five
and a half brace of partridges, a brace of hares, and a
whimbrel, the last being flushed from a small, oozy dyke
running under the sea-wall. The maybird (local name

124 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

for whimbrel) was shot by myself, and, judging by its
halting flight, I am inclined to think it was a " pricked "
bird.

Thanks to the modern reaper and self-binder the
stubbles on the island would hardly have harboured a
shrew-mouse, while the mowing machine had shorn
the grass and clover marshes so close that, in many
cases, it was easy enough to distinguish a covey of
partridges or a hare at a considerable distance away.
In such sparse cover birds could hardly be expected to
lie very close, even so early in the season, and the coveys
often took wing when still far out of range. A number
of these were marked down into the before-mentioned
roots ; some passed over to the next island, while not a
few sought the sanctuary afforded by the standing crops
of wheat, oats, and barley, a considerable acreage of
which had been left uncut owing to recent inclement
weather.

At length, having shot the surrounding marshes, we
entered the turnips, and by walking the same very carefully
and in close order, nine and a half brace of birds and
seven hares were accounted for, and when a halt for lunch
was called, under the sheltered side of the sea-wall, the
aggregate bag for the morning's sport made a very fair
show. Not wishing to disturb the remaining portion
of the island, which was to be shot later in the week, we
divided forces after " tiffin," G. and H. going off to explore
the creek and saltings in an antiquated gunning-punt
on the off-chance of picking up a few " waders," while
Capt. N. and myself, accompanied by a couple of marsh-
men and the dogs, elected to try the fleet and dykes for
duck. My gallant friend and I shot eleven mallard and a

SEPTEMBER 1 ON THE MARSHES 125

couple of teal, several coot and a snipe (probably a home-
bred bird, as a few pairs of snipe breed on the island
annually). The hardy explorers returned later in the
evening with a sohtary redshank and a good ducking.
They had capsized the punt.

THE SURGEON'S FIRST GOOSE

" The ode geeze be a-comin' in, Doctor. I seen seven
flightin' over the meal-marshes last evening as ever was,"
declared " Gaffer " Gilson enthusiastically, as the local
surgeon dressed the old wildfowler's left hand, which had
been badly poisoned by the venom-charged spines of a
" bullrout," a small and particularly ill-favoured species
of the Gurnard family.

" Well done, Gilson ! We must get your fin mended
before the big herd arrives, or you won't be able to use
the old 4-bore shoulder-kicker," replied Dr. Conway, who,
under the able tuition of the sexagenarian gunner, had
become a very keen wildfowler during a five years' sojourn
in the at one time important fishing town of Oozeleigh —
it appears under a different name on the map — which
lies on the fringe of the Norfolk marshes. But the little
surgeon had never been fortunate enough to bag a pink-
footed goose, although he had been out after those wary
of wary birds in every kind of light and weather.

" I'll let you know when the ode geeze du come in, for
sure. Doctor, and I doubt not t' ode blunderbust will
bark loud as ever — and bite as hard, too — when the time
du come for her to bark," were the parting words of
Gilson, as, with the gammy hand neatly swathed in lint,
he clattered away from the surgery towards his reed-
thatched cottage on the neighbouring marshes ; the heavily
126

THE SURGEON'S FIRST GOOSE 127

studded soles of his great and well-oiled tuck-boots kicking
up well-nigh as much clatter on the cobbled side-walk,
as do the wheels of a loose- jointed traction engine when
travelling over a newly metalled highway.

True to his word and calling, " Gaffer " Gilson kept
both ears and eyes open for the advent of the geese, which
from time immemorial have wintered on the Oozeleigh
fowling-grounds 'twixt marsh and sand-bar, the greater
number 'arriving on the east coast from their summer
habitat within the Arctic circle about mid-October.

One night, when returning home from eel-spearing in
the marsh-dykes, Gilson heard the clanging " music "
of what he knew to be a goodly herd of grey geese flight-
ing to the great banks away out in the Wash. The
clangour of the great birds was as welcome to the ears
of the old fowler as the music of a pack of hounds in full
cry is to a keen foxhunter, and, for that matter, the
" honk-honking " of a herd of wild geese in flight resembles
nothing so much as distant hound-music. Hence the
fenman's legend of the pack of hell-hounds which upon
wild wintry nights are wont to " draw " these vast
expanses of sedgy dyke and fleet intersected levels for
benighted and unfortunate wanderers, and hunt them
mercilessly to perdition.

For some little time after the passing of the geese,
" Gaffer " Gilson stands with eyes turned towards the
tide, and as though watching the flight of the " skeins "
through the darkness. Then, as the weird goose-chorus
dies away in the distance, and the muffled thunder of the
North Sea coamers breaking upon the treacherous sand-
banks rolls shoreward over the watery waste once more,
he resumes his solitary trudge homewards, muttering,

128 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

"I'll be after ye to-morrer eve; so don't 'ee worrit ! "
between the whiffs which he takes at a short and particu-
larly black " nose-warmer."

Gilson was up betimes next morning, and called at
the surgery while the Doctor was breakfasting.

" The main herd o' geeze be corned in. I heered they
last night in flight to the banks," opened the old gunner,
upon being ushered into the Doctor's presence. " Do
'ee be at the dole-stone [parish boundary-stone] jest afore
sundown this even, maister. I do reckon on gettin'
clean under the line o' flight-like."

But " Gaffer " Gilson was not the only man in Ooze-
leigh who knew of the arrival of the " pink-foots." Tom
MuUins and his mate, Hoppy Brill, while setting out to
gather cockles at peep o' day, had heard " the geeze a-
talkin' " as the big grey birds flighted from the banks to
feed upon the wheat and barley stubbles inland. Neither
of the cocklers, however, cared a rap for gunning ; indeed,
they voted it very poor sport in comparison with flight-
netting — a somewhat questionable, albeit legal, method
of " birding," by which a considerable number of 'fowl
are sometimes taken during the morning and evening
flights.

The annual invasion by the grey-feathered legions
of the far North is the great event of the season amongst
the hardy shore-shooters of Oozeleigh. The news spreads
like fire in a timber-yard, and great is the overhauling
of " shootin'-irons," from cumbrous 4-bore breech-loaders
and antiquated " 'cussion-guns," enormously long in the
barrel, and warranted — by their owners — to knock over a
goose dead as a door nail at 100 yards' range, down to the
light and delicate-looking 20-bore hammerless, a charge

THE SURGEON'S FIRST GOOSE 129

from which, by the way, has accounted for more than one
tough old pink-footed gander during a low flight.

" We'd best dodder down to the sand-dunes and lay
up in the owd wreck, Doctor. The whole town seems to
be out a-gunnin' this evenin'. Must heve got wind o'
the geeze, I doubt," growled Gilson, whom the Doctor
found seated upon the lichen-covered dole-stone, with
a huge single-barrelled M.L. fowling-piece over one shoul-
der, a home-dressed canvas bag over the other, while a
sagacious-looking retriever of the now well-nigh extinct
brown curly-coated breed lay comfortably stretched at
his master's feet.

" Do 'ee chuck away that there fowl-scarin' seegar
afore we crosses the sea-wall, maister ! " said the " Gaffer "
to his companion, whose glowing and aromatic " Havana "
he had been eyeing in but ill-disguised displeasure ever
since the worthy surgeon made his appearance.

Crossing the high escarpment which, according to local
tradition, has withstood the incursions of the spring tides,
and thereby saved the contiguous marshes from inunda-
tion, for well over two centuries, the gunners and their
canine servant take up their stands in an old vessel,
through the decaying timbers of which sprout maram-
grass and other rank herbage indigenous to sandy fore-
shores.

The last scintillant spears of the setting sun have now
disappeared beneath the horizon, and the western heavens
are one blaze of gold and crimson. But the breeze which
comes creeping shorewards finds not favour in the eyes of
Gilson, for he mutters something to the effect that " it
doan't blow near hard enough to keep the geeze down."

The gold and crimson glory of the west pales to a sheen

130 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

of amber, splashed and streaked with scarlet, and this,
in turn, is transformed into the sable robe of night. Ever
and anon the report of a gun fired on the marshes lying
beyond the sea-wall, warns the waiting gunners that
the evening flight of the wild duck to their nocturnal
feeding-grounds inland has commenced. All anxiety
to score his first wild goose, Dr. Conway nervously opens
the breech of his 12-bore to see that the cartridges are
in the chambers all right. A grim smile of amusement
overspreads the hirsute countenance of " Gaffer " Gilson as
he watches this movement on the part of his companion.
He knows full well that the geese, unless disturbed, will
not commence their seaward flight just yet.

" Swish-swish-swish ! " A team of mallard pass through
the uncertain light to the left of the old wreck, and well
out of shot of Gilson 's long gun even.

" They mollard would heve come clean over us if yonder
dodderin' furriner hadn't popped out o' the marrin-grass
like a juggin' Jock-o'-the-box," grumbles Gilson, pointing
the while to the dim form of a man kneeling under the
sea-wall.

By what means the old chap is able to distinguish in
the half-light the man as being what he is pleased to
call a " furriner " — in other words, a stranger — is difficult
to tell. He imagines, perchance, that no Oozeleigh
sportsman would have shown himself to fowl at such a
critical moment.

Standing at intervals along the base of the high em-
bankment, like so many sentries, are to be seen a number
of men, armed with guns of sorts, and bent on shooting
the first goose of the season.

" The whole township's come a-goozin', I should

THE SURGEON'S FIRST GOOSE 131

reckon," murmurs Gilson, after glancing at the row of
statue-like figures dotted under the sea-wall.

Truth to tell, the " Gaffer," although a good enough old
chap in most respects, is somewhat a selfish gunner,
and seems to entertain the mistaken idea that wild-
fowling grounds and wildfowl were created for his own
special benefit and behoof.

The old gunner suddenly holds a hand to his right
ear, and, hstening for a moment, he ejaculates, " Hinter
come the geeze ! Can't ye hear them a-talkin' ? "

The Doctor listens intently, but can hear nothing ex-
cept the monotonous dirge played by the waves upon
the wreck-strewn sand-bar. Then the faint but ever-
increasing sound of many pairs of wings beating the air
is borne to him on the breeze, and, despite the whispered
warning of " Don't 'ee move or pull trigger till I give the
word ! " the excited little surgeon cannot resist straighten-
ing his back, and in so doing displays more of the upper
portion of his anatomy than is desirable in " waiting-up "
for fowl.

" Keep down, maister ! Keep dow^n ! " mutters Gil-
son, as the hoarse " honking " of the approaching geese
drowns the fanning of their wings.

The first " skein " is near at hand, and a number of
hazy forms flying in irregular wedge formation pass over
the sea-wall and head for the old hulk. Half-a-dozen
shots are fired at the geese by the men hning the wall,
including a couple of barrels from the " furriner." But
that unmistakable thud which proclaims a fallen bird
does not reply to the volley.

" Too high, I doubt, but let 'em have it ! " ejaculates
" Gaffer " Gilson, springing to hi^ feet.

132 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Up goes the ancient fowling-piece, but an ominous
" click," followed by a loud and very weighty adjective,
speaks only too eloquently of a missfire. The Doctor's
gun snaps out twice in quick succession, and a heavy
splash in a shallow pan of water left by the receding tide
tells of a tragedy in the feathered ranks.

A perfect fusillade now ensues among the gunners
lined up under the sea-wall, for the geese, flying in their
wedge-shaped " skeins" cover a considerable width of
space. But the flight of the big grey fowl is very quickly
over. The little surgeon carries his first wild goose home
in triumph, and then sets out on a mission of mercy to
his fisherfolk patients.

A BLOODLESS HUNT

" Eighty-six in the shade, sir ! Tis hotter than yester-
day, I reckon," remarks a medal-bedecked park-keeper
to me in passing, as I sit within the shadow cast by the
leafy and wide-spreading boughs of the giant chestnut
trees for which the Royal Park of Bushey is world-famous.

My inseparable companions, Chloe and Jet — a brace of
fiat-coated retrievers — lie at my feet as I pen these lines.
Both are in the land of dreams, dreaming, perchance,
of the good days they enjoyed amongst the partridges
and pheasants in the past shooting season. It certainly
is an exceptionally warm day for early June, but the
thermometer would not register eighty-six degrees in my
cool retreat under the giant timber trees. In point of fact,
I feel delightfully cool and comfortable, notwithstanding
that the heat-rays are dancing over the mile of dusty
road which extends between Teddington and Hampton
Court gates. But the men and horses travelling along
the highway look jaded and fatigued enough.

Although from a naturalist's point of view Bushey Park
is not so interesting as Richmond Park, it is by no means
devoid of wild Hfe. At no great distance from my bower
is a small rabbit warren, surrounded by gnarled and ancient
hawthorn trees.

The glorious sunshine has coaxed the bunnies from their
subterranean habitat, and quite a colony, of all sizes and
133

184 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

ages, are to be seen basking on the sandy heaps which
the rabbits have thrown up to the surface during their
tunnelhng operations.

Chloe and Jet are now wide awake and have sighted
the rabbits, whose movements they watch closely and
eagerly. Both, however, will remember the ratings and
" rib-roastings " which, in puppyhood days, were meted
out to them for chasing hares and rabbits, and though
Chloe — whose blood is still young and hot — evinces
unmistakable signs of restlessness as a couple of half -grown
rabbits commence to dance a veritable " bunny-hug "
round a grassy mound, a gently spoken " 'Ware chase ! "
proves quite sufficient to drop her alongside the matronly-
looking and steady Jet, who has been shot over five
successive seasons.

Hallo ! there is danger in the air, or the old buck
rabbit doing sentry-go on the warren bank would not
beat the earth wdth his hind legs as he is doing. Every
coney above ground disappears below the surface at the
signal, and a few moments later one of the largest stoats
that ever came under our observation appears on the
scene. After sniffing round the entrance of the main
bury he also darts below.

Very few minutes elapse ere a dozen pairs of long
brown lugs and big brown eyes pop out from divers
and sundry holes. The stoat has disturbed the peace
of the colony by his unexpected and unwelcome visit,
and apparently half-scared out of their senses, rabbits,
both old and young, sit gazing helplessly towards the big
burrow. Strange though it may seem, never a bunny
attempts to take flight from the warren.

A little cloud of dust suddenly rises from the mouth of

A BLOODLESS HUNT 135

one of the earths ; out bolts a well-grown rabbit, which,
looking neither to right nor left, races across the springy
turf at top speed, heading for a neighbouring copse, from
which comes, ever and anon, the brave challenge of a cock
pheasant.

The cruel, snake-Hke head and long, Hssom, and sinuate
body of the stoat emerges from the bury a few moments
after the exit of the rabbit, and although one would imag-
ine that the fierce sun-rays had evaporated every drop of
moisture from the ground and herbage, and thereby
destroyed every vestige of what is known to sportsmen as
scent, the keen-nosed, bloodthirsty little tyrant seems to
" carry " the " line " of his quarry with just as much
ease and certainty as a well-entered and steady hound
will hunt a fox to its death on a breast-high scenting
morning. At the appearance of the stoat a great stamping
of feet takes place among the scared colony of cottontails,
followed by a wonderful display of snow-white scutts,
as a general exodus below ground again takes place.

Both pursuer and pursued are by this time hidden
from view by the high fence which encloses the copse. In
the ordinary course of nature, however, we shall see more
of the hunt, as a rabbit, when chased by dog, fox, stoat,
or any other four-footed enemy, almost invariabl}^ runs
in a circle. Therefore, if the unfortunate little denizen of
the neighbouring warren is possessed of sufficient stamina
and pluck to travel so far, he will assuredly come within
view of our shady retreat once more. In such case we
will do our best to preserve his Hfe by whipping off his
merciless enemy.

But hark ! The sharp report of a gun rings out from the
wood. The head keeper is on the prowl for vermin, and,

136 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

judging by the direction whence the shot came, 'tis even
betting on the death of Master Stoat from an overdose of
" No. 6 chilled."

Ah ! Here comes the hunted rabbit, running somewhat
slower than when he started on his race for life, it is true,
but still going fairly strong. The frightened creature
does not, as might be expected, make tracks for the
warren, but, apparently heedless of our presence, he heads
straight for the tree under which we are seated.

On and still on he comes until within a dozen yards of
us. Then he comes to a dead stop, squats fiat, and com-
mences to shriek in a piteous manner.

" Steady, Jet ! — 'Ware chase, Chloe ! " The dogs,
probably believing the rabbit to be wounded, set off to
retrieve it, and without doubt they might do so, for the
poor little creature, paralysed with fear, is awaiting its
death-blow from the stoat, which it beheves to be close
behind.

But the stoat comes not ; a timely shot from the game-
keeper's gun has doubtless put an end to his marauding
for ever.

Jet and Chloe steal sheepishly to heel, looking thoroughly
ashamed of themselves, and the rabbit, having regained
sufficient strength and courage to use his legs, returns to
the heart of his family.

WITHIN A MILE OF JOHANNESBURG

" The Wemmer dam has been drained dry by the
droughts and mine pumps, and the spur-winged geese
and pink-bill teal of which we used to take toll a few
years ago have flown to other waters."

The foregoing extract from the letter of a mining
engineer recalled to my mind many an enjoyable early
morning and evening spent among the different kinds
of fowl which used to frequent the small lagoon in question
some ten or twelve years ago.

The Wemmer dam lies within a mile of Johannesburg,
and at the time of which I speak it was a fine, albeit
shallow, piece of water, covering an area of perhaps
twenty acres, and being fringed on all sides \sdth high
reeds, with clumps of the same, growing in different
parts of the lagoon, it afforded excellent cover to the
spur-wing geese, duck, pink-bill teal, coots, and other
species of wildfowl which resorted thereto in considerable
numbers. The spongy shores of the dam, as well as
the surrounding patches of spruit -intersected bog or
marshland, were the favourite feeding-grounds of common
and painted-snipe, greenshanks, avocets, pied plover,
sacred ibises, and other kinds of wading birds. Several
varieties of herons and cranes used also to frequent this
piece of water, amongst them grey, purple, and white
herons, crested cranes, and hammerkops.
137

138 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Well do I remember my first acquaintance with the
place. I was jogging quietly across the veld, after an
early morning visit to the then recently imported pack of
English foxhounds which were kennelled at Geldenhuis,
when a bunch of duck passed over my head, and I marked
them dowTi into the Wemmer dam. Upon nearer ap-
proach I discovered that the pan of water was simply
alive with fowl, paddling in and out of the network of
open channels amongst the dense carpet-like growths
of beautiful aquatic plants. Determined to pay a visit
to the water at an early date, I cantered into the " Golden
City," and that very same evening made arrangements
Vvith a couple of English mining engineers and a well-
knowTi Dutch advocate to shoot the dam two days later.

Shortly before dawn of the appointed morning my
friends and I, accompanied by a numerous following of
blubber-lipped Kafirs, left the slumbering and odorous —
the sanitary men were engaged in their unsavoury work —
city behind us, and once free of tailing heaps, head-gears,
noisy stamp batteries, and gold mines generally, we set
out on a bee-line across the veld. We had not gone very

far, when G 's pony put a foot into an aard vark's

(antbear's) earth, and, turning a complete somersault,
gave his rider what looked to be a very nasty " purler."

G , who rode well under ten stone, was but little the

worse for his involuntary fall however, and was quickly
in the saddle again.

It was broad daylight by the time we arrived at the
head of the dam, where a " pow-wow " was held to
instruct our ebon beaters in the manner in which the
dam was to be driven. Having learned their lesson,
off went the Kafirs, led by a huge Zulu, who bore the

WITHIN A MILE OF JOHANNESBURG 139

somewhat unenviable name of 'Mamba (a venomous snake) .
While hobbling the ponies, preparatory to turning them
loose to nibble at anything green that they might be
fortunate enough to discover on the arid boulder-strewn
veld, a beautiful chanting goshawk suddenly appeared
on the scene, to the evident alarm of the fowl assembled
on the dam, as they instantly took refuge in the dense
reeds. The timely visit of the hawk augured well for
sport, however, as waterfowl, in common mth all birds,
lie very close under a bird of prey.

Having watched the natives enter the far end of the
lagoon, my companions and I took up our respective
stands among the reeds gro\ving at the head of the water,
each man choosing the firmest footing he could find.
In spite of the fact that the goshawk must have been
cognisant of our presence, he still continued to quarter
the dam, often passing within shot of the guns.

For quite three minutes the natives maintained what
must have proved to them a painful silence, but as they
sprang a little bunch of pink-bill teal, such an unearthly
volley of war-whoops went up that the friendly hawk
departed from the scene at his very best pace, while
huge spur-wing geese, duck, teal, coots, and ibises seemed
to rise from every growth of reeds and patch of sedge-
fringed slob, and trips of greenshanks and avocets and
small wisps of snipe restlessly flitted round the shores
of the pan. A bunch of perhaps thirty duck passing
between the lawyer and myself afforded the former
a beautiful crossing shot, and he very promptly cut down
a couple with a " right and left." The duck were too
far off for my Ught 12-bore, and with a sigh of regret
I watched them pass away across the veld. The other

140 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

guns, who had taken up stands beyond the Dutchman,
were hard at it by this time, and although the high
reeds obscured the men themselves from sight, I saw
duck after duck and teal upon teal drop to the contents
of their guns. At length, just as I was beginning to
think my luck was out, a big spring of teal came heading
straight for me. The teal passed within twenty yards of
my blind, and so closely packed were they that no fewer
than three fell to my first barrel, while another, hard hit,
dropped into a growth of water-plants. For the next
ten minutes or so the sport was fast and furious, and
although personally I shot but indifferently, my com-
panions acquitted themselves in first-rate style, more
especially the lawyer, who was indeed one of the finest
shots I ever met. The beaters enter the last belt
of reeds that lies between the guns and themselves, and
in couples and dozens and small bunches the coots
begin to leave their final haven of refuge, and, quickly
getting up speed, afford us some really pretty shooting
as they pass high up overhead, or to right or left, at a
great pace. The drive is now over, and the yelling,
slime-soiled natives are set to work to gather the slain,
which, when counted, run very nearly into three figures.
The marshy land bordering the dam was next visited,
when several couple of snipe and a beautifully plumaged
avocet were shot. Then we rode back to the " Golden
City," well satisfied with the morning's sport, and with
appetites that must have astonished the waiters of the
Grand National Hotel, at which hostelry we breakfasted.

SPORT IN ONTARIO

I WAS returning to my hotel, after enjoying very fair
sport with the brook-trout inhabiting one of the several
small streams which debouch on the shores of Lake
Muskoka, when I fell in with an up-country farmer
whose dusty, travel-worn team drew with pessimistic
slowness a heavily laden wagon of produce of sorts
towards the neighbouring township.

In the familiar dialect of the " land o' cakes and
heather," the worthy husbandman inquired if I would
care for a lift into town. Having made myself as comfort-
able as possible amongst barrels of early, rosy-cheeked
apples, bags of potatoes, baskets and boxes of water-
melons, pumpkins, tomatoes, cranberries, sweet corn, etc.,
I passed my cigar case to the driver of the vehicle and
inquired whence he hailed. But the canny Scot was
not to be drawn so easily by a stranger, and the only
satisfaction I received for my somewhat impertinent
curiosity was that my cigar was " verra guid."

To be quite authentic, however, my inquiry was not

made out of mere idle curiosity, for in one corner of the

wagon I had noticed quite a heap of ruffed grouse,

woodcock, and wildfowl of sorts. As to whether the

farmer came from Klondyke or Jerusalem I cared not

a vast deal, but I did want to learn whence came the

game, and, incidentally, I meant to ascertain before

parting company with my new friend.
141

142 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

In due course we pulled up before the verandah of
the hotel which formed my head-quarters, and, having
partaken of sundry tots of the spirit of friendship, in
the shape of excellent rye whisky, the Scot opened his
heart sufficiently to admit that his farm was situated

near the township of C , some six-hours' wagon

journey north-west of Muskoka, and also that some very
fair shooting was obtainable in the neighbourhood.

But to curtail a long story. During supper that
night, I arranged to accompany the Scotsman to his farm
the next day. The team was hitched to the wagon,
and we left the still sleeping township of Muskoka shortly
after dawn. It was a glorious morning, such as one so
often experiences in Canada during what is known as the
Indian summer.

A great portion of the way led through virgin forest,
and the fohage of the giant forest trees had, by the magic
touch of Queen Autumn, passed from their summer
verdure to gorgeous tints of scarlet, gold, and crimson.
But the forest glades were wondrous silent, for the
feathered songsters had long ceased their love carolhng,
the summer migrants had flown to their winter habitats,
and, but for the occasional crow of a ruffed grouse, the
laugh-like cry of the woodpecker, or the harsh shriek
of a blue jay, one might have imagined the woodlands
were devoid of Hfe.

Shortly after midday we arrived at our destination,
and a more curious, albeit picturesquely situated, build-
ing than Mac's homestead I had seldom, if ever, set
eyes upon. Approached by a rough corduroy wagon
track cut through the heart of the extensive woodland,

SPORT IN ONTARIO 143

Dunrobin Farm lay a good three miles from the mail
road. Mac had, obviously, been his own architect and
builder, and had built his house in what I can only
describe as a go-as-you-please style of architecture.

Erected in a cleared corner of the forest, the original
portion of this heterogeneous habitation had been built
from the trunks of trees felled on the site and roofed in
with wooden shingles. Then came a two-storey section
of corrugated iron walls and high-pitched roof of the
same useful but somewhat inartistic material, and then
a further addition of staring red brick and pantiles,
the whole being surrounded by a verandah painted to
resemble the skin of a quagga.

Briefly, it was the strangest-looking human habitation
imaginable. Nevertheless, my host appeared to regard
it with just as much pride as a Chicago milHonaire pork-
packer would a newly-acquired Scottish castle.

On the other hand, the surroundings of Mac's mansion
were just as beautiful as the house was hideous. Stand-
ing on the banks of a crystal-clear trout stream, a glorious
view of woodland scenery was obtainable from the
verandah, a vista of a small lake being caught between
the trunks of the forest trees, and the well-tilled corn-
fields and pasture-land spoke volumes for the industry,
perseverance, and good husbandry of the worthy Scot,
who, the son of an Ayrshire crofter, had, twenty years
before, taken up his grant of Government land and
cleared some 120 acres of it by dint of sheer hard labour,
and at the time of my visit was able to show a very
substantial balance at the bank.

" But, mon, had I remained in the Hielands, it's

144 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

crofter or gillie I'd be the noo, wi' never a bawbee put
awa' for a rainy day," said Mac, as he punched the sleek
and well-fed quarters of a remarkably good-looking and
docile Angus bull, which he had imported from his
native country for stock purposes.

Having lent the farmer a hand in unhitching and
racking down the horses, I was duly presented to Mrs.
Mac, a somewhat angular but pleasant-looking Scots-
woman, who greeted me in a most hospitable manner,
and then commenced to ask all sorts of questions about
the auld country.

It was during the progress of a remarkably substantial
meal that I noticed a rather antiquated, but apparently
serviceable, spliced fly-rod standing in the corner of the
kitchen which — barring high days and holidays, when
a state apartment was opened — formed both sitting-
room and refectory.

Now, to say that the farmer's home-tied flies were
rough would be putting it very mildly; they were the
most wonderful and fearful specimens of the tacklist's
art imaginable. Fashioned from the very coarsest of
coarse gut and of a size generally used for sea-trout
fishing, the wings and hackles of these fearsome lures
consisted, for the most part, of the plumage of the common
or garden barn-door hen ; here and there was the feather
of a guinea-fowl, or the bronze back-plumage of a turkey
being used by way of variety.

" They're a wee bit uncanny-lookin', but they will
kill fush, and that's the main thing," declared Mac, as
I surveyed the very artificial flies, which, for order's
sake, had been placed in a cheese-box sufficiently capacious

SPORT IN ONTARIO 145

to have held the whole stock of a prosperous tackle-
maker.

It so happened that I had, a few days previously,
purchased in Toronto a very fine-drawn cast and a
number of beautifully tied trout-flies of various patterns,
which still remained in one of the pockets of my old
shooting coat. But the " speckled beauties," like the
fair sex of our own species, are very capricious at times.
Not to offend the sensibility of my host, I ornamented
my cap with a few Buff Orpingtons and Plymouth Rocks,
took the ancient greenheart rod from its wonted corner,
and wended my way to a bend in the little river, from
which I knew my movements could not be closely watched
by the inhabitants of the homestead. You see, I had
no intention of using the good farmer's flies.

A " bulge " here and there on the surface of the stream
told me that at least a few trout were on the feed and,
t3ring a beautiful little Black Gnat to my finely tapered
point, I dropped the fly in a most natural kind of manner
just above a rising fish. But he would have nothing
to say to me, though coming up to the surface ever and
anon to suck down a small insect which closely resembled
my Black Gnat. At length I gave him up in despair,
and utilised all the care and skill I had gained during
many years' experience as a dry-fly fisherman in trying
to coax some of his brethren.

But devil a bit ! The Black Gnat was substituted for
a March Brown, the March Brown for an Alder, the
Alder for a Red Tag, and so on and so forth until almost
every pattern in my old fly-book was exhausted. At
length, in sheer desperation, and just as the first roseate

146 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

tokens of the very short Canadian twilight were begin-
ning to appear on the western skyhne, I " hitched to "
one of Mac's Buff Orpingtons, and, with a splash that
would have scared any self-respecting British trout out
of his six seises, cast the fly under the further bank.
In an instant it was sucked below the surface in such
a decided manner that striking was quite unnecessary,
and I realised that I had a good fish on.

Now, despite all that may be said to the contrary,
experience with the Canadian trout leads one to believe
that he is not as game a fighter as his British cousin, and
after a couple of rushes up-stream and a leap or two,
that beautifully marked i8 oz. fish allowed itself to be
drawn on to a shelving bank of ooze which was fringed
with beautiful white arum lilies.

Placing my fish amongst a cool bed of rushes, I fished
up-stream until too dark to distinguish my rustic lure
from amidst the surrounding water-plants, adding a
brace of half-pounders to my score. Then I returned to
the homestead. It was obvious that Mac did not very
much appreciate my powers as an angler; indeed, he
scrupled not to tell me that he would have filled
a creel with trout while I " monkeyed round " after
a leash.

The farmer and I were up betimes next morning, and
after breakfasting upon buckwheat cakes and maple
syrup, venison, ham, and, judging from the flavour
thereof, bean coffee, we took our guns (Mac a 12-gauge
repeater and myself a i6-bore), and, accompanied by a
nondescript-looking member of the canine race (a cross
between a spaniel and a " window-shutter," I fancy,
which answered to the somewhat theatrical name of

SPORT IN ONTARIO 147

" Zaza "), we started away from the homestead to what
Mac was pleased to call the " 'cock ground."

For half a mile or more the way led along the banks
of the little river, and my companion halted every now
and again to point out a goodly trout or brilliantly
coloured sun-fish, the latter specimen being allied to the
perch, and very excellent eating. Then we crossed a
httle trestle bridge, and, after walking for some con-
siderable distance along an old Indian trail through the
sugar-lands (sugar maple forest), we arrived on the out-
skirts of a tract of boggy ground. This was the farmer's
" 'cock ground." Covering an area of perhaps 150 acres,
this marshy land was interspersed with deciduous cedars,
sallow, and alder scrub, while a small natural drain, fed
by a number of warm springs, trickled its sinuous course
through the centre of the bog. A casual examination of
the springy shores of the small creek sufficed to tell me
that it was a favourite haunt of the longbills, for the
" borings " of the birds were to be seen in many places.
But for some little time not a feather was moved, with the
exception of a small flock of purple grackles, which, not
being worth powder and shot, went away unscathed.

Suddenly, however, the dog, after " feathering " round
a clump of evergreens, gave an excited whimper, took a
dive into the shrubs, and out flapped a woodcock within
fifteen yards of me. Ere I could pull trigger he had
screwed behind the trunk of a cedar; but as he flashed
across an open space I dropped him with my right barrel,
and in almost less time than it takes to record the fact
the mongrel brought the bird to me with scarcely a feather
rufiled.

That was the very first American woodcock I had ever

148 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

shot, or handled even, and I was admiring the beautiful
rufous-red plumage of the bird (the American woodcock
is of about the size of a double snipe, and very much
darker and brighter in colour than the European species) ,
when three shots rang out in quick succession from Mac's
pump-gun.

" Hoots, mon, but it keeps one busy to kill a brace o'
'cock and an ould jack-rabbit with three shots ! " quoth
the farmer, holding up a couple of woodcock and a forest
hare, or, as the Canadian has it, jack-rabbit, for my
edification.

It certainly was a remarkably clever shot, but Mac
proved himself to be a very fine shot ; indeed, I do not
think he missed feather or fur throughout the morning,
despite the fact that his repeating gun was an extremely
heavy and cumbrous weapon.

Again old " Zaza " took a dive into a clump of under-
covert, and out came another 'cock within very easy
range of me. To the evident amusement of my fellow-
gun, the bird beat me by doubling in and out among the
bushes, the contents of my second barrel cutting through
foliage a good two feet behind him.

Three beats of the cedar swamps were made, and seven
and a half couple of woodcock and a leash of hares were
bagged, but I am bound to confess that the greater number
of the longbills were accounted for by my companion.

At no great distance from the cedar swamp lay, in the
very heart of the woods, a small lake or lagoon, round
the shores of which, Mac told me, we were likely to pick
up a duck or two, with, perchance, a few brace of ruffed
grouse. Before reaching the lake-shore we had to pass
through many acres of wild raspberry canes, which earher

SPORT IN ONTARIO 149

in the season must have borne man}^ bushels of rich and
luscious fruit ; in fact, the farmer assured me that his better
half had made over one hundredweight of jam from their
delicately flavoured berries.

As we approached nearer the lagoon, my companion
drew my attention to a small " paddling " of mixed fowl
resting on the water and apparently asleep, within easy
range of the shore. Clutching old " Zaza," who began
to evince signs of excitement at the appearance of the
fowl, Mac ordered her in a whisper to lie do\Mi, and she
dropped still as a log into the growth of blueberry bushes.
Then, taking advantage of the patches of low scrub
which grew down to the very edge of the lake, the
farmer and I commenced to stalk the duck, crawling
cat-fashion on all fours, and as silently as a couple of
kittens.

I shall not very quickly forget that long and painful
crawl — painful owing to the ground being strewn in
parts with the husks of spine-covered hazel-nuts, which
stuck on one's hands and knees like so many needle
points ; long because we had to dodge in and out amongst
the under-covert to remain hidden from the duck.

At length my companion stopped crawling, and then
signalled me to kneel. This I did, and upon peering
through the foliage of a belt of evergreens I discovered
that the paddling of fowl, consisting of mallard, red-
head, and green-wing teal, was within forty yards'
range of us, and apparently oblivious of the fact that
danger lurked so near at hand.

Up went the pump-gun to the farmer's shoulder, and,
pulling into the midst of some nine or ten red-heads
which sat huddled together, three of their number

150 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

immediately turned paddles upward. Then, with a
great to-do, the remainder of the bunch rose from the
water, and, paying my attention to the mallard, which
happened to be nearest me, I fired into the " brown " of
them just as they rose from the water. A couple fell to
the contents of my first barrel, while a third, hard hit,
after carrying on a short distance over the lake, dropped
with a splash amongst a bed of water-plants. Mean-
while the farmer pumped out three more shots from his
repeater, bringing down another red-head and a leash of
green-winged teal. At the sound of the shooting, up
galloped " Zaza," and in a very short space of time she
retrieved the slain from the water, including the mallard,
which had dropped a good three hundred yards from the
shore.

We were now pretty well laden with game and fowl,
and I think Mac would have preferred returning to his
work on the farm rather than " monkeying round "
with me. But I was out to make a mixed bag, and
did not intend throwing up the sponge without trying
for a ruffed grouse.

Cramming the birds and hares into an antiquated and
capacious game-bag, Mac tied the same to the branch
of a spruce iir, well out of reach of marauding creatures
with a taste for game ; and then, without wasting time,
we skirted the shore of the lake and once more plunged
into the heart of gaily tinted woods.

For perhaps an hour we walked in single file along a
narrow trail, which in years gone by had been beaten by
the moccasined feet of many an Indian brave, until a
more open part of the forest was reached. Here the
undercovert, to a great extent, consisted of blueberry

SPORT IN ONTARIO 151

and other fruit-bearing plants, which in parts grew well
above one's knees. This formed what the farmer
facetiously called his grouse moor.

The day was warm, and it was precious stiff walking
through the ground cover, and my thoughts flew away
to the purple heather-clad moorlands of Scotland. For
a long time not a feather was moved, and I began to
wonder whether the farmer had not depleted his " moor "
to supply the market. Suddenly, however, the dog,
which was ranging a short distance ahead, gave tongue,
and up got a covey of seven ruffed grouse between the
farmer and myself, and came past me left-handed.

Singling out the leading bird, I had the satisfaction
of seeing him crumple up like an old glove ; but I missed
clean ^^ith my second barrel. The farmer scored a long
and very pretty " right and left," and then the remaining
four birds disappeared behind a clump of silver-birch
trees. To my disgust — I was unacquainted with the
duties and ways of the Canadian bird-dog — " Zaza "
galloped off hell for leather in the wake of the grouse.

Thinking that the farmer had not noticed the sudden
exit of his beloved dog, I ventured to rate her, but I was
very silenced by Mac's somewhat vehement, " Hoots,
mon, leave the bitch alone ! She's only gone to tree
the birds."

What " treeing " meant I hadn't the faintest idea,
but, not wishing to display further ignorance about
ruffed grouse shooting, I refrained from asking any
questions.

For the space of a few minutes silence reigned over
that vast expanse of forest, and then the distant yapping
of the dog came faintly to our ears.

152 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

"The old bitch has treed 'em; hustle, mon ! " now
cried the long-legged Scot, as he sprinted through the
tangle of undergrowth in the direction whence the
sound proceeded, while I brought in the rear.

After a quick burst of ten minutes' duration, we
espied " Zaza " gazing towards the topmost branch of
a tall spruce tree, and giving vent to short and excited
yaps.

" There they are ! " exclaimed Mac, pointing upwards
into the tree. I peered and peered, but could see nothing
bearing the slightest resemblance to a grouse, or indeed,
to a bird of any kind, amongst the dense, dark foliage.

" Stand clear and shoot as they come out ! " said my
companion.

I did as he bid me. A couple of shots cracked out
from the pump-gun; a brace of ruffed grouse came
hustling earthwards, bouncing from bough to bough like
a couple of rubber balls, and the remaining brace flew
over my head, offering such easy shots that I could not
well have missed them. The first bird fell dead as a
stone almost at my feet, but the other, with a mng
down, led the trio a merry chase among the surrounding
tangle of undergrowth ere the dog succeeded in capturing
it. Thus did I shoot my maiden brace of ruffed grouse.

Then through the silent forest we wended our way
homewards, for, although personally I was anxious to
shoot more game, my companion seemed still more
anxious to return to his work on the land.

A MORNING'S TROUT-FISHING IN GALICIA

The first roseate tints of early morning were beginning
to show above the summits of the Carpathian Mountains
when my young Austrian friend B. and myself shouldered
our creels and started off to walk the four miles or so of
forest-track which lies between the garrison town of
Sambor and the river Bystrzyca.

It was a glorious June morning, and the forest glades
and valleys were filled with the melody of a thousand
feathered choristers. Every patch of tangled brake and
under-covert seemed to harbour a nightingale, and the
sweet lovesong of the thrush and of the blackbird was
heard amidst the delicate green foliage of the giant
forest trees.

In parts the narrow forest road led through dense
growths of waist-high bracken, or a stretch of emerald
turf thickly spangled with wild hyacinths, pale-blue dog
violets, and star-hke wood anemones. In the open
portions of the forest were to be seen many acres of
heather-clad moorland, and more than once the crow of
a blackcock reached the ears of my companion and
myself as we brushed through the springy heath cover.

At length, after seventy minutes of brisk walking, we

arrived on the bank of one of the most charming mountain

streams imaginable. Of crystal clearness, the river

Bystrzyca, after leaving the Carpathians, winds its

153

154 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

serpentine course through smihng valleys, deep ravines,
wild moorlands, and virgin forests until it joins the
treacherous Dniestr. In parts the banks of the first-
named stream are fringed with beautiful willows and other
water-loving trees. There are, however, plenty of open
reaches where one can throw a fly without fear of getting
" hung-up," and the clean gravelly bed of the stream
would delight the eye of any English fly-fisherman.
Indeed, it is strange to me that the rivers and streams of
GaKcia are not better known to British devotees of the
rod, for goodly trout are to be found in many of them.

Before starting on the business of the day B. went in
search of dry sticks with which to build a fire, while I
busied myself preparing the various good things which
we had brought with us in the picnic hamper. He soon
returned with a double armful of dry twdgs, and, having
laid them under the drooping branches of the weeping-
willow which formed our camping-ground, he filled
the kettle with water from the river, whilst I set light to
the sticks and very soon had a pan of Frankfurter
sausages hissing over the blazing fire. To build a second
fire upon which to boil the kettle was but the work of
a very few minutes, and long ere our friends in the neigh-
bouring town had awakened from their " beauty sleep "
we were enjoying an al fresco breakfast in the midst of the
most beautiful forest and mountain scenery to be found
in all GaUcia.

Breakfast finished, the light ten-foot split canes were
put together, and, having arranged to meet at the same
spot under the willow at midday, my companion and
I parted, he going up w^hile I elected to try my luck
down stream. There w^as no lack of insect-life on the

TROUT-FISHING IN GALICIA 155

river, and, having noticed a number of small fish rising
to a fly resembhng a blue-dun, I turned over the time
discoloured parchment leaves of my dear old fly-book until
I came to a bunch of small and beautifully tied " blue-
duns," one of which I selected and attached to the finest
draw-n point I could find amongst my tackle. There
was just sufficient ripple on the water to lend a well-
thrown dry-fly a life-hke appearance. My first cast,
however, was about as clumsily managed as possible,
but in spite of the fly having fallen all of a heap, it was
taken instantly by a plucky little four-ounce fish, which
jumped high out of the water when he felt the " steel,"
and fought as gallantly as many a trout of twice his
weight which I have caught in English trout streams.
At length I had him safely in the landing-net, and a
brilhantly spotted little fellow he was. Elated with the
success of my first cast, I carefully " whipped " every foot
of water running between my starting-place and a belt
of alders growing about a quarter of a mile lower down
the reach. For some little time, however, I failed to rise
a fish of any kind, and was in the act of reeling in my
hne, preparatory to looking for a fresh beat be3'ond the
alders, when the " swirl " of a heavy fish travelling in
the direction of my fly attracted my attention, and the
next moment the artificial " dun " was sucked beneath
the surface. It was quite unnecessary for me to strike,
as the fish had hooked himself hard and fast. Up and
down stream and across he rushed with all the gameness
of a Dee grilse. Suddenty, however, to my unspeakable
disgust, " bang " went the trace and at the loose end of
it what I honestly believed to be a good three-pound
trout. It's always the heaviest fish of the day that gets

156 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

away. It was useless crying over " spilt milk," or rather
" spilt " trout, however, and, having rigged up a fresh
trace, I started off to try my fortune further down the
stream.

Once clear of the alder belt, I had a fine stretch of open
water before me, and in some parts the river widened out
to quite eighty feet. There were several deep pools in this
reach in which, from former experience, I knew lay some
lusty trout.

It was by this time nearly eleven o'clock, and the sun
blazingly hot, but, thanks to a cool south-westerly
breeze, I was able to continue on my beat in comparative
comfort. There were now but very few fish rising, and
for perhaps three-quarters of an hour I did not get a
touch of any kind. While throwing under the further
bank, however, my iiy was taken greedily, and in a
moment I knew that I was into something heavy.
" There's no trout about that gentleman," was my in-
ward ejaculation as the fish, after making a wild rush
up stream, caved in like a lamb, allowing me to reel him
into the bank without a struggle. I was right in my
surmise, for my capture proved to be a very handsome
chub of nearly three and a half pounds' weight. I was in
the act of scaling the fish when a Ruthenian shepherd
approached me. After gazing in open-mouthed astonish-
ment at my delicate-looking little rod, to the butt of
which was attached a bright steel spear-head, the shepherd
asked if I speared my fish. Upon showing him the fly
and explaining the use of the same, not only did he open
his mouth wider than before, but his eyes seemed as
though they would bolt out of their sockets, as he half
frightenedly examined the tiny lure of steel and feathers.

TROUT-FISHING IN GALICIA 157

" Bah ! " exclaimed the rustic, " the fish that take that
thing [pointing to the fly] must be born fools." He
probably thought the person who used such a bait to be
as great a fool as the fish which took it, but the Ruthenian
peasant does not dare to voice his opinion regarding his
betters outside the precincts of his mud hovel. In the
circuitous manner peculiar to his race, my new friend
begged for largess with which to purchase tobacco.
Having bestowed a twenty kreuzer piece upon him, I
asked how he and his fellows caught their fish. " Rake
up the bottom with a pole and spear them with a four-
tine eel-spear. Or," went on my bucolic instructor,
" when the stream is narrow and shallow enough we build
a dam across it, and [with a grin] we sometimes catch a
cartload of fish."

Alas ! that the fishing laws of GaHcia, or rather
Austria, are so lax.

Bidding the peasant carry my landing-net and creel,
I fished steadily and carefully down stream, picking up
a trout here and a dace or chub there as I went. Neither
of the first-named fish exceeded three ounces, however,
and, somewhat tired of catching such pigmies, I deter-
mined to fish back to the starting-point. At the last
cast, however, my fly was taken like lightning, and as
I struck a beautiful two-pounder leapt high out of the
water, and had I not dropped the point of my rod as he
fell back I should in all probability have been smashed.
For quite fifteen minutes did that speckled beauty fight
manfully for his freedom, and during the mad rushes he
made I quite expected to see him carry away my fine-
drawn cast into his sanctuary amongst a cluster of big
boulders. In spite of his gallant batthng, however, he

158 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

was unable to cope against cane and steel and tested gut,
and at length, thoroughly spent, he allowed himself to
be drawn over the landing-net. Two pounds and as
many ounces did that game trout weigh, and a more
beautifully proportioned or more brilliantly marked fish
I never hope to grass again.

A few more unsuccessful casts over the pool in which
I rose the last fish, and I retraced my footsteps to the
willow, where I found B. awaiting my advent.

On comparing notes I discovered that my friend's
creel contained two and a half brace more trout than did
my own. Nevertheless, my two-pounder proved the
show fish of the morning.

THE MISSED MEET

( A Ballad of the Chase )

Tho' hoar-frost lingered in the shade, and rime lay white
in copse and glade,
Upon the winter landscape played
A sun as mild as May.
With tramphng hoof and stirrup-clink
The lanes beneath them rang ;
Whole hamlets ran to watch them prink in brown and
yellow, black and pink ;
Bhthely they laughed and sang :
So for the meet rode Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey :

To meet the hounds at Hare Park Gate; the road was
long, the time grew late,
And still they rode, serene, inflate.
The unfamiliar way.
The road divided left and right,
No signpost there to guide ;
The right-hand road lay cold and white ; the left-hand,
bathed in sunshine, bright,
And fair, and smooth, and wide :
So to the left rode Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

160 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

The fair wide road became a lane, and to a cart-track
shrank amain —
A cart-track, and at that not plain —
And fretful men were they ;
Each in his glum foreboding shut,
Through fields forlorn they filed.
And followed till the grass-grown rut, by wains of Early
England cut,
Was lost in empty wild.
And empty, wild, were Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

And now with caution, now with haste, now South, now
North, now East they faced ;
Now madly spurring through the waste
(For frantic men were they),
Anon they thundered unawares
Upon a guilty man —
A simple rustic setting snares. Image of Evil sowing
tares.
He leapt, and looked, and ran ;
And after him rode Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

Dark visions of a felon's jail, his wife's despair, his
children's wail
Were lifted from him as a veil.
When questioned, blown, at bay.
His red right hand out straight he threw :
" Hare Park? " he mused, " Hare Park? "

THE MISSED MEET 161

As one would indicate Peru, just where the distance met
the blue,
His arm described an arc.
And fuming left him Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

All thro' the waning afternoon they pricked towards the
dead white moon :
No trace, no sign of lord or loon :
Before them backed away
The same long bleak horizon line,
The same grimacing whins,
The same daft sheep, the same croaked whine, the same
wide down, outrolled, supine,
As like as any pins ;
Dogged, depressed, rode Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

By whins and sheep, morose, adroop, until the sun's long
westering stoop
Shot out before the jaded troop
His last expiring ray :
It flickered through the wood-smoke's haze
Domestic, fragrant, warm.
On happy homesteads, miry ways, and lighted in a final
blaze
Upon — a scarlet form !
Then leapt the hearts of Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

162 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

They cried, " 'Tis Ben as sure as sin — his shoulders and
his cheery grin ;
And yon's the wood the hounds are in,
My soul — my life — I'll lay ! "
Then spurred they o'er the space between,
And naught could stay or hold :
Beyond the turf-land sound and green yawned a morass
obscure, unclean.
Loathly, and dank, and cold ;
But into it plunged Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brovvn, and Grumby
on the grey.

And tho' the rank slough sucked and clogged, they
wallowed, floundered, dragged and flogged.
Until triumphant, waterlogged,
Unsavoury men were they ;
Smothered in slime from spurs to stocks,
Unflinching, keen as — mules.
No sign of huntsman, hound or fox : naught but a rural
letter-box,
Erect, regardant, gules.
Came dreadful words from Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.
*******

A crimson smoulder in the West ; the last late crow had
won to rest ;
A breath of ice that gripped the chest —
And freezing died the day.
A hoof-struck flint-spark lit the gloam,
A shivering horn-shake rang ;

THE MISSED MEET 163

With hammering drum on lane and loam, and pattering
feet as light as foam,
And crop-thong's whisthng bang.
At last the hounds met Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brovvn, and Grumby
on the grey.

" Good-night," the Huntsman cried, " Good-night ! Been
with the Harriers, eh ? — All right,

You've missed a clinking day "

But raving home went Harbottle, Sillitoe,
Griggs and Briggs and Buller-Brown, and Grumby
on the grey.

SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS

The Rector of a certain remotely situated parish in
Norfolk, although a ratthng good sportsman at heart,
is an exceedingly bad shot.

Squire D , who did not shoot, had given the parson

permission to walk over the manor with a gun whenever
he felt so incHned. One day, during early September,
his reverence, accompanied by the Squire's head keeper,
went out to try and bag a brace of partridges. The
coveys were numerous and easy of approach. But
alas ! the good Rector couldn't hit them, and at the end
of a long morning's tramp amongst the stubbles and
turnips the " bag " totalled one humble rabbit only.

Suddenly a big hare was put up from almost under the
reverend sportsman's feet. He let fiy with both barrels
just as Madam Lepus bolted under a gate.

" That is a dead hare anyway, Giles ! " cried the
parson to the gamekeeper. The latter did not deign to
reply at the moment, for he knew full well that the hare
was quietly loping across the next field unscathed.
Then walking up to the gate he carefully examined the
top bar of same, and said :

" 'Tis a pity that ode heer sneaked under t' gate
instead o' leapin' over 'un. Like as not yer riverence
would heve hit she had she only jumped, for the top bar
be fair smuddered with shot."

>ic :)::):* 4: * *

164

SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS 165

A few seasons ago I formed one of a party of eleven
" guns " on a certain well-stocked partridge manor in
East Anglia. Among my fellow guests was an officer
of one of the Lancer regiments, and also a rotund little
man well known in the leather world.

The gallant soldier — he is a splendid shot — shot
brilhantly throughout the morning, while the leather
magnate proved a far better friend to his cartridge
maker than enemy to the " httle brown birds." Briefly,
his contribution to the bag, when a halt was called for
lunch, consisted of one very small leveret.

Like many other bad shots, the little man anathema-
tised his gun, ammunition, the sun (which was always in
his eyes just as he was getting on to his bird, don't you
know !), everything, indeed, barring his own lack of
skill. Needless to add, Mr. Leather came in for his full
quota of good-natured chaff during luncheon. He took
his roasting somewhat badly, however, and well primed
with " Dry Monopole," and smarting under what he
erroneously imagined to be a direct insult from the Lancer,
he offered to bet the latter a level " tenner " that his
(Mr. Leather's) " bag " would be the heavier of the two
at the close of the afternoon's sport. Not caring to
take undue advantage of " crooked powder," and know-
ing full well that in the usual course of events his
challenger had not the ghost of a chance of winning the
bet, the Captain very properly refused to accept the
wager. At length, however, upon Mr. Leather suggesting
that he funked the match, he condescended to take up
the gauntlet.

Shooting was resumed, the soldier dropped bird after
bird as usual, while Mr. Leather blazed away without

166 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

touching feather or fur. Our host — one of the kindhest
of men — feehng sorn* for the httle sportsman, and reahsing
that diiven partridges were utterly beyond his ken, sent
him off \\ith a keeper and a well-broken cocker spaniel
to work some thick double hedgerows for outlpng
pheasants.

We had just finished a successful drive and were
mo\'ing off to take up our stands for another one, when
the report of ?>lr. Leather's gun reached our ears. A few
minutes later the spaniel came limping across a wide
stubble, " pen and inking " for all he was worth.

" By Jove ! Leather has peppered m}' best cocker ! "
exclaimed our host, as the dog ran up to him, bearing
unmistakable signs of ha\^ng been shot in the hind-
quarters. Scarcely were the words uttered than the
sportsman in question came into view, wa\'ing his arms
frantically and shouting " Help ! help ! "

" Hanged if I don't believe our friend has made a
double event of it and \nnged the keeper to boot," quietly
remarked the Captain, as we sprinted towards the spot.

Sure enough the httle man had scored a double event
for, upon firing at a hen pheasant as it blundered out
of the hedgerow, he missed the bird but hit both the
dog and the keeper, who happened to be beating on the
further side of the fence.

" I owe you ten pounds, Mr. Leather, for you certainly
did make a heavier bag than did I myself this after-
noon," said the Captain in the smoking-room that night.

" Thankee. I'll send it to Velveteens as a plaster to
heal his wounds," was the unblushing reply of our fellow
guest.

SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS 167

Here follows a sequel to the foregoing story :

Not very long since, Captain J met Mr. Leather

at a certain well-known London gunmaker's shop.

" Had many invites to shoot this season, Captain? "

" No, sir, have you? "

" I should rather sa}^ so — far more than I can possibly
accept."

" You are fortunate in being so sought after, Mr.
Leather. May I presume, however, that your numerous
shooting hosts take the precaution of insuring the lives
and limbs of their keepers and dogs prior to your
visits ? "

An eminent West End silk mercer, by dint of industry
and enterprise, has raised himself from the obscurity
of an errand-boy to a ver}^ honourable position in one of
the home counties in which he has acquired a fine estate
noted for its head of game. The well-stocked coverts

thereon were shot during Christmas, and Mr. ,

having been placed by his keeper in a very warm corner,
the pheasants came both high and fast over his head,
like a veritable meteoric shower. Now it happened
that the man who acted as loader for the Squire had
placed just seventy-five cartridges in his master's bag
at the commencement of the first beat. It may also be
mentioned that the loader had been well rated by the
Squire that morning for some trivial transgression. As
before stated, the " rocketers " simpl}-' streamed over the
Squire, and as fast as his guns could be loaded and fired
he had at the birds. But alas ! those seventy-five cart-
ridges only accounted for a brace of hens and one old
cock pheasant.

168 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" I can't shoot worth a button to-day, Taylor — very

trying time in town yesterday Here, don't stand

grinning hke a fool, but help me stamp some of these
confounded cartridge cases into the ground before the
rest of the party come up ! "

The Squire and his henchman were still busily engaged
treading the accusing shells into the soggy ground when
the funny man of the party appeared on the scene,
accompanied by half-a-dozen other tweed-clad sportsmen.

" Hallo, Squire, practising the turkey-trot I see ! "
cried the jokester facetiously, adding : " By-the-bye,
you seem to have burned a rare lot of powder, what's
the score? "

Purple with shame and rage at being thus caught,
the Squire, doubtless expecting his attendant to reply
diplomatically — in other words to lie well — inquired of
him the number of birds down.

" Seventy-five runs for three wickets, sir Beg

pardon, I meant to say seventy-five cartridges for three
pheasants," came the ill-timed, albeit truthful, reply of
Taylor, who is by way of being a cricketer.

" Hence the turkey-trot ! " roared the funny man, as
he unearthed a cartridge case with the spike of his
shooting-stick.

Moral : Don't rate your loader on the morning of
a big shoot.

*******

" The partridges are unusually wild for early September.
It would be useless trying to walk the coveys up, we must
drive 'em," said the owner of a small shooting in Essex
to his guests, just before setting out for a day's partridge
shooting.

SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS 169

" Ah yes, drive them into nets ! I've seen wildfowl
taken in that fashion on the shores of the Wash," very
naively remarked a " sportsman " from town.

He was placed on the extreme left of the line of " guns,"
and well out of range of any one during the day's
sport.

*******

The pack had just been " thrown into covert," and
the noble M.F.H., who hated to be spoken to when his
beloved hounds were drawing, was anxiously awaiting
for the challenge which proclaims a find.

Suddenly a pink-coated snob, of a decided Hebraic
cast of features, pulled up alongside the silent and
solitary horseman, whom the oldest member of the hunt
did not dare to approach at such a moment, and in a
loud tone of voice opened as follows :

" Good-morning, my lord ! We haven't had the
honour of seeing you hunting in our country yet."

" No, sir," replied his lordship, " and you ain't likely
to either, for I understand that Holy Land is a damned
poor fox-huntin' country."

*******

" Hold hard, madam ! For Heaven's sake hold hard,
or that camel you are riding wall be the death of some of
my hounds ! " cried the choleric master of one of the
south-eastern counties' packs of foxhounds to a lady
who was riding rather too close to hounds.

Without deigning to turn her head, she steered her
mount a little to the left and clear of hounds, rode her
own line like a centaur, led the van through a long and
very fast run, and was the first of the field to see the fox
rolled over in the open.

ITO MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Ha\"ing recovered from his temporary fit of churlish-
ness, and dehghted \nth the manner in which the lady
had ridden, the Master approached her, somewhat
sheepishly it must be confessed, \dth the " brush " and
an apolog3^

" Pray don't apologise, sir," was the smiling reply.
" You simply mistook my favourite hunter for a camel,
and I your foxhounds for fox-terriers. It seems we were
both mistaken. Thanks awfully for the brush."
*******

The huntsman of a certain old-estabhshed pack of
foxhounds, kennelled ^\"ithin thirt\- miles of London,
was laid up ^nth an attack of influenza, and the new
Master, who entertained a far better opinion of his
capabilities as an amateur huntsman and horseman
than did the majority of the members of the hunt,

elected to carr}- the horn until such time as Tom was

able to take to the saddle again.

Now truth to tell. Mr. L . hke the immortal

Jorrocks, had spent a considerable portion of his existence

amongst bricks and mortar, and knew far more about the

\^-ine and spirit trade than he did of the huntsman's

craft. Indeed, he knew but the name of one sohtar}-

hound onl}^ of his pack of twenty-seven couples, to

wit,

hun

mouse to an elephant, was too slow for a parish

funeral, and ought to have been drafted out of the pack

years ago.

The meet, which happened to be in the market-square
of a smaU country- town, attracted quite a large number
of sportsmen and sportswomen, who, needless to add.

SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS 171

were anxious to see how the somewhat unpopular Master
would shape in his new and self-imposed role.

He, poor man, very soon found himself in difficulties.
Scarcely had hounds been " thrown into covert " than he
discovered that instead of his patent " self-playing " horn
he had brought an ordinary one, upon which he couldn't
\\ind a single note beyond a shrill squeak; while the
hounds, accustomed to hear and obey the musical voice
of Tom, their huntsman, paid not the slightest heed to
the strange and unorthodox cheering and rating of the
Master.

Now a huntsman who can neither blow a horn nor
throw his voice to advantage is just about as useful in
covert or field as a shooting man without cartridges

with which to charge his gun. Mr. L very soon

found himself deserted by every hound in the pack
barring poor old Tiger, who pottered about the covert
a few yards ahead of him.

Suddenly a distant challenge from one of the errant
hounds was rephed to by the full chorus of the pack,
and almost simultaneously Tiger hit off a " line " on his
own account, opened with the deep, bell-like " music "
pecuhar to the Welsh hound, ran a short distance up
a ride and so out of covert with the Master following
and blowing the most discordant notes on the horn
imaginable. Meanwhile a fox had " broken " near the
far end of the wood, and the main strength of the pack,
followed by the scarlet-coated hunt servants and the
" field " — who by-the-bye, appeared to have forgotten
the very existence of the Master — were racing after
their quarry across a lovely line of country. With the
exception of a welter veoman named Rodwell, who.

172 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

mounted on a great upstanding half-bred cart-mare had
turned up late at covert -side, the Master found himself
absolutely alone. He comforted himself, however, with
the mistaken idea that hounds were only a very short
distance ahead, hunting the same " line " as Tiger, and
that a timely check would enable him to get on terms
with them.

But perhaps it would be well to tell the remainder of
the story as it was recited by Mr. Rodwell, the belated
farmer, to divers members of the hunt a little later in
the day :

" Well, ye see gentlemen, I arrove at covert -side just
in time to see the Master blunderin' through a gap with
that old blear-eyed rough-coated 'ound. Tiger, huntin' on
scent, and givin' tongue as only they Welsh fox'ounds
know how. There wasn't a sign of any other livin' soul,
but I could hear the rest o' the pack in the distance, and
as it seemed to me, a bit left-handed like. Howsoever,
never doubtin' that the Master had been hung up in
covert, but knew exactly which way hounds were runnin',
I stuck as close to him as my old elephant of a mare

could lay hoofs to ground. Mr. L is a rare good

pilot for a heavy man like me, seein' as he always rides
for a gap or gateway, and never so much as takes a twig
or water-furrow even. Every now and again he'd blow
a note on his 'orn which sounded for all the world
like a boy's penny trumpet, while to 'ear 'im a-cheerin'
on old Tiger — ' Forrard ! forrard ! forrard. Tiger ! '
(' Squeak ! squeak ! squeak ! ') — 'twas the queerest
performance I ever heard in all my born days. The
further we rode the further away became the cry of
hounds. This puzzled me a bit, but Tiger still stuck to

SOME SMOKING-ROOM YARNS 173

the ' line,' and went belling and yowling on without
checking or faltering for a moment even.

" At length we came across one o' Jim Territ's men
a-ploughin' in forty acres.

" ' How far ahead are hounds ? ' yells the Master,
pullin' up his mount on the headland.

" ' Han't seed no 'ounds, sir, but the hare ran past I
'bout ten minutes ago, and t' owd rough dawg yonder
be clean on her scent right enough,' said the man, pointing
toward Tiger, who was trundling along a dry water
furrow at about six miles an hour.

" ' Hare, you fool ! Don't you know the difference
between a hare and a fox ? ' shouts the Master, as ugly-
tempered as a bag o' weasels.

" ' If it wor a vox as passed me, danged if it worn't
the longest eared-'un and shortest tailed-'un as ever I
set eyes on ! ' replied the man, as he set his team a-goin'
again.

" The Master didn't wait to argey the point, and off he
galloped again, a-squeaking his horn and a-cheerin' Tiger
Hke mad.

" It was pretty clear to me by this time that Tiger had
been runnin' on the line of a hare right away from covert,
and as I wasn't out for ' currant jelly ' with half a couple
o' hounds, I cut away sharp, left-handed, and half-an-
hour or so later fell in with Bill Saunders, the second
whip, who had been sent by the hunt secretary to look
for the Master.

" ' Seen anythin' o' the governor ? ' asks Bill, ridin' up
to me.

Yes, left him on Territ's forty acres hare-huntin'
with old Tiger.'

174 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" ' Ah ! so long as he's safe that's all right,' says Bill,
with a wink, adding, ' Tiger will keep him out o' mischief
for the rest o' the day. The old 'ound dearly loves a
hare, though he's too slow to catch 'em.'

" Bill and I rode to Hydes Hollow to find hounds
drawin' Dawson's gorse for a fresh fox, they havin'
killed their first.

" Ten to one, Tom, the first whip will carry the horn
next Saturday, and a hundred to one the Master will
resign at the end of the season."

Farmer Rodwell's prophecy proved correct in both
cases, and the ex-Master is still spoken of by the members
of the Hunt as " Tiger L ."

FAIR PLAY FOR THE OTTER

To champion the cause of the hated and much mahgned
otter is a thankless task, and I quite anticipate a good
rating at the hands of devotees of the rod. Ah, well,
perchance I shall survive the ordeal ! I would, however,
mention that the statements anent the otter contained
herein are based upon practical knowledge, gained
during years of close and careful observation and study
of the habits of this most interesting species of our native
fauna in his natural habitat.

In the first place, what is an otter? That doughty
knight of immortal fame. Sir John Falstaff, during a
heated tavern argument once likened his worthy hostess
to one of those animals, much to the disgust of the
lady.

" An otter ! Why an otter. Sir John ? " asked Merry
Prince Hal, who happened to be of the audience.

" Because," replied the weighty knight, " she is
neither fish, flesh, nor fowl; a man knows not where
to have her."

A short time ago we read in a certain Scottish
newspaper a wonderful — and fearful — description of
an otter-hunt, in the course of which the quarry was
repeatedly spoken of as the " fierce and bloodthirsty
amphibian."

Now, although of amphibious habits, the otter belongs

176 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

to the great Mustelidce family, and is, therefore, alHed
to the skunk, badger, marten, polecat, stoat, and weasel,
all of which species possess the same elongated, low, and
muscular, albeit lithesome bodies; the same predatory
and cleanly habits ; constitutional hardiness, prolificacy,
and sagacity. Between the various species of the
mustelines, however, a very great difference in dentition
occurs.

As to whether or no the otter has any fixed season
of nidification was formerly a moot question among
naturalists. It is a generally accepted fact to-day,
however, that the species has no specific breeding-
season, and we have personally seen quite small cubs
both in early spring and late autumn; a fact which
would seem to indicate that otters breed throughout
the year.

And now, having touched upon the physical side of
our subject, we will endeavour to persuade those readers
who have been guilty of or who condone the " heinous
crime " of lutracide, that the otter, like his Satanic
Majesty, is not quite so black as he is wont to be painted ;
while, without doubt, he is one of the gamest of game
animals that ever ran before a pack of hounds, and,
therefore, worthy a more honourable death than by
a dose of shot or a spring trap.

If my memory deceives me not, it was dear old Izaak
Walton, who at the finish of his maiden otter-hunt

prayed the huntsman (what a d d bad sportsman

that huntsman must have been) to save at least one of
the otter cubs which he (huntsman) was about to destroy.
Whether the father of anglers begged the life of that
cub simply that he might " teach it to catch fish and

FAIR PLAY FOR THE OTTER 177

doe other things of great pleasure," or whether he did
so out of sheer love of fair play, which was largely in-
herent in him, we know not. But we venture to suggest
that not a few Waltonians of the twentieth century
might do well to bear in mind this simple lesson in
sportsmanship taught by the immortal Izaak.

Ask the average angler what constitutes the food of
the otter and the reply will probably be " Fish, and
nothing but fish ! "

Well, fish certainly does figure pretty largely on
Lutra's daily, or rather nightly — he is of nocturnal
habits — bill-of-fare, but he is by no means averse to
rabbits, waterhens, water-voles, rats, mice, frogs, fresh-
water mussels, crawfish, snails, beetles, etc.

Of all fish the otter probably gives preference to the
eel ; a fact which was demonstrated in the following
manner :

A certain sportsman who had reared an otter from early
cubhood laid out before his pet a number of different
kinds of fish, including salmon, trout, pike, perch, carp,
tench, bream, and eels. After " nosing " each kind
the otter singled out an eel, and immediately com-
menced to devour it. This occurred not once only but
upon several occasions.

We do not pretend to know why our web-footed friend
evinces such a predilection for eels, but, depend upon
it, if you find the remains of eels on a patch of flattened-
down rushes, or in some sequestered spot along the banks
of your stream, there has been an otter at work. If
you search carefully, you may, perhaps, meet with the
half-eaten carcass of other kinds of fish ; but " poached "
eels ^\^ll surely predominate. It may be the natural

178 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

richness of the eel which attracts the otter, while their
comparatively slow progress through the water renders
them a prey not difficult of capture.

Now it is very well known that eels do an incalculable
amount of damage amongst the " reds " by devouring
both salmon and trout ova, of which they are inordinately
fond. Nor do they confine their depredations to ova
alone. What better bait could be found for an eel
than a small salmon-pink or a fingerling trout, and
where is the angler who has not roundly anathematised
these slimy, line-entangling pests for running away
with his very best dace or minnows while live-baiting or
paternostering ? This being the case, it is not unreason-
able to suggest that on rivers and streams infested by eels
an otter or two should prove beneficial rather than other-
wise. We use the words " an otter or two " advisedly,
of course, for Lutra's very best friends even could not,
with any degree of honesty, advocate the preservation
of an overplus of his kind in either salmon, trout, or
coarse-fish waters. But there is not much danger of
any stream becoming overpopulated by otters. The
moment the young are able to fend for themselves, they
are driven by their " affectionate " parents either down
to the sea or to some distant water.

Could any intelligent and thoughtful man for one
moment imagine that a couple — or, for that matter,
half-a-dozen — otters within, say, a fifteen-mile stretch
of our larger rivers (which, generally speaking, simply
teem with fish) would make any appreciable difference
to the sport of the angler? Nay, the suggestion alone
would appeal to such a one as being absurd. The
Thames Conservancy arrived at this conclusion some

FAIR PLAY FOR THE OTTER 179

few years ago, and, realising that otters form a very
important and interesting species of the river fauna,
have rendered the kilHng of otters on the Thames an
offence punishable by law. Then, as before stated,
anglers raised a great outcry against the Thames otters,
which, they declared, were destroying the fish to an
alarming extent, and the Conservators decided to go into
the matter thoroughly.

We are inclined to believe that, if it were possible to
examine all, or even a tithe, of the fish killed by otters
in this country, a very considerable percentage would
be discovered to be diseased or weakly specimens. In
point of fact, upon more than one occasion we have
found on the banks of the Kentish Beult, and once in
the River Cherwell, diseased fish partially devoured
by otters. Surely the decimation of such finny de-
generates is advantageous to any water, even though
the much-despised otter performs the good work.

" Have you, sir, either kingfishers or dabchicks on
your fishing? "

" Ah ! your stream boasts both those beautiful species
of birds, and you receive pretty frequent visits thereto
from an old heron."

" Being yourself a lover of nature, you like to see
them there, and wouldn't have one shot for any money,
although you suspect them of doing a good deal of
damage to the water."

" Well, as a matter of fact, if you will take the trouble
to walk over to your local police-station and request to
see a copy of the schedule of the Wild Birds Protection
Acts, you will find that not only are the heron, king-
fisher, and dabchick protected by a wise law during the

180 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

close season, but also a number of other birds, including
the smew and cormorant, all of which are even more
destructive to fish than the former species."

But let us take the kingfisher as the least harmful of
the before-mentioned feathered marauders, and ask any
field-naturalist who has made a close study of both the
halcyon and the otter which of the twain is the greater
enemy to the angler. I think that the verdict will be
" the kingfisher." One has but to examine the nest
of a kingfisher to realise the enormous amount of damage
these gaily plumaged denizens of our rivers, lakes, and
brooks wreak amongst the fry of trout and other kinds
of fish. The nest, which takes the form of a burrow
or tunnel in the bank of a river or pond, well beyond the
reach of the longest human arm, is roughly constructed,
apparently from the bones and scales of very small fish,
deposited by the parent birds in the shape of disgorged
pellets. This malodorous mass of nastiness is of con-
siderable size, and must represent an enormous number
of baby fish — a far greater number, indeed, than any
two otters would destroy within twelve months.

" Yes, that is all very well, but the kingfisher only
kills very small fish, while the otter takes toll of the
big 'uns," we fancy we hear some of the readers remark
upon perusing the above.

True, but in the ordinary course of nature little fish
grow into big fish. Let it not for one moment be thought
that in writing thus we wish to " play off " the halcyon
against the otter, for such is not the case. But we do not
think it just or reasonable that inveterate war by gun
and trap should be waged against the otter, while the
kingfisher and other predaceous birds, far more destructive

FAIR PLAY FOR THE OTTER 181

to fish than he, are during certain seasons of the year
protected by law.

On preserved waters remotely situated from any packs
of otterhounds, and where every individual fish is re-
garded as a prize, one can argue but little, perhaps,
against the trapping of otters. But, in the name of all
that is English and sportsmanlike, do not slaughter in
cold blood this gallant beast of the chase on waters lying
within reasonable distance of a pack of otterhounds.
Drop a line to the nearest M.O.H., and, if hounds do
but " strike a trail," we warrant you will enjoy rare
sport.

WILD LIFE NEAR LONDON

It is difficult to imagine the heart of South Kensington
as a " happy hunting-ground " for the man with a gun,
nevertheless, an old sportsman, whose veracity is beyond
doubt, declares that he has shot both partridges and snipe
where to-day are the Exhibition Buildings.

In a certain small hostelry within a stone's throw of the
ancient house in King's-road, Fulham, reputed to have
been one of the many homes of Nell Gwynne, there may
be seen a large glass case containing stuffed specimens of
both full and jack-snipe, water rail, teal, and kingfishers —
all shot by a local " gunner " on what used to be known as
Fulham Marsh.

Wimbledon Park, which lies within seven miles of
Charing Cross, possesses a lake of considerable size. In
this lake three or four years ago coots were so numerous
that it was deemed advisable to thin them out. There
were shot during three early mornings 54I couple by three
guns. The " bag " might have been doubled. The coots
here are quite wild, many no doubt, wanderers from Pen
Ponds, Richmond Park, and other large sheets of water
in the neighbourhood. It is worthy of note that during
the coot drives a pair of great crested grebes remained
on the lake, apparently quite unconcerned at the fusillade.

It may not be generally known that Wimbledon Com-
mon, Richmond Park, and the intervening Kingston
182

WILD LIFE NEAR LONDON 183

Vale can show quite a good head of pheasants, partridges,
hares, and rabbits, or that Richmond Park boasts a
heronry of some importance, and dehghtful it is to watch
the movements of the great birds as they fly to and fro
carrying small fish and other titbits with which to supply
the wants of their squawking and always hungry nest-
lings. The grand and ancient park of Richmond affords
sanctuary to many of the rarer and more interesting
species of our British birds, including the nightingale,
blackcap, redstart, red-backed shrike, yellow, grey, and
pied wagtails, nightjar, wheatear, stonechat, whinchat,
grasshopper-warbler, great and lesser whitethroats, great
tit, cole-tit, blue-tit, and longtail tit, golden-crested wTen
(amongst the fir trees), nuthatch, \^Tyneck, green and
greater spotted woodpeckers, and kingfisher.

All these and many other kinds of birds too one has seen
in Richmond Park, including the only hoopoe we ever
met with in this country, which was observed running
under an old tree-trunk behind White Lodge — Queen
Mary's early home.

With the exception of quite a colony of wood owls (the
brown or tawny species), which live amongst the giant
timber trees, neither Bushey Park nor the Home Park,
Hampton Court, has been found a satisfactory hunting-
ground from an ornithological point of view. In June
last, however, when walking through Bushey Park, the
writer noticed quite an exciting hunt between a large
stoat and a rabbit, which ended in a " kill " for the stoat,
in a strip of covert. Several jolly little squirrels were also
to be seen playing amongst the blossom-spangled branches
of the magnificent trees in the chestnut avenue.

The gardens of Hampton Court Palace were then a

184 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

dream of colour — a triumph of artistic flower-culture,
while in the Long Water in the Home Park are not a few
pairs of wild duck with their broods of downy youngsters.
You may see these merry little chaps dodging in and out
among the water-lilies and aquatic plants in search of
flies and other insect life. This piece of water is reputed
to hold some very fine pike and perch, and on a bright
sunny day numbers of enormous carp are to be seen
finning lazily in its weedy depths. Permission to fish in
this water may now be obtained.

From the Long Water to Ditton Ferry is but a short
walk across the Home Park. Many of the fine old timber
trees, one notices, have been attacked by that parasite,
the mistletoe plant, of which great bunches hang from
the topmost branches of the trees.

Here we may cross by ferry to the Surrey side, and at the
Swan Inn— mentioned by Theodore Hook — quaff a pint
of shandy gaff. Then a walk through the quaint old
churchyard of Thames Ditton, along Church Walk, across
Weston Green, and so on, to the golden gorse-decked
common of Esher — a veritable paradise to a lover of
nature.

Snipe are not only to be shot on Esher Common during
the season, but their pear-shaped mottled eggs in a nest
composed of a few dead bents and feathers may be found
there. The head gamekeeper on the Ditton Estate, of
which Esher Common forms a part, declared that he had
watched and heard the nesting birds soaring and bleating
over the bog many a time.

" Do you get any other game on the common? " he
was asked.

" Oh yes ! There are always a few brace of pheasants

WILD LIFE NEAR LONDON 185

and partridges to be found here, and last time the beagles
[the West Surrey Beagles are kennelled in the neighbour-
hood] drew the common they found four hares and ran
one right away to Banstead."

" How about the foxes ? Have they worried you
keepers much since hounds stopped hunting this part of
the country? "

" Well, there are still a few foxes left in the coverts,
sir, but they don't trouble us very much. But what do
you think we found harbouring in Winterdown Wood,
which is just across the common yonder, a few weeks ago ?
Why, a badger weighing 33 1 pounds ! " went on the
keeper; adding, "The Squire didn't like to kill the
brock, but it destroyed so many clutches of pheasant
eggs that it had to go. We were digging hard for nine
solid hours before we got the beast out of its earth, and
it was the biggest badger I ever set eyes on."

"It is good to know that there is some wild life still
to be found within fourteen miles of London," said my
companion as we walked through the golden-blossomed
gorse. We agreed that it was very good.

ANCIENT FALCONRY

Hawking, according to Beckman, was known to the
Greeks and Romans. Its origin in England, however,
cannot be traced till the reign of King Ethelbert, in the
year 760, when that Saxon monarch sent to Germany for
a brace of falcons.

In the reign of James I Sir James Monson is said to
have given a thousand pounds for a " cast " of falcons.

In Edward Ill's reign it was made felony to " steal "
a hawk, while to take the eggs of a falcon, or hawk, even
in one's owti grounds, was punishable with imprisonment
for one year and a day, together with a fine at the king's
pleasure.

In olden times the custom of carrying a hawk on the
wrist was confined to men of high distinction, and it was
formerly a saying among the Welsh " You may know a
gentleman by his hawk, horse and gre3''hound." Even
ladies in those days indulged in the sport of falconry, and
have been represented in sculpture with a falcon on hand.

In Bewick's British Birds (vol. i, p. 26), it is recorded
that a falcon, belonging to a Duke of Cleves, flew out of
Westphalia into Prussia in one day ; and in the county of
Norfolk a peregine falcon made a flight of nearly thirty
miles, at a woodcock, within one hour.

From Rees' Cyclopcedia, we read — and accept cum
grano salis — that some of the larger species of hawks were
trained to fly at the wild boar and wolf. " With this
view," says Rees, "they [the hawks], should be accus-
tomed to feed, when young, out of the sockets of the eyes
186

ANCIENT FALCONRY 187

of a wolf or boar's head, the whole skin of the animal being
stuffed so as to make it appear alive. While the bird is
feeding the falconer begins to move the figure gradually,
in consequence of which the bird learns to fasten itself so
as to stand firm, notwithstanding the precipitate motions
which are gradually given to the stuffed animal; she
would lose her meat if she quitted her hold, and therefore
she takes care to secure herself. When these first exercises
are finished, the skin is placed on a cart, drawn by a horse
at full speed ; the bird follows it, and is particularly eager
in feeding ; and then when they come to fly on the field,
she never fails to dart on the first beast of the kind she
discovers, and begins to scoop out the eyes. This puts
the quarry in such distress that the hawkers have time
to approach and despatch it with their spears."

During the reign of the " Merrie Monarch " St. Albans
seems to have been a favourite hawking ground. Shake-
speare says :

" Ride into St. Albans,
Where the King and Queen do mean to hawk."

At St. Albans, Caxton printed a treatise on hawking,
hunting, and heraldry. Strutt, in his Sports and Pastimes,
mentions an historical fact related by Hall, who states
that Henry VHI, while pursuing his hawk on foot at
Hitchin, in Hertfordshire, attempted, with the assistance
of a leaping-pole, to jump over a ditch which was half-
full of muddy water. The pole broke, and the king fell
head foremost into the mud, where he would have been
stifled had not a footman, named John Moody, come to
the rescue and released his Majesty from his perilous
situation. " And so," says the honest historian, " God
of hys goodnesse preserved him."

A RARE "JOE MANTON"

Happy is the man who can boast a genume " Joe
Manton " gun amongst his collection of antique fire-arms ;
thrice happy is he whose sporting trophies include such
a rare and beautifully finished specimen of the immortal
Joe's art as that lying before us as we wTite this paper.

From the following extract culled from an affidavit
recently sworn by Messrs. James and Thomas Samuel
Manton, descendants of the " King of Gunmakers," it
will be seen that the weapon in question was built for
the " brave old Duke of York," who, according to the
barrack-room ballad, " marched ten thousand men to the
top of a hill and marched 'em back again." As to whether
this was the usual tactic pursued by the royal general in
the field, history does not say. But we do know that
H.R.H. the Duke of York was Commander-in-Chief of
the English Army during the Napoleonic era.

Here follows the extract in question :

" We, James Manton and Thomas Samuel Manton,
grandsons of Thomas Manton, of Grantham, and Long
Acre, London, gunmaker, cousin to Joe Manton, of 25
Davies-street, Berkeley-square, gunmaker to His Majesty
George HI, and to their Royal Highnesses the Dukes of
York, Cambridge, and Gloucester, and Prince Leopold,
do solemnl}^ and sincerely declare that we have examined
the gun now in the possession of . . . and from the
Manton family records we identify it and know it to be a
188

A RARE "JOE MANTON'^ 189

genuine Joe Manton gun, and according to the pedigree
and records of this particular weapon it was expressly
made for, and to the order of, the Duke of York, son of
George III, . . . with gold pan, gold touch-holes, and
gold mounts."

The gun — it is a 14-bore — is certainly one of the most
beautifully balanced and finished " flint-locks " that ever
came under our inspection. Armed with such weapons
it would be easy to imagine that our forefathers were
wont to quit themselves right well in the shooting-field,
despite such " slight drawbacks " as missfires, hang-fires,
damp powder, etc., which must have been of pretty
frequent occurrence amongst old-time gunners.

In such a wonderful state of preservation is the gun
under notice, so perfect in " lock, stock, and barrel,"
indeed, that at first sight one would feel inclined to think
that a charge had never been fired from it. Closer ex-
amination of the lock, however, reveals the fact that
many a time and oft has a spark been created by the clash
of an atom of black-flint against tempered steel, and
dropped upon the priming-powder in the golden pan ;
while many a head of game has, doubtless, been laid low
by the contents of the shapely " star " barrel of the old
flint lock.

Tradition declares that the younger son of George III
shone far more brilliantly as a sportsman in the royal
preserves of Windsor and Richmond than as commander-
in-chief of the British forces in Flanders.

But, alas ! the " Joe Manton " in question can but
" bark," and even then only when specially charged to do
so. Would that it could speak and tell of the " good old
days " when Colonel Peter Hawker (who swore that

190 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Manton was the only gunmaker in the kingdom worthy
the name) was wont to post up to London from his
favourite fowHng-grounds to discuss " charges " and
" pieces " with " Joe " : when single-trigger, hammerless
ejectors, or, for that matter, " percussion guns," were un-
dreamed of ; the days before Manton patented and placed
upon the market the double-barrelled shot-gun, and built
one of those " newfangled toys " to the order of the
Marquis of Rockingham for the pretty fee of 450 guineas.
We warrant the ancient weapon could unfold a tale
worthy the listening.

And now, having spoken of one of Joe Manton 's works
of art, a few words anent the biography of the artist
himself may not be incongruous, perhaps.

Joseph IManton was the younger son of John Manton,
of Grantham, Lines, in which town he (Joe) first saw
the light, in 1766. Like his brother John, he was appren-
ticed to a local gunmaker. John Manton, jun., migrated
to London in 1788, started gunmaking at No. 6 Dover-
street, Piccadilly, and remained there until his death, the
business being carried on in his name until 1865.

Joe first came to London in the year 1790, for the
purpose of taking out a patent for one of his own inven-
tions. The Government offered to purchase the patent
for the sum of £500, but Joe, having expended double
that amount upon the invention, refused this " generous "
offer, to the displeasure of the then Duke of Richmond,
who curtly advised the young man from the Fen country
to bring out his patent as best he might. Two years
later Joe Manton found himself established at 25 Davies-
street, Berkeley-square, and his first patent " for im-
provements in fire-arms " is dated 1792.

A RARE ''JOE MANTON" 191

During the year 1825, the celebrated gunmaker re-
moved from Davies-street to Holies-street, W., his sons
continuing the business, after his decease in 1835, until
1840, when it was taken over by Charles and Henry Egg,
who also became world-famous as gunmakers of high
repute.

In the London Directory for 1822 appears this entry :

" Joe Manton, Gun maker to His Majesty and their
Royal Highnesses the Dukes of York, Cambridge, and
Gloucester, and Prince Leopold."

Again, in the same publication, dated 1832, is found :

" Joe Manton, Gun maker to His Majesty, and the Royal
Family, and also to the King of France."

As before mentioned, Joe Manton went over to the
great majority in 1835, and the following inscription
appears on his tomb in Grantham Churchyard : —

" In memory of Joseph Manton, who died, universally
regretted, on the 29th day of June, 1835. Aged 69 years.
This humble tablet is placed here by his afflicted family
merely to mark where are deposited his mortal remains.
But an everlasting monument to his unrivalled genius is
already established in every quarter of the globe by his
celebrity as the greatest artist in firearms that ever the
world produced ; as the founder and father of the modern
gun trade and a most scientific inventor in other depart-
ments, not only for the benefit of his friends and the
sporting world, but for the good of his King and Country."

THE MORNING FLIGHT

" Do yu be at the dole-stone at six to-morrow marnin',
Maister Jack. Chance us may get a shot or two from t'
owd duck-holes on the salt-marshes, and chance us 'on't,"
were the parting words of old " Bumble " Toogood, the
professional wildfowler, as he bade Jack Meredith, the
Vicar's nineteen-3^ear-old son, good-night. Then he
clattered homewards along the crooked, cobble-paved
High-street of the old-time fishing hamlet of Babbleton,
which lies on the fringe of a vast expanse of sea-walled
and dyke-drained marshes.

" All right, Bumble, I'll be there, and if there are
no duck to be had, we'll find a few waders or an old cob
[gull] along the foreshores, you bet ! " came the cocksure
reply of the young gunner, than whom not a more ardent
wildfowler could be found anywhere between the Black-
water estuary and the Wash.

True to his word. Bumble Toogood turns up at the

dole-stone (parish boundary-stone) just as the clock of

the grey Norman church, hard by, strikes the appointed

hour. Upon one broad shoulder he carries a well-oiled

double lo-bore pin-fire gun, and over the other is slung

a home-made and dressed canvas cartridge bag. " Crab,"

an aged, but still good enough looking, retriever, whose

red-brown coat has from constant immersion in salt

water become bleached to the tinge of drab-yellow, trots

at his master's heels.

192

THE MORNING FLIGHT 193

Jack Meredith, who impatiently awaits the advent of
the old gunner, sits on the ancient landmark, puffing
away at one of those special blends of pungently aromatic
" Egyptian " cigarettes which appear to be obtainable
in small country towns and villages. Bumble Toogood,
however, declines to accept one of these fumy luxuries,
declaring the while that " they all-flamed paper smokes
be only fit for hobbidies [boys] and white-necked ink-
slingers." Never yet did he meet with a gunner worth his
salt who smoked aught but a pipe or cigar.

It is but a short walk from the dole-stone to the high
sea-wall which, during the Hanoverian dynasty, was
erected round what in those " good old " days formed
a vast area of tide-lapped foreshores, but which to-day
forms exceedingly fertile dyke-and-fleet-intersected
marshes. Beyond the sea-wall lies a desert of sand,
ooze, and salting, and beyond again the grey foam-flecked
waters of the North Sea.

The fowlers cross the escarpment, and, picking their
way through the darkness over a patch of glasswort and
sea-lavender-covered saltings, they arrive at a small
and shallow pit sunk in the salts, near the mouth of a
small tidal creek.

The recent spring tides have left the gunning-pit, or,
as it is locally called, duck-hole, well-nigh full of water,
and, bidding his young companion " hasten and gather
an armful of quicks [couch-grass], while Oi diddle [bale
out] t' owd duck-hole," Bumble Toogood sets to work
with a will to bale out the superfluous sea-water from
the pit with a superannuated bucket, while the youngster
forages round the sea-wall for the required litter to render
the duck-hole tenable.

194 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

In a very short space of time the first pit is baled dry
and Hned with coarse herbage gathered from the walls ;
then the old gunner, after wishing his charge " good luck
and straight powder," moves away to a second lay-up,
on what is known as Deadman's Point.

Every now and again the weird cry of a herd of curlew,
passing from the marshes and uplands to the out-lying
banks ; the peculiar goat-Hke bleat of a bar-tail godwit ;
the far-reaching call of that fowler's pest, the redshank;
and the welcome and unmistakable sound caused by the
rapidly beating pinions of a bunch of mallard, come to the
ears of the youthful fowler, and his hand moves instinc-
tively towards the double 12-bore which stands in a corner
of the pit, ready to handle at a moment's notice.

But alas ! the light is not yet sufficiently good to en-
able him to catch even a momentary glance of the fleet-
ing fowl, nor is he sufficiently expert in the art of flighting
to shoot by sound. But for that matter, we venture to
say that successful shots at wildfowl, taken by sound
and not by sight, are, generally speaking, more the result
of good luck than good judgment. Be this as it may.
Jack refrains from pulling at invisible fowl, and waits
within the narrow confines of his duck-hole with Micawber-
like patience for the advent of daylight.

At length the first grey tokens of dawn begin to appear
on the eastern horizon, and with eyes turned shore wards
he peers through the still uncertain light for the approach
of something — he knows not of what species it may be —
clothed in feathers. The welcome " swish-swish-swish "
of mallard flying through the air is now heard, and a few
moments later a number of hazy forms pass the waiting
gunner left-handed.

THE MORNING FLIGHT 195

The double-report of his 12-bore awakens the slumber-
ing echoes of the morning. But there is no answering
thud on the contiguous salt-marsh — the thud which
betokens a successful shot — and the bunch of mallard
continue on their flight to the tide, unscathed, while the
disappointed young gunner wonders how, in the name of
misfortune, he managed to " muff " with both barrels,
and, incidentally, whether Bumble Toogood will chaff
him overmuch.

Now comes a small "team" of duck flying over the
salt-marshes from their nocturnal feeding-grounds on the
upland stubbles, and the old gunning-pit being directly
under the line of flight, and the light having greatly im-
proved, the young chap manages to score one of them
with the right barrel, while another, hard hit, after
" carrying on " a short distance across the saltings, drops
with a sounding " plunk " into a muddy little gully.
The first bird down is as dead as the proverbial door
nail, but not so the second, which, although sorely
wounded, leads Jack a merry dance amongst the net-
work of sHmy runnels and gullies that drain the salt-
ings ere he " runs it to ground " in a bed of sea-
lavender.

A good deal of precious time has been lost during the
capture of the cripple. The morning flight is of but
very short duration, and already a couple of fairly good
lots of duck and a small spring of teal, which in the or-
dinary course would probably have passed within range
of the pit, have sheered out of danger upon sighting
a man with a gun in chase of one of their kind.

Scarcely has Jack returned to the " hide " than a far
reaching "Cur-lee ! " puts him on the qui vive. Keep-

196 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

ing every inch of his lengthy proportions well hidden
within the muddy duck-hole, he awaits the coming of a
herd of curlew, which, judging from the direction whence
the call proceeds, are flying over the neighbouring marshes,
and may pass within shot of the pit.

" Cur-lee ! Cur-lee ! Cur-lee ! " What a racket the
sabre-billed, keen-sighted birds make as they speed over
the silent levels, top the sea-walls, and come streaming
over the head of the crouching gunner !

Now or never ! Jack springs to his feet, and, singling
out a curlew flying within the " thick " of the herd, he
pulls.

A couple crumple up to the contents of the first barrel,
while the left accounts for another bird. The remainder
of the herd fly towards the main.

Elated with the success of his double shot the young
fowler gathers the " dead 'uns " and prepares to slay
more fowl. But, though the heavy report of Bumble
Toogood's antiquated, albeit deadly, lo-bore booms out
every now and again, never another bird of any kind
ventures to pass within range of the duck-hole.

Old King Sol's great fiery head now appears upon the
eastern skyline, and he sheds his golden largesse broadcast
upon tide, sand-bar and ooze-flat.

Daylight is here, and the flighting-time is over.

THE KORI AND THE GREAT BUSTARD

There are between thirty and forty species of the
bustard family distributed over the face of the Old World,
a considerable proportion of which are indigenous to
Africa south of the Sahara, the Cape and Orange River
Colony, the Transvaal, Natal, and Rhodesia, and, indeed,
South Africa generally, boasting their quota of these
magnificent game birds.

The bustard is essentially a land bird, and inhabits wdde,
open plains and steppes, upon which it may roam at large
and sight its enemies from afar.

Some two centuries ago the great bustard [otis tarda)
— first cousin to the kori {eupoditis kori) of the veld — used
to inhabit the wild, open plains, moors, and fenlands of
Great Britain in considerable flocks. But owing to the
inveterate persecution of its arch-enemy, man, who used
every conceivable device to destroy it, this noble biid
has to all intents and purposes been extinct in the British
Isles for the past hundred years or longer.

One of the many questionable modes of capturing the
bustard was as follows : A certain spot on a plain or fen
frequented by a flock of bustards used to be baited with
grain, within range of a masked battery of fowling-pieces
which were so laid that a man hiding up at a considerable
distance from the scene of slaughter could by means
of a long line discharge the guns simultaneously when the

197

198 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

unfortunate quarry had approached well within range.
Writing to his friend the Hon. Danes Barrington, in 1770,
Gilbert White says, " There are bustards on the wide down
near Brighthelmstone, Sussex."

One of the last of the great bustards observed on the
Norfolk fens was, we beheve, in the year 1876. It was a
male, and every effort was made by the neighbouring
landowners to coax the bird to remain. A couple of hen
bustards were turned down on the fen in question by the
late Lord Lilford in the hope that the male would pair
with one of the females and breed, but the attempt proved
futile, and after a brief sojourn in the district the bird
disappeared, and was seen no more. We read that our
forefathers used to course the bustard with greyhounds,
but it is a moot question, we imagine, whether any but
winged or otherwise crippled birds were ever brought to
bag. True, the bustard is able to run like a redshank,
but he very much prefers escaping from his enemies by
flight, and we have seen a kori bustard with one wing
hopelessly smashed by a bullet make a vain attempt to
fly from its captor, instead of taking to its heels.

The South African kori bustard [eupoditis kori), or
ghaum paauw of the Boers, is without doubt the king of
all game birds, both as regards size and plumage ; while
the flesh of a young paauw is quite equal, if not superior,
to that of the North American wild turkey. Some
naturalists assert that the bustards are not very distantly
related to the rails. But they differ from the rails in
having three toes only to either foot, in the absence of
bare tracks on the side of the neck, and the absence also
of an oil-gland.

The brown, black, white, and grey plumage of these

THE KORI AND GREAT BUSTARD 199

beautiful birds (some of the feathers are used in the tying
of salmon and trout flies) harmonises wonderfully with the
coloration of their natural habitat. Indeed, Dame Nature
is just as happy in her choice of plumage for the bustard
as she is in that of the woodcock, the grouse family, the
fern-owl, or the \M:yneck. Big though the paauw is, it
would be possible for a man to stumble right on to one of
those huge birds — providing, of course, the bird was fool
enough to allow such liberty being taken with it — without
noticing it amongst the dead grasses and other herbage
of the veld or plains.

The kori or ghaum paauw is easily distinguished from
the European bustard by the greater length of its beak
and legs, while its head is surmounted by a crest. This
grand bird derives its Dutch name of ghatmi paauw from
its habit of feeding upon the gum of a species of mimosa.
It is also particularly fond of locusts and other insects,
and when other food is scarce it will devour lizards and
other small reptiles. Water appears to be quite a
secondary consideration with the bustard family — indeed,
it is questionable whether or not it is necessary for these
birds to drink at all.

The bustard undergoes a full moult in autumn, and
(in common with the rest of the genus) not infrequently
a partial one in spring. The male kori is exceedingly
pugnacious during the breeding season, and has been
known to attack not only dogs, but also human beings.

When flushed bustards will usually fly a mile or even a
couple of miles before settling again, and gradually
mounting higher and higher in their flight wdth powerful
and even wing-beats they often attain an altitude of over
100 yards.

200 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

The great bustard and ghaum paauw are probably the
most wary and difficult of all game birds, and when feeding
on an open plain or veld it is practically impossible to
approach to within shot-gun range. The bird is very
inquisitive, however, and we are told — but have never
tried the manoeuvre — that by riding round and round a
paauw and gradually narrowing the circle a mounted man
may often approach within easy shot of the bird, even
though he be armed with an ordinary 12-bore gun only.
As the horseman draws nearer, the bustard will usually
lie down, hoping to escape notice by so doing, until a dose
of shot lays it still lower. It is doubtless the horse which
excites the curiosity of this shiest of all shy birds, for it
is seldom that a man on foot can out-manoeuvre it, even
though he pursues the most cunning artifices.

Personally what few paauw — they might be numbered
on the fingers of one hand — we have accounted for were
nearly all shot with a •303-bore " Rigby," a beautiful
little rifle true as a hair up to 300 yards, and just the very
weapon for small antelope and large feathered game. It
is a good deal more by luck than judgment that the
average sportsman bags a paauw with either rifle or shot-
gun. In the first place, unless viewed on a bare patch of
veld or first flushed far out of shot and then " marked
down " again, when a stalk may at least be attempted,
it is ten chances to one that, however numerous bustards
may be in the district over which the sportsman is shooting
comparatively few of the birds will be sighted. If armed
with a rifle he must perforce stalk to within range of his
game and take it as it sits, for big though a bustard may
appear when on the wing it is a powerful flyer, and will
require a first-rate rifle shot to bring it down.

THE KORI AND GREAT BUSTARD 201

We have already explained to the best of our knowledge
how the paauw may sometimes be approached on horse-
back. In certain favoured districts these great birds
are sometimes driven over guns placed in suitable stands.
But a bustard drive sounds a tallish order to any one who,
like ourselves, has never taken part in one or who objects
to capturing these grand birds otherwise than by hunting
them in a legitimate and sportsmanlike manner. Poach-
ing game appeals as little to us as it does to any good
sportsman. Suffice it to say that, although the ghaum
paauw is no longer so plentiful as it used to be in the
days when the Golden City was in its infancy and the
Rhodesian capital undreamed of even by that great
pioneer and statesman, Cecil Rhodes, it is by no means
the rara avis its European cousin the great bustard has
become in Great Britain.

" SOLD ! "

As to whether mine host of " The Golden Dolphin's "
excellent Scotch whisky was responsible for the creation
of the huge and savage grizzly of my dreams on the
Christmas Eve of which I speak, I know not. Person-
ally, I am inclined to beheve that it was not the whisky
but Mrs. " Dolphin's " equally excellent roast turkey and
mince-pies. In either case, that infernal bear seemed
to have been chasing me up a steep and densely wooded
incline the greater part of the night, and was devilish
near running into me, when a volley of shingle rattled
against the diamond-paned casement of " The Golden
Dolphin's " sole and only guest-chamber, and drove
my unwelcome ursine visitor up the chimney — or to the
deuce for aught I know or care.

The shower of pebbles was followed by a loud and re-
markably clever imitation of the cry of a curlew, and
drawing up the window-blind I saw the indistinct shadow
of old Tom Tundridge, the professional wildfowler and
eel-catcher, standing on the snowy pavement below.

" There be a tidy lot o' widgeon on the mullet-banks,
maister, so I thought I'd jest give ye a call, loike ! " hailed
Tom up to me in a tone of voice meant to be soft and
lamb-like, but which might have been heard a quarter
of a mile away.

Phew ! it was thundering cold — the water in bath and

SOLD ! ' 203

basin covered with a coating of ice, the morning as
black as one's hat, and my head aching and throbbing,
as though a 50-stamp quartz battery was at work therein.
But the chance of a shot with the stanchion-gun was not
to be missed, and after a sponge-down in the " ice-tub "
I felt almost fit enough to run another race against my
old bed-fellow. Bruin,

Early though it was, upon going downstairs I found
my kindly hostess frying ham and eggs in the old-fashioned
inn kitchen, while Tundridge sat in a great arm-chair
thawing the snow from his heavy tuck-boots before the
huge driftwood fire, which blazed and crackled merrily
on the wide, open hearth.

" There b'ain't no time to lose, maister, and we mean
to catch the best o' the young flood," very thoughtfully
exclaimed Tom, as I settled down to my first rasher of
home-cured ham and steaming hot cup of coffee.

Now, it may be remarked that the worthy old gunner
had just " wolfed " a large wedge of plum-pudding and
a pint or so of his favourite " nectar," purl; hence the
gentle hint to be up and doing. Upon my suggesting
that he should help me through with the ham and eggs,
however, he lost no time in bringing up alongside the
table, and right manfully did he wield both knife and
fork, beating me easily by three rashers and as many
eggs. This exciting match of trenchermanship finished,
I took my old 3in. 12-bore, cartridge bag, and a " pocket-
pistol," well charged with " The Golden Dolphin's
Special FowHng Powder," and, with Tom Tundridge
striding alongside, went crunching over the frozen snow,
which lay deep upon the cobble-stoned, crooked High-
street. But the quaint old fishing town of Oozeborough

204 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

was still wrapped in slumber, for it was Yuletide, and the
hardy harvesters of the sea and their tan-sailed fishing
craft were lying snug in harbour.

" Wind be right, tide be right, and Hoppy Guarnard
b'ain't gone afloat yet, that's sartin'," quoth Tom,
pointing towards the dim outline of a narrow, single-
handed gunning-punt hauled high and dry on the beach.
No; it was evident that "Hoppy" had not gone out
after the fowl. But, unfortunately, he was not the only
big-gunner we had to contend with.

We embarked in the clumsy, old, double-handed
gunning craft, and shoved off from a little stone jetty
into what is locally known as The Gut, a narrow,
sinuous channel which runs through a vast expanse of
ooze-fiats and mussel-hards until it joins a more important
water-way called Mullet Creek.

" Do 'ee get forrard, maister, while I sail t'owd craft.
'Tis dark as the Divil's nutting-bag, and ' The Gut ' do
twist and turn like any sarpint," said Tom, as he shipped
the steering-sweep in its crutch astern, and then set a tiny
lug sail on a broomstick-like mast.

The skipper's order was obeyed promptly enough, no
questions being asked anent the colour of His Satanic
Majesty's nutting-bag ; and the scrap of canvas bellied to
the slight, but nevertheless biting, nor'-easterly breeze.

Dark though it was, my companion navigated the nar-
row and difficult channel with unerring skill, and with-
out once touching ground. True, the wind was almost
dead astern, while the punt drew less than three inches of
water. Even so, had I, or any one but a native, been at
the helm we should probably have run aground about
once per minute.

SOLD ! ' 205

While slowly making the passage of The Gut, the
trumpeting of pink-footed geese greeted our ears. A
herd of those wariest of wary fowl were flighting from
their nocturnal haunts on the sand-bar to the meal-
marshes and inland stubbles, deeming it wise to travel
under cover of darkness.

" Drat they noisy ode varmints o' geeze ! " growled
Tundridge, adding, " They kick up very nigh as much
row as a pack o' vox'ounds, but nary pull can a big-
gunner get into 'em. They alius favours the shore-
poppers, and be d d to 'em ! "

Now, as to whether honest Tom's vituperation was
hurled at the heads of the " pink-foots," or at the local
shore-shooters, whom he somewhat slightingly desig-
nated " shore-poppers," I know not. One thing is very
certain, however — by far the greater number of grey
geese which are shot on the coast during the autumn
and winter months fall to the guns of the light-shooters.

The mouth of Mullet Creek was entered just as the
first grey tokens of dawn began to gather on the eastern
horizon. The heavens brightened perceptibly each
minute of time. The broad belt of light cast by the pile
lighthouse athwart the tide waxed pale and dim : then it
disappeared suddenly, and as though by magic, for the
boom of a heavy cannon rolling over the foam-flecked
waters heralded the advent of the sunrise. It was time
to lower the sail and take to the setting-stick.

The flood tide was rapidly filling the creek, which
from shore to shore was in parts nearly a mile in breadth,
either side being fringed by ooze banks and saltings, be-
yond which lay the fresh marshes. With the light
improving, my companion navigated a high ridge or bank

206 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

of sludge, upon which flourished great quantities of
Zostera marina, succulent, grass-like, marine herbage,
upon which the surface-feeding ducks and geese delight
to feed.

"Do 'ee hear they fowl a-talkin', maister ? I doubt
not there be a tidy lot on the ridge, so keep a bright
look-out," whispered Tundridge as he dexterously and
silently propelled the low-sided punt through the shallow
water, keeping well under the shelter afforded by the
high banks of saltwort-clothed mud that extended along
the left-hand shore of the river.

Foot by foot, and fathom by fathom, crept the low,
grey gunning-punt toward the still invisible fowl, until
one could distinctly hear the cackling of mallard in
chorus with the shrill, whistling call of widgeon. It
requires a keen and ardent big-gunner to imagine the in-
tense excitement which takes possession of the man
behind the swivel-gun, when, after a long and trying
" set " to a company of fowl, he finds himself gradually
but surely approaching within range of his quarry. I tell
you, sirs, that the blood simply raced through my veins
on that cold Christmas morning as we drew almost
within shot of the high bank of slob, behind which I
guessed a goodly number of mixed fowl were gathered.
I dared scarcely to breathe, or move an eyelid even, and,
oh ! how my tingling, frost-numbed fingers itched to
tug at the trigger-string and send twenty ounces of lead
hurtling into the thick of the still hidden feathered ranks.
Then I caught a glimpse of the birds over the ridge —
mallard, widgeon, and a few teal — three hundred head, all
told, at least ; but, alas ! all still out of range of even the
big two-inch M.L. gun.

SOLD ! ' 207

" Don't pull till I tell 'ee, and then take 'em as they
rise," came the almost inaudible and quite unnecessary
order from Tom.

Hardly were the words spoken — or, rather, whispered
— when, to my utter surprise and unspeakable disgust,
a bright flash spurted out from a small muddy gully
which ran into the creek at a point about 150 yards above
us. The flash was answered by the deep report of a
stanchion-gun, which awakened the slumbering echoes
of the marshes and went booming across the vast ex-
panse of tide and mud and salting. With a great to-do
the fowl rose in a cloud and headed towards the open
estuary, but well out of range of our heavy gun even. A
march had been stolen upon us. For several moments,
and while the unknown gunner was busy with his
" cripple-stopper," Tundridge and I stared blankly and
sadly at each other.

" Sold — or call me a dago ! And by a blazin' furriner,
too ! " ejaculated Tundridge, as he shipped the sculls
and then pulled slowly and silently down creek.

SPORT AND TRAVEL IN THE HIMALAYAS

[Extracts from letters written by an Indian o fleer while

travelling in company with his wife {N ) in search

of sport amongst the Himalaya Mountains.]

Barakat Tehvi, Gavhwal,

India May 13th, igob.

Just a line to let you know that N and myself are

quite fit. No letters since leaving Missowi on the 8th.
I will give this to the first man I meet going towards
Missowi. We are still marching some ten or eleven
miles each day, and are going to the wild-sheep (baral)
ground up in the snows. We are following the valley of
the Bargrothi River along the great pilgrim route. The
Ganges has two sources, one at Zai muckh (in the cow's
mouth) in the Gamgotoi glacier, whence rises the Bag-
hirathi River, and one at Badrinath in another glacier,
whence rises the Anandana River We are making for
the former glacier, and upon arriving there will be at
an altitude of 14,700 feet.

We are now 7000 feet high, but in a valley, and the

heat in the sun is terrific. The flies are simply awful.

As regards shooting, so far we have had none. During

the first ten days we could only just drag out our ten

miles. The scenery is magnificent. We are roughing

it, as each coolie will only carry a load of 50 lb. We

started out with twenty coolies and a shikari. We
208

SPORT AND TRAVEL IN HIMALAYAS 209

intended to make this place, where there is a little hut,
a base for supplies. If we are so fortunate as to get a
couple of good wild sheep we shall descend to about
10,000 feet and try for thar (one of the largest species
of the wild goats of India). Last Tuesday (May 8th)
we walked to camp at Phedi (between six and seven
miles), arriving just before 5 p.m., turned in at 8.15,
and experienced the usual thunderstorm and rain during
the night. The higher one ascends the more severe are
these storms. Wednesday (May gth) started away at
7.30 a.m., bagged a brace of black partridges on the way,
and reached camp at Balgaon (ten miles). The tent was
scarcely up when another terrific thunderstorm accom-
panied by torrents of rain began, followed by hail. On
Thursday (May loth) we trudged over ten miles to Tuhlari,
and being at once treated to a heavy thunderstorm which

nearly wrenched the tent up; in fact, N and self

hung on the poles for nearly an hour. On Friday (May
nth) walked to Dharrassa, striking the Baghirathi River
and valley and the pilgrims' route before getting to
Dharrassa, where there is another apology for a bungalow.
Yesterday (May 12th) started at dawn to avoid the terrible
heat which rages between 12 and 3 o'clock, arriving at
the next halting-place, Danda, at 11 o'clock a.m. On
the way we saw some gurral (the small wild goat) which
are found up to an altitude of 8000 feet, and swarm
in the Himalayas, but are never to be seen except at

dawn and dusk. N and self had a couple of shots

apiece at the gurral, but as we could never see them
(not being acquainted with their appearance) until they
were galloping up and down the precipices some hundreds
of feet above or below us, we missed. It was like shooting

210 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

rabbits with a rifle at two hundred yards. In the evening

we visited a hill frequented by gurral, and both N

and myself missed a couple of shots apiece at disappearing
gurral. I next had a shot at a rocketing cheer (one of
the larger species of pheasants), but failed to bag him,
possibly owing to the small-sized shot I was using, for
he was hit. A little later I met with a khakar (very
small deer of about the size of a mastiff, found at 8000
feet), which I killed. Neither gurral nor khakar are
easily distinguishable as to sex at sight, the female of
the former carrying small horns. It was meat for the
larder of which we were badly in need. On the return
journey to camp I shot a brace of pheasants flying down
the khad (steep slope), right and left, but received a
" back-hander " a little later in missing a black partridge.
That morning we marched eleven miles, a wearying
trudge. The only game we saw consisted of two black
partridges, one of which I bagged.

Jangla Bungalow,
Tehri, Gharwal
May i8ih, 1906.

We are still on the march. At present we are some
11,000 feet up. To-morrow we reach Gangotsa, which
you will find marked on any decent-sized map of India.
The scenery is lovely, but we are still in the valley, and
the cold is therefore not very intense yet. The birches,
sycamores, currants, violets, strawberries, and so forth
are bursting into flower or leaf. These and the deodars
clothe the hills up to some 2000 feet above us, and then
come the everlasting snows.

The Baghirathi (Ganges) flows between sheer cliffs

SPORT AND TRAVEL IN HIMALAYAS 211

200 feet below my feet. I am writing this in a little
bungalow, or rather hut, made of rough-hewn pine planks.

Both N and myself are very fit, but walking ten

miles — such walking, too — knocks one up for the rest of
the day. On pilgrims' track, which we are still following,
there is practically nothing to shoot.

On Monday we walked to our camp at Manero. On
the way the shikari sprained one of his great toes, which
placed him hors de combat. Soon after getting our tent
up we were visited by a thunderstorm of high order and
sheets of heavy rain, which lasted some four hours. On
Tuesday marched to Butwari, where there is another
cowshed of a bungalow. On the way thither I shot a
pigeon, which fell over a precipice into the river. As
usual, a storm came up in the afternoon. It raged furi-
ously half the night. On Wednesday walked into Dangel
(eleven miles), meeting the Maharajah of Kathiawar
returning from his pilgrimage. On the way I shot a
black partridge and a pigeon, which were useful, as the
larder was bare of fresh meat. In the evening both

N and self had shots at a couple of running gurral,

but missed.

Yesterday (Thursday) tramped into Ithala, where there
is another bungalow of the cowshed style of architecture.
It was a terrible climb, and just as we were within two
miles of Ithala the rain came down in torrents, and it was

bitterly cold. Both N and myself were soaked to

the skin, and being in our hot-weather clothes, we sat
shivering over a smoky fire until the coolies came in
with the paraphernalia a couple of hours later, when
we were able to get into winter clothing. Yesterday's
storm was a quiet one \i. e., unaccompanied by thunder

212 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

and lightning], and I understand it is usually so on these
higher levels. Next day arrived at next camp at i p.m.

Gangotri, leri State,

Garhwal, N.P.,
May 2gth, igo6.

Back in the pilgrim route, so may have an opportunity
of sending this in to a P.O. We are in splendid health.
Have heard no news of outside world since leaving
Missowi. A week last Saturday we marched in here
from Inugla. This is the Hindus' sacred source of the
Ganges, although the river really rises at Ganmukh,
eighteen miles higher up in the mountains. There being
no path there, however, the pilgrims can proceed no
farther along the river.

We spent the greater part of the day arranging our
stores, and only then walked several days up the gorge
en route to Ganmukh, taking ten days' supplies. The
way was very bad, and we were treated to a bitterly

cold downpour of rain and snow. N very poorly

with mountain sickness. I shot some chukar, or hill
partridge. The snow must have driven the baral down,
as just before sunset one evening a little lot of four,
including two rams, were seen on a slope close to the
tent, or rather they appeared to be close to camp, but
in reality were far out of range. We started to stalk
them, and it was a race against dusk up the mountain

side. Being a little ahead of N , I took the shot,

but was so pumped that I could scarcely stand, and missed
one of the rams twice, but rolled him over the third
shot, running. I then turned my attention to the second
ram, and hit him slightly, but he managed to make his

SPORT AND TRAVEL IN HIMALAYAS 213

escape up the precipice. The one I killed was the finer
ram of the pair, with 21 in. horns, beautifully curved.

Next day walked into Ganmukh and camped at foot
of glacier 13,000 feet. Here all vegetation, with excep-
tion of a few stunted bushes, ceased. Here there were
magnificent peaks, 21,000 feet to 23,600 feet high. One
of the coolies unfortunately dropped our camera on the
way back from Ganmukh, and all our photos were spoiled.
We put up five baral, all rams, and had several long

shots at them. N hit a baral on our way, but it

got away into the snows. These sheep come do\vn
morning and evening to graze on the young grass. Some-
times, however, when the weather is unseasonably cold,
they remain below the snow-level day and night In

the evening we both climbed upwards, and N obtained

several shots at sheep, without result, however, as the
ranges were in every case very long, and distance in the
hills is deceptive. We saw also some snowcock, the only
bird beyond crows and kites that lives at this height.
We did not fire at the " cock," being fearful of disturbing
the baral.

During the journey to Ganmukh and back we came
across many traces of musk-deer, red-bear, and snow-
leopard, but never obtained a sight or shot at either of
them. Remained at Ganmukh until Sunday, when we
marched to Camp H, where, as described elsewhere, I
shot the ram on Monday week last. At dawn on Wednes-
day morning, as we were getting up, the shikari came
to the tent and said baral were close by. Gulping down
a cup of tea and leaving our porridge, we went out, to

see the sheep half-way up the slope. N deeming it

unwise to climb before taking food, I left her behind a

214 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

big boulder and went on, but upon arriving at the summit
I was unable to see the first lot. There were some others
farther along, however, and the shikari and I went after
them. It was an awful climb, and in the end I was so
done that I had to lie down under a precipice from sheer
exhaustion, and while there a ram came and looked over
the top, and I dropped him. The kill necessitated our
climbing the precipice, which occupied a lot of time.
On the return journey to camp I stalked another herd,
and killed the best ram in it, but both animals shot were
small, and I was not a little disappointed. Saw another
lot towards evening. After a long stalk I managed the
biggest ram of a herd of ten, only a moderate head,
however.

On Thursday morning we again started out at dawn,
and had got well into the high jagged rocks when we
came upon a fine ram with one ewe feeding. It was not
sufficiently light for me to see properly, although the sheep

were not more than lOO yards off. N therefore took

the shot, and missed. As they went away I could only
see them indistinctly, but I fired, and shot the ewe, much
to my disgust. Just then a ram jumped up from amongst

the rocks on our left, and N dropped him — a very

nice animal. In the evening I went for a climb alone;
sighted a large ram coming down the precipice opposite
me, and I sat down and waited. He was in no hurry,
however, and was very soon joined by a smaller ram
and four ewes. After waiting nearly an hour I took
a shot at him across the valley, but, misjudging distance,
missed him clean. Friday morning I set out with the
shikari on another stiff climb while it was still dusk. We
came across a flock of baral with a good ram. They were

SPORT AND TRAVEL IN HIMALAYAS 215

in the open, however, and I could not get within 300 yards
of them, and in the uncertain hght, with my defective
sight, I knew I could not kill at that range. I climbed
higher, and presently got within 150 yards of a flock,
amongst them a very fine ram. He stood on a crest,
and when I fired disappeared in a cloud of dust, and I
felt sure he was mine. The shikari and self searched
everywhere, but never found a trace of him. Further on
I took a shot across a valley at another good ram, missed
him first barrel, and only managed to break a leg at
second attempt. I fired again to try and stop him when,
as luck had it, a young ram stepped between him and
myself, and fell to my bullet, stone dead.

On Saturday we went out early, and succeeded in

stalking a herd, N getting one ram, and I another,

but neither carried very good heads. We came upon
another herd later, and I crept up on all fours to within
twenty yards of it, but as there was not a shootable
head, I did not fire. We then descended the mountain
to have our 11 o'clock meal, and while discussing it, saw
a very nice ram right across the glacier on the other
range. It threatened to snow, however, and as the
glacier would have taken some five hours to cross and
recross, we very reluctantly gave up all thought of
stalking the ram, and spent the remainder of the day
packing our belongings. On Sunday, at dawn, we
marched back to Camp II, over the top of a down-
like hill and precipitous rocks. Just as we clambered
to the summit we saw a herd of baral come down the

precipice to feed. N , fearing the dangerous-looking

stalk over the brink, endeavoured to get within range
of the sheep by crawling along the summit, while I went

216 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

down, and, taking advantage of every bit of cover, suc-
ceeded in getting to within 150 yards of the herd. I then
dropped the biggest ram (21 in. and 27I in. horns), and
quickly covering a second, broke a leg. Up and up he
went until I bowled him over at 300 yards, and the next
instant he was hurtling down a 500 feet precipice. For a
moment he lodged on a spur, and then dropped again
some 300 feet. I expected to find precious little of him
left, but although all four legs were broken and lower
jaw also, his horns, which measured 18 in., were intact.
An old ram, with horns very worn down.

On Monday we marched to Camp I. We had to cross
the river, and found that the two logs which did duty
for a bridge had been washed away. We were therefore
compelled to cross a rough and narrow pine log resting
on two pieces of ice. The river was swollen with melted
snow, and a false step meant certain death : a most
unpleasant experience on a bitterly cold morning. Fur-
ther along we came across a herd of baral, and hit one
at 350 yards, but he got away before the shikari got
up to him, although the native stuck manfully to the
trail for three hours.

This morning (Tuesday) we met with no incident
worthy the telling, and are now on our way to the thar
(big goat) ground. I enclose some edelweiss gathered by
N .

Saturday (June 2nd). Must close my letter, as a man
goes towards Missowi to-day.

THE OGRE OF THE POOL AND SANDY

" The missus do hanker after a rabbit-pie. I wish
ye'd come along some evenin' and shoot a couple or so,
sir. Ye might have a try to catch the great old trout
in Boulder Pool same time. Though I'd lay a soverin'
to a hayseed he wouldn't give ye a touch even," said
Farmer Perry as we sat discussing a matutinal horn of
" October " in the worthy yeoman's quaintly pictur-
esque homestead under the Kentish hills.

" But there must be plenty of young ones suckling,"
was my objection to the farmer's suggestion. It does
not seem " cricket " to shoot rabbits in June, despite
that delightfully unsportsmanlike medley of injustice, the
Ground Game Act, which permits — nay, encourages—
the killing of rabbits and hares all the year round, in
season and out of season. But Farmer Perry so im-
pressed upon me the fact that his better-half was " wholly
bent upon havin' a rabbit-pie " that a compromise was
arrived at, namely, I was to shoot only such rabbits as
were three-parts grown with a -250 rifle.

The bunnies inhabited a steep, sandy bank and disused
sandpit on the outskirts of a small covert, while a modest
but rapid stream, which, like the brook immortalised
by Tennyson, harbours " here and there a lusty
trout," flanked the warren and ran, twisting, chattering
and babbling over pebbles and boulders, stickles and
deeps, to join its mother-river, the Medway. The banks
of the stream were fringed with belts of sallow and

218 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

somewhat sparse growth, but sufficient to afford me ample
cover for my purpose.

As before stated, the River B (it is Httle more

than a brook) boasts a few goodly trout, and for years
past a certain speckled giant of cannibalistic habits and
ferocious aspect, who throughout this story will be
known as " The Ogre of the Pool," had reigned supreme
in Boulder Pool, a miniature bay formed by the widen-
ing out of the stream, and situated within " pea-rifle "
range of the rabbit-warren. It was in this spot, amidst
the sallows, that I elected to take up my stand, and,
having stepped the distance to the nearest set of bur-
rows, and found the same to be, approximately, 85
yards, I adjusted the back-sight of my little weapon for
that range. Then, having got a pipe under way, I pro-
ceeded to put together the light spinning rod which
formed part of my paraphernalia, and to rig up a single-
hook paternoster, for, despite Farmer Perry's declara-
tion to the effect that " The Ogre of the Pool " was more
crafty and cunning than a whole colony of the vulpine
race, and had been angled for with every kind and pattern
of lure invented by man and youth for years past, I
determined to enter the lists against the speckled monster
which had so long remained invulnerable against the
attacks of Waltonian legions. The question of bait and
tackle, however, was somewhat difficult to answer. One
might as well, and with an almost equal degree of un-
success, cast one's hat upon the pool as an artificial fly.
" The Ogre " had lived so long and waxed so fat upon
juvenile members of his own and divers species of the
finny tribe, not to mention other innocent and helpless
animal and insect life, carried ruthlessly down to his

OGRE OF THE POOL AND SANDY 219

dark, deep, rocky fastness by the swift current, that it
was more than doubtful if he would condescend to rise
to a fat, freshly hatched ma^'^fiy even, and less to a
bundle of feathers and barbed steel. Brandlings and
lobworms, irresistible " wobblers " and " spinners,"
Devon minnows, and sundry other lures, both natural and
artificial, were reviewed in their order, and passed over
as useless for the capture of " The Ogre of the Pool."

Generations of bucolic anglers had proffered the first-
named juicy morsels, together withs such dainties as
gentles, wasp-grubs, paste, and cheese, to " The Ogre."
The stream was not only too narrow, but also too ser-
pentine to permit of spinning, and I, therefore, deter-
mined— although with but small hope of success — to
try if paternostering with a lively minnow would not
do the trick. By the time I had got my bait out, the
sun was rapidly sinking towards the wooded summits
of the neighbouring hills, and the timber-trees cast long
shadows athwart the lush, daisy-spangled meadows,
throHgh which the little river turned and twisted like
a silver riband upon a robe of emerald velvet.

Several rabbits now began to appear outside the honey-
comb of burrows, but not one of the size I required was
to be seen within range of my pygmean rifle. From
my stand amongst the sallows I was able to watch every
movement amongst the bunnies, and also to handle my
rod without fear of being sighted by " The Ogre of
the Pool." Suddenly a well-grown young rabbit popped
out of a burrow and commenced nibbling at the clover,
offering me a very pretty broadside shot. Notwith-
standing the foliage of the sallows amongst which I
was seated on an old shooting seat, I had no difficulty

220 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

in getting a perfectly clear sight at the rabbit. Draw-
ing, as I imagined, a beautiful " bead " just behind the
shoulder, I pressed the trigger, quite expecting to see
the bunny topple over instanter. Nothing of the kind
occurred, however, for I distinctly saw the tiny pro-
jectile strike the ground a good three inches wide of the
astonished rabbit's nose, and with a single bound he
disappeared into a convenient bolt-hole. Now, right
pleased should I have been could I have laid that rifle
down and roundly anathematised it as a crooked-bar-
relled, obsolete gas-pipe. But this was impossible, for
the little Churchill -250 was a beautiful specimen of
the gunmaker's craft, and accurate to a hair's-breadth
up to the range it was sighted for. No ; it was not the
fault of the rifle, but of the man behind it. Well, better
luck next shot !

Slight though the report of the rifle was, it proved
sufficient to cause a general stampede among the rabbits,
and by the time I had reloaded there was not even a
solitary " cotton-tail " to be seen above ground. I
turned m}' attention to the rod, and very gently cast
the minnow — which, by the way, appeared to have taken
a fresh lease of life since vacating the bait-can for the
rapid stream — into the swirl of a large submerged boulder.
In almost less time than it takes to tell the fact, a sharp
and unmistakable tug at the slack line I held between
forefinger and thumb betokened a bite of some kind.
" * The Ogre of the Pool ' \ " was my ejaculation to a
matronly-looking shorthorn, who for some little time
had been contemplating my movements from the opposite
bank with a kind of pitying expression in her great
black eyes. Springing to my feet I struck, and away

OGRE OF THE POOL AND SANDY 221

went the fish across the pool to the merry screech of the
reel. The rush, though fierce, was short, and with a
muttered, " He's sulking on the bottom," I essayed to
put the fish into a more amiable frame of mind by gently
tapping the butt. The captive ignored all such blan-
dishments for some little time, but at length, giving way
to the gentle strain put upon him, he came, lamb-like,
over to my side of the stream and went into the landing-
net. Alas ! it was not " The Ogre of the Pool," but a
plebeian chub of between three and four pounds weight,
which had taken the bait so far into its maw that it was
useless returning the fish to the stream. Hauling up
the bait-can from the cool and limpid depths of the
brook, I selected a second minnow and cast it into the
pool, thereby rendering myself, I presume, liable to dual
prosecution and heavy fine under the grandmotherly
Protection of Animals Act (1911).

Then I again turned my attention to the rabbits.
Looking towards their habitat, I saw no fewer than five
sitting well within the range of the '250, amongst them
the little chap which I had missed at my first attempt,
and which, from being several shades lighter in colour
than his brethren, was easily recognised. Three of the
five bunnies in question were apparently full-grown ;
one was quite a baby. I therefore had no option but
to try my luck a second time with my friend " Sandy."
He offered by no means so easy a mark as before ;
indeed, at times only the tips of his lugs were visible above
the tops of the clover. A sudden and unexpected jump
on the part of " Sandy " landed him on a patch of ground
which was well-nigh devoid of herbage. Thus did he
once more offer to me a broadside shot such as the veriest

222 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

duffer ought not to have muffed. Raising my rifle to my
shoulder I took careful aim at the small yellow mark,
and pulled. " Snap ! Ping ! — Damn ! " A tiny cloud
of grey dust spurts up from under " Sandy's " snowy
belly, while " Sandy," more scared than hurt, takes a
header into a friendly burrow, and the rest of the bunny
family very promptly follow his lead. I do not trouble
to reload, knowing full well that neither " Sandy " nor
any of " Sandy's " numerous relations will again venture
above ground until the light, which is already on the
wane, becomes too bad for me to shoot with any degree
of certainty.

" But surely that was a tug at the bait ? " Yes,
begad ! And it is " The Ogre of the Pool " this time,
or I'm very much mistaken. Ah ! he comes to the
surface as though about to seek freedom by taking a
mighty leap, and for a moment of time I catch a glimpse
of his giant proportions. Then, with a wild rush, he
runs up stream, and, to my infinite satisfaction, wide
of the jagged boulder. Very quickly did " The Ogre "
reel out twenty yards or so of line, leaving a swirl behind
him like the wash of a miniature torpedo craft. Then
he turned, put his helm hard to starboard, and rounded
that infernal boulder, and — bade me " Good-bye ! "
Sadly I bunched together my paraphernalia and started
on the homeward journey along the river bank through
the rapidly gathering darkness. True, I might have
taken a much shorter way across the meadows, but that
footpath led past Farmer Perry's homestead, and I knew
full well the worthy yeoman would be watching for my
advent, and, incidentally, for the rabbits for the much-
desired pie.

ROOKS AND ROOK-SHOOTING

The noisy cawing of the rooks in March as they set to
work repairing the great twig-nests, which, despite their
wonderful construction, the fierce winter storms have
rendered untenable as a nursery for the sable nestlings,
is a sure indication of the approach of spring. But the
nest once more repaired and made weather-proof, there
is but little fear that either the green-blue olive-spotted
eggs or the young ones will come to any harm; for,
fearfully though the gale may rock the twig-built cradles
placed amongst the very topmost branches of the grove
of ancient timber trees which forms the site of the rookery,
hardly a twig will be displaced.

Notwithstanding all that may be said to the contrary,
notwithstanding Corviis fmgilegus may do a great deal
of good to the land in the way of destroying a multitude
of grubs and insects noxious to the husbandman, he is a
very great pest to the agriculturist, arboriculturist, and
game preserver. He roots up grass and young corn,
and plays havoc with growing crops generally; he
breaks up the tender twigs of trees with his powerful
beak with as much ease as a strong man will divide a
match, while the most tolerant of game rearers even will
assuredly tell you that as an egg thief and poacher of
helpless pheasant and partridge chicks the rook is bad
to beat. It is therefore absolutely essential that annual
raids should be organised against large rookeries through-
223

224 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

out the country to keep the sable-feathered legions
within bounds, and such raids can only be successfully
carried out during early spring, when the " branchers,"
though, generally speaking, well able to use their wings,
are still fed by the parent-birds. A week or so later one
might almost as well walk down to the rookery armed
with a broomstick as with a gun or rifle. Master Rook,
when able to forage in the neighbouring fields and fend
for himself, very soon acquires the sagacity of his pro-
genitors, and what creature, feathered or furred, is
quicker in sighting a man with a gun than an ancient
and cunning old rook ? His cousins, the carrion and
hoodie crow might, perchance, be able to give him a
point or two in this subject, but I " hae ma doots."

Cunning and suspicious though it be, the rook, unHke
its near relative, the crow, is essentially a sociable bird, and
will even nest in the centre of a large town or city if there
be suitable trees available. But, as in the case of most
species of birds which congregate in large numbers,
very keen-sighted sentinels watch closely from the lofty
positions in the highest tree-tops everything that occurs
down below on Mother Earth.

It would be hard to find amongst the many feathered
races a more devoted consort or more thoughtful parent
than the rook. He feeds his mate assiduously while
she sits on her clutch of from three to five eggs. He even
assists her in the task of incubation, and when the young
birds hatch off, both parents are kept pretty busy,
from break of day until sundown, supplying their ever-
hungry offspring with grubs, etc., and the small pebbles
which are so essential to all species of birds that reduce
their food by means of the gizzard.

ROOKS AND ROOK-SHOOTING 225

And now, having touched upon the merits and de-
merits of the rook, let us pass on to the Manor Woods.
That incessant chorus of hoarse and angry cawing emanat-
ing from the cloud of black spots gyrating and tumbling
high over the tops of the giant timber trees is sufficient
token that the inhabitants of the rookery have already
sighted the unusually large company of men and boys
— the former mostly armed with a shot-gun or small-
bore rifle, while the latter carry the cartridge-bags,
innocent-looking ash plants and blackthorn sticks culled
from hedgerows and woodlands — who on this quiet,
peaceful spring evening approach their sanctuary in
laughing knots of twos and threes. Long enough before
the first shot is fired, the majority of the old birds have
sought the safe harbourage afforded by a neighbouring
covert. True, a few of the hens, anxious regarding the
fate of their respective families, remain in the vicinity
of the nests until the commencement of shooting. Never-
theless, upon the slain being counted, a precious small
percentage of the same are found to be in mature plumage.

The rookery, which is one of the largest in the county,
is reputed to have been in existence well over a century,
and this evening thirteen guns, including the squire,
the sporting rector and his equally sporting curate, the
local medico, the squire's agent, several yeomen, tenant
farmers, and myself, are to take toll of the dusky, squark-
ing inhabitants thereof; while a number of fustian-clad
yokels have been recruited from the gardens, stables,
and cow-byres to act as beaters, or rather rook-scarers.

The guns are now stationed at different points under
the great elms; the rustics whoop and j^ell and thrash
the gnarled trunks of the trees with their ash wands;
Q

226 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

the rooks caw and scold incessantly, until a veritable
pandemonium ensues. The sharp snap of " nitro " is
replied to by the heavier and duller report of the good
old-fashioned black powder, to which several of the
worthy farmers present still swear as the most reliable
explosive under the sun, and ever and anon the " crack "
of a " pea-rifle " is heard above the yelling, cawing, and
continuous " burning " of gunpowder, while a perfect
shower of black forms fall to earth from high up amongst
the topmost twigs of the timber trees, rebounding from
bough to bough in their descent, like so many india-
rubber balls. Here and there a dead bird may be seen
suspended by one leg, its talons having closed upon a
small branch in the death-throes, while the " nesters "
and " branchers " which are either too scared or too
weak to fly, squark vociferously in their wind-rocked
twig nurseries and upon the swaying boughs. At length
all those of the stronger birds which were fortunate
enough to escape the contents of the 12-, 16-, and 20-
bores during the earlier stages of the shooting have
flown to quieter and safer groves, and, as no sportsman
worthy of the name would dream of potting off the
" branchers " with a scatter-gun, the " rifle brigade "
commence picking off the " tallest " and most difficult
of the black dots, moving amidst the deHcate green
foliage high overhead.

Excellent practice is this, for, although a well-made
rook-rifle is true " to a hair " up to the range it is sighted
for, a very significant branch is sufficient to turn one
of the tiny projectiles, which these beautiful little weapons
throw, out of the true alignment.

Three of the party, including the curate, proved

ROOKS AND ROOK-SHOOTING 227

themselves to be rattling good rifle-shots, and the rooks
in the big woods being sufhciently thinned out, a move
is made towards what is locally known as Gallows Hill
Copse, owing to the fact that a gallows tree used, in
years gone by, to stand on the hill under which the copse
nestles.

The rookery here, which might be described as an off-
shoot or suburb of the main rookery, is comparatively
new, and boasts not one-eighth of the feathered popula-
tion of the older colony. Nevertheless, the shooting
is very much more difficult, for the tall beech and
elm trees are more densely grouped than is the case in
the big covert, and some really sporting shots are obtained
at birds flying high between the intertwined branches.

The evening's shooting is now over, the henchmen
gather and tie into bunches the " bag," while the guns
troop up to the picturesque old Manor-house to refresh
the inner man.

SHOOTING UNDER A KITE

Having upon more occasions than one shot EngHsh
partridges under a hawk-kite late in the season or when
the birds had become too wild to walk up, we determined
to include a kite amongst our sporting equipment during
a recent visit to South Africa. For the enlightenment
of those of the readers who are unacquainted with the
hawk-kite and the methods of flying it over game, it
may be as well, perhaps, to give a short description of
the invention.

As, of course, every sportsman is aware, all birds, and
not a few of the smaller species of deer and antelopes,
have a mortal fear of any winged creature that bears
the slightest resemblance to a hawk or eagle, and will
lie like so many stones while the feathered marauder
remains in the neighbourhood, crouching close to the
ground and with one eye turned upwards (all birds
and many animals have to turn one side of their heads
upwards when gazing at an object passing in mid-air).

The hawk-kite is made in either waterproof silk or a
very strong kind of twill fashioned and coloured to repre-
sent a large peregrine-falcon. When flown in a good breeze
of wind the kite bears a very striking resemblance
to the bird it is supposed to represent, the tips of the
wings being loose and the wings themselves placed at
such an angle to the body of the kite as to lend the whole
228

SHOOTING UNDER A KITE 229

contrivance a realistic appearance of a falcon hovering over
its quarry preparatory to making a " stoop." The price
of a hawk-kite in silk is £i is., in twill 15s., and it may be
obtained through any London or provincial gunmaker.

And now for a brief description of a morning's sport
on the veld under an artificial peregrine-falcon.

It was not until we had sojourned for several months
in the neighbourhood of Maritzburg that we remembered
one of the kites in question was packed away amongst
a heterogeneous collection of fishing-tackle and other
odds and ends. The district in which we happened to
be staying was much overshot, and what little game
remained was just about as wild as that which will be
found on an English partridge manor in mid-December.
In other words, one could seldom get within shot of fran-
colin, korhaan, or quail on the veld, or of the duck,
teal, and other kinds of wildfowl that inhabited the several
pans of water in the neighbourhood. There was too
little cover of any sort to shelter guns and make driving
practicable, with the exception of here and there a boun-
dary beacon placed at wide intervals, and although we
erected several artificial butts, or rather blinds, with
sage-bushed hurdles, and essayed to drive the birds over
them, the game was not worth the proverbial candle,
for however straight the driven birds might fly towards
the hidden guns to start with, they almost invariably
turned off long enough before they were within range,
until our grouse -driving scheme was voted a fraud and
a delusion by our Natalian friends and fellow gunners.

One day, however, when we were simply " wasting " for
something more worthy to shoot at than clay birds, of
which we must have " killed " several hundred " brace "

230 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

during our short visit to Maritzburg, we bethought us
of our silken-peregrine which had not been " unhooded "
since it passed through the hands of the astonished
customs officers who overhauled the " predaceous " bird
on its arrival at Durban some three months before.

Now we had frequently noticed the great disquiet and
fear evinced by the feathered game and wildfowl of the
veld at the appearance of a chanting-goshawk or some
other bird of prey into their sanctuary. Indeed, the only
decent bag of greywing francolin and duck had been
made while one of the first-mentioned species of hawks
was quartering the veld in search of a hare or bird from
which to make its midday meal. The francolin lay so
close in the long, rough veld cover that they allowed us
to tread on them almost before condescending to rise,
while the duck, teal and coot scuttled into the harbourage
afforded them in the high dense reeds, nor did they venture
forth until their mortal enemy had flown to other hunting
grounds further aveld. But, as usual, we are digressing
and must " hark forrard " to the gist of our sketch.

Bearing in mind the utter failure of our " butts," it
was not without a feeling of uncertainty that we invited
three Colonial friends to shoot under the kite, while we
ourselves worked the kite, for although there is no great
skill required on the part of the kite-flyer, we — being
anxious to show our Colonial cousins how the trick should
be done — did not care to trust the string to the clumsy
fingers of Brer Kafir. As luck had it there happened
to be a nice " slant " of wind blowing from a quarter
that enabled us to walk in line with the guns and to man-
oeuvre the kite well ahead and over the best of the ground
we had elected to shoot. For the purpose of steadying

SHOOTING UNDER A KITE 231

the " hawk " when in " flight " a number of small " jelly-
bags " are suspended from the tail thereof, in the same
manner as the paper tail of the old-fashioned type of
kite we were wont to fly in our boyhood days. In a high
wind it is advisable to place a small stone or a few ounces
of shot in the lowermost " jelly-bag," but on the morning
in question it was unnecessary for our " peregrine " to
carry any extra weight.

As the kite soared gracefully sk3^wards a somewhat
ironical cheer went up from our Afrikander friends,
who doubtless imagined that the whole scheme was
instituted for the sole purpose of " pulling their legs."
For some little time nothing wearing fur or feather was
moved, and severe and loud were the volleys of laughter
fired at the head of the unfortunate kite-flyer and his
" verdomed kid's toy." Suddenly five greywing rose

from under the very feet of H , the centre gun,

skimming over the veld at a great pace. Six barrels
rang out in quick succession, but never a bird dropped
or even faltered in its flight, and so utterly amazed and
crestfallen did the worthy sportsmen appear that out of
sheer pity we refrained from piling on the agony too
mountainous by casting back some of their own stock
of sarcasm, or by congratulating them upon the " straight-
ness " of their powder.

The unexpected appearance of the francolin put the
guns very much on the qui vive, and no three men ever
shot much better than did they on that eventful morning.
The francolin, quail, and hares lay like stones under the
kite, until in many cases they were literally kicked up
by the guns, when, as often as not, they would pass clean
over our heads, offering the most difficult shots imaginable.

232 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Misses were very few and far between, however, for, as
before stated, my companions shot brilhantly, and to tell
the honest truth I was not altogether sorry at having
left my old 12-bore behind. Good enough fellows though
my friends were, they had an unhappy knack of " chip-
ping " a man whenever he "muffed" a shot, and more
especially was this the case if that man happened to
be a rooinek. Between eighteen and twenty brace of
francolin, together with several hares and a couple of
thick-knees, were shot before a halt was called for tiffin.
Later in the day the kite was flown over several small
and shallow pans of water, and although the wildfowl
did not appear to pay quite so much heed to the kite
as did the greywings, they sat sufficiently close in the
reed-covert to allow a very fair bag of duck, pink-billed
teal and coot to be made by the guns who waded in
line through the shallow water.

The foregoing brief description of shooting under a
hawk-kite is chiefly given to illustrate the fact that an
artificial falcon may be occasionally flown on the veld
with good effect over birds that have become wild and
difficult to approach from being constantly shot at or
otherwise disturbed. We emphasise the word " occasion-
ally " advisedl}^ for the constant flj'ing use of a hawk-
kite over the same ground will very soon drive the game
therein to seek a fresh habitat. In any case shooting
under a kite cannot by any stretch of imagination be
termed a high form of sport, and where it is possible to
obtain sport by the more orthodox methods of shooting
over dogs, walking up, or driving, the hawk-kite should
not be brought into use.

COOL AND CLEAR

Our little craft — a lo-feet dinghy — is anchored under
Teddington Weir, and so close to the foaming, tumbling
overshoot that the spray flicks one's face from time to
time most refreshingly, while the rush of water creates
a breeze more cooling than that set up by many electric
fans revolving simultaneously.

We heard it whispered in the smoking-room of a certain
riverside hostelry last night that a lusty trout had been
observed feeding in the weir pool, close by where we are
moored, and over the stern of the boat a light spinning-
rod bends to the strain of the current like a wind-swayed
reed. To the silken line and gut-trace is attached a
small silvery dace as a lure for the speckled denizens of
the pool. Not that we are very hopeful of receiving a
visit from his troutship, for despite the fact that we have
fished for a Thames trout many a time and oft, we do
not remember ever to have had a " run " from one
even. Still it is the unexpected which so frequently
happens to the angler, and who can tell but what we may
land — or rather " boat " — the leviathan of the pool on
this glorious June afternoon?

When we were here a few weeks ago, shoals of roach and

dace were to be seen attempting to leap the weir in their

anxiety to run up to suitable spawning beds on the

gravelly shallows at Hampton and elsewhere. The

233

234 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

leaping fish appeared like nothing so much as atoms of
animated silver flitting through a filigree of sunlit spray.
But alas ! the weir proved too great an obstacle for the
little fish to negotiate; the rush of water hurled them
back into the pool below, and never a dace or roach
succeeded in gaining the main river.

Some of the readers may remember the salmon-ladder
on old Molesey Weir by means of which, in years gone by,
the lordly Thames salmon ascended to the " redds "
on Hampton shallows, and other gravelly breeding
grounds. The ancient salmon-ladder disappeared when
the present Weir was built; there is no use for such
appliances in Father Thames nowadays, for every attempt
to re-introduce Salmo salar to our principal river has
proved futile. We often wonder, however, why the
experiment of introducing the Danubian species of
salmon, which need not necessarily run down to the sea
after spawning, has not been tried on a larger scale.

But we are wandering too far up stream. Let us
return to the tidal water at Teddington !

As we watch the nodding point of our rod, the shadow
of a large bird is distortedly reflected on the broken
surface of the water. Looking skyward we observe a
grey heron sailing over the pool on great fan-like wings,
and to our joy the beautiful feathered fish-poacher
settles under the high bank of a private la\vn that runs
down to the further end of the weir. Through a pair
of battered but powerful old field-glasses, which have
served us very faithfully for a number of years, we are
enabled to watch every movement of the heron. Upon
settling under the bank he, for the space of several
minutes, stands motionless and, apparently, asleep, with

COOL AND CLEAR 235

his long snake-like neck buried between his shoulders.
But he is wide awake enough, for suddenly he plunges
his stiletto-hke bill into the shallows to capture a fair-
sized dace. The fish is soon swallowed by the bird, but
it will presently be digorged with others of its kind, to
feed the heron's nestlings which are, no doubt, squawking
vociferously for food amonst the tall timber-trees of
Richmond Park, wherein still exists a heronry of some
importance.

A propos of the heron — or rather of his feet — the old-
fashioned, albeit fallacious, idea that paste, mixed with
the liquor in which the feet of a heron have been stewed,
is an absolutely infallible bait for all kinds of freshwater
fish, is still implicitly believed in by some of the ancient
school of fishermen. In point of fact it was but recently
that an old Thames angler declared most solemnly that
if he could but procure a frank hern's foot he would
assuredly win all the principal " pegged down " fishing
matches that are periodically held by his club during
the coarse-fishing season.

" How do you account for heron paste being such a
killing bait? " we inquired of the old piscator.

" Well," replied he, if so be as ever you've watched
an old frank hern a-catchin' fish you'll have noticed
that he keeps one foot always on the move. The foot
contains a natural oil of some kind which the fish can't
resist, especially roach. Therefore don't it stand to
common sense and fair reasoning that hern paste be just
as killin'." We told the worthy old roach-poler that his
theory should receive all the consideration it deserved,
when we had sufficient leisure to enter into the matter
thoroughly and seriously.

236 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

While watching the movements of the heron a sharp
tug at our trout hne betokens a " run " or " bite " of
some kind and striking smartly we hook our finny and
thrice welcome visitor. A very few moments' play,
however, suffices to tell us that whatever else the fish
may be it is certainly not a trout, for after making one
short rush down the weir pool he allows himself to be
reeled in without showing further fight. Very soon an
ill-conditioned pike of about two pounds weight is drawn
over the landing-net and then returned to its natural
element as expeditiously as possible.

The water all round is clear as crystal, and while gazing
into the limpidness, we notice a cluster of small, eel-hke
creatures wriggling and squirming amongst some huge
boulders lying at the foot of the weir.

It is a small shoal of very late lamperns, and one might
imagine that their heads were glued to the boulders.
Such is not the case, of course; but these queer looking
species of fish possess the faculty of adhering to stones
and other submerged bodies by means of their sucker-
like lips.

Within comparatively recent 3^ears the catching of
lamperns at Teddington Weir in what were called " wheels
(a kind of ell-buck) formed quite an important industry
among the local professional fishermen. The fish were
used as bait by the long-liners of the North Sea and great
numbers were purchased by the Dutch fishermen who
were often to be seen in the streets of old Teddington,
garbed in the quaint and voluminous dress of their
native country.

As many as 20,000 lamperns were frequently taken
during one tide at Teddington, the market price being

COOL AND CLEAR 237

£io per thousand. Good catches of flounders were also
made in the tidal waters of the Upper Thames a few
years ago and many a dish of these small flat-fish freshly
caught from the river and piping hot from the pan,
used one to enjoy at the Angler's Hotel, Teddington,
and the old King's Head, Twickenham, both of which
hostelries were noted for flounders boiled and flounders
fried. No doubt a few of these fish still find their
way up to Teddington from the sea, but we are told by
the local fishermen that since the lock and weir were
erected at Richmond, punt-anglers very seldom take a
dish of flounders.

A kingfisher now settles on the overhanging bough of
a weeping- willow within half a dozen yards of the heron's
pitch. As we study the movements of the brilliantly
plumaged bird through the binoculars he suddenly darts,
like a flash of blue lightning, into the foam-flecked water
running over the shallows.

But unfortunately for the halcyon and his half-fledged
family, who are waiting for his return to the malodorous
retreat (the nest of the kingfisher is mainly composed of
the disgorged remains of small fish, and the scent thereof
is indescribable) which takes the form of a burrow in
the river bank, the attempt proves fishless, and the
gorgeous bird goes back to his point of vantage on the
willow branch.

Another plunge and this time our brilliant little friend
emerges with a tiny fish. He taps his scaly catch twice
or thrice upon a bough and then with a flight as straight
and well-nigh as swift as that of an arrow he passes out
of sight.

A couple of very tame wild ducks next appear on the

238 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

scene and they lose no time in gobbling up sundry pieces
of bread which have been left on the shingly shore of
the pool by some boating party. Then a jolly Httle pied
wagtail puts in an appearance and with flirting tail he
trips daintily along the footboards of the weir searching
every nook and corner for flies and other winged insects,
which form his staple food.

With a great to-do the wild duck leave their banquet
of wheaten bread and flight down stream; and the
wagtail taking their cue flits away to the open fields
bordering the Surrey side of the river. The heron remains
with us a little longer, then he having captured his
complement of fish, sails homeward and is soon lost to
view behind the giant trees of Petersham Park.

It is time that we " reeled in " and put shoreward
also, for the wind grows chill and the sinking of the
great red sun beneath ^^onder clump of tall elms proclaims
the advent of night.

A STOLEN MARCH

" We sighted a wonderful gert pack o' widgeon on the
banks 'smarnin', an' I shall be after 'em well afore sun-up
to-morrow. If so be as ye'd care to come along o' me
you're welcome, maister." Gaffer Gilson, professional
wildfowler and fisherman, having delivered the foregoing
unwonted flow of oratory, called somewhat boisterously
for a " go of rum in water," charged and lighted a very
short and over-ripe-looking clay pipe with a wooden
spill, and seated himself in a highly polished and particu-
larly uncomfortable Windsor chair before a huge driftwood
lire, which blazed and crackled ever so cheerfully on the
wide, open hearth of the old-time wainscoted inn parlour
that forms my headquarters during periodical visits to
my favourite fowling-grounds.

Yes, of course, I would accompany the old big-gunner
on the morrow, for although I had enjoyed some fairly
good shore and flight shooting, never a shot had I fired
from a gunning-punt during the fortnight's sojourn in
the " one boss " little town of H., which stands on the
fringe of a vast expanse of marshes, and overlooks a
certain East Coast estuary, the sanctuary of legions of
wildfowl in the winter months.

I was up betimes next morning, but ere I had finished
my usually early breakfast I heard the clatter of Gilson's
heavy sea-boots on the cobble-stones outside, and a
239

240 MELTON AND HOIMESPUN

minute later he entered the room with the news that
" wind and tide wor jest right for settin' to the fowl
on the banks." He also expressed some little surprise
at finding a keen big-gunner devouring breakfast when
he should have been fully equipped and ready to embark.
I did not keep the old chap waiting long, however, and
taking my eight-bore from a corner of the room, I accom-
panied him down the crooked, cobble-paved streets to
a patch of shingly beach where a number of both double
and single handed gunning-punts were hauled up high
and dry, while a dozen or so antiquated, but nevertheless
serviceable, stanchion-guns reposed on a wooden rack,
exposed to the weather and open to the ravages of the
prowling thief. But neither wind nor weather can
damage these ancient duck-guns, for their barrels are
coated with grey paint, their muzzles plugged against
rain, snow and salt spray, and their locks and breech
parts clothed in waterproof canvas. Anent the pilfering
fraternity — well, old Gilson will tell you that a dishonest
man may not be found in his native village. Let this be
as it may, it would require an enterprising and herculean
thief to bear off one of these great fowling-pieces. The
launching of the punt and loading and rigging of the
stanchion-gun in the bows of the shallow craft did not
occupy very much time, although the work was done by
the feeble light of a much-battered hurricane lamp.

" We be the first gunners afloat 'smarnin', an' they do
say 'tis the y'urly bird as catches the wurrm," chuckled
old Gilson, as he shoved into the narrow winding gully,
which with the rising tide would carry us to the great
banks of sea-wrack-covered ooze, the favourite feeding-
ground of thousands of wildfowl.

A STOLEN MARCH 241

The first grey tokens which herald the approach of day
were beginning to appear on the eastern horizon as we
set out for the open estuary, my companion negotiating
the sinuosities of the gully with his setting-stick in that
skilful manner born of life-long experience, which gives
a professional punt-gunner such an immense advantage
over the average amateur in the pursuit of fowl among
the tortuous waterways that intersect the mud-flats.
But the tide was making rapidly, the gully running
half-bank high, while the outlying banks were well
a-wash. Very soon the whisthng of pinions and the
merry " cackle " of a team of mallard passing overhead
warned us that the flight of the fowl from their nocturnal
feeding-grounds inland had already commenced, and
through the uncertain light we caught a momentary
glimpse of their shadowy forms winging seaward. Then
our ears were treated to the hoarse " trumpeting " of a
herd of pink-footed geese, which at the peep o' day deemed
it wise to leave their favourite haunt on a treacherous
sand-ridge and repair to the meal marshes and uplands.

" Drat they noisy ode varmints o' geeze," growls
Gilson, under his breath; "they kick up as much fuss
as a pack of 'ounds, but nary pull can a big-gunner get
into 'em. They alius favours the shore-poppers, and be
d d to 'em."

Now, as to whether Gilson's vituperation was hurled at
the heads of the " pink-foots " or at the shore-shooters,
whom he somewhat slightingly designates " shore-
poppers," I know not; but one thing is very certain —
by far the greater number of grey geese which are shot
on our coasts during the winter months fall to the gun
of the flight-shooter.

242 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

The heavens brighten perceptibly, and for our sport
all too quickly. The broad belt of light cast by the
pile lighthouse athwart the grey waters of the estuary
waxes pale and sickly, and lights displayed by the fleet
of smacks trawling out on the main flicker as dimly as
glow-worms in a hedgerow on a hazy summer night. But
we are drawing very close to the middle banks, and ever
and anon the far-reaching " wheoh ! " of a widgeon or
the quacking of mallard is borne down to us on the light
but piercingly cold north-easterly breeze, which, as
luck has it, is well-nigh dead ahead, and therefore we
have the satisfaction of knowing that the keen-scented
fowl cannot possibly wind us.

" Do'ee y'ere they ode fowl a-talkin', maister ? I doubt
not there be a tidy lot under the Cockle Bank, so keep a
bright look-out," whispered my companion, as he dex-
terously and silently propelled the low-sided, shallow-
draft gunning craft near and nearer towards the sea-
wrack-covered banks of slob.

Now, the side of the gully nearest the banks was flanked
by a high ridge of sand, locally known as the Cockle Bank,
and by hugging this we were well screened from the quick-
sighted fowl, and would, unless some unforeseen incident
occurred to set them a-wing, be able to approach to well-
nigh within range of the big stanchion-gun under cover
of the ridge. Foot by foot and fathom by fathom crept
the punt towards the still invisible fowl, until one could
distinctly hear the curious slopping kind of noise which
surface-feeding ducks and geese make in tearing up the
succulent grass-like weed which forms their staple food
on the coast. A keen and ardent punt-gunner alone
can imagine the intense excitement which takes possession

A STOLEN MARCH 243

of the wildfowler afloat when, after a long and difficult
set to a company of fowl, he finds himself gradually but
surely approaching within shot of his quarry ; and when
through the uncertain light of early morning I sighted
right ahead an indistinct, but nevertheless unmistakable,
assembly of duck, numbering perhaps three hundred
head, closely packed upon a comparatively small patch of
tide-lapped slob, I tell you that the blood simply raced
through my veins, while I longed to tug at the trigger-
string and send a pound of shot pellets hurtling into
the dense mass of the feathered ranks.

" Don't pull until they rise from the slob," came the
almost inaudible, and quite unnecessary order from the
old gunner. Hardly had the command been given, and
while the birds were still out of range, to my utter surprise
and unspeakable disgust a bright flash spurted out of
a small gut which drained into the main gully at a point
about three hundred yards above us. Then came the
deep report of a punt-gun. The fowl rose in a bunch
and headed towards the open estuary. Then, giving vent

to a mighty d , the old gunner shipped the sculls

and pulled slowly and silently up a salting-fringed creek
in the forlorn hope of picking up a stray duck or curlew
with the shoulder guns.

Half-an-hour later a sprightly young wildfowler came
poling along the creek in a light, single-handed punt,
the floor of which was richly decorated with widgeon,
duck and teal. It was Gilson's youngest offspring,
and roundly did the old man rate him as a " pesky, un-
dutiable son " for having spoilt for us the best chance of
the season.

THE PASSENGER-PIGEON

A WELL-KNOWN American naturalist offers the extra-
ordinary reward of $3000 to any one who captures
ahve or proves the existence of a true wild specimen of
the passenger-pigeon. The reward has not yet been
claimed, despite the fact that a long and strenuous
search by expert ornithologists has been made in every
part of the United States, and it would seem that this
beautiful — and formerly most prolific — species of the
great order ColumbcB has, through indiscriminate and
inveterate slaughter, become as extinct as the great auk
and the dodo.

Yet within comparatively recent years passenger-
pigeons were to be found in countless millions through-
out the North American continent during the seasons of
migration and nidification. The birds used to congre-
gate in such prodigious numbers as to surpass belief,
and had no parallel among any other feathered tribe
on the face of the earth, not even excepting the common
quail, hundreds of thousands of which delicious morsels
are netted or otherwise captured on the shores of the
Mediterranean and in other favoured countries during
the spring and autumn migrations.

Very hardy must the passenger-pigeon have been, for
it was often found lingering in the northern regions
around Hudson's Bay so late as December, its appear-
244

THE PASSENGER-PIGEON 245

ance in the more southerly territories being very irre-
gular. As the beech-mast constituted the principal
food of this species of wild pigeon, in seasons when the
small brown nuts were abundant, corresponding multi-
tudes of pigeons raided the beech forests. Their roost-
ing-places were always in the woods, and frequently
occupied a large extent of forest. Such areas exhibited
a very strange and desolate appearance after harbour-
ing a colony of " passengers " for some time. The
ground would be covered with the droppings of the
birds to a depth of several inches, all the grass and
under-covert destroyed, the surface strewn with branches
of trees broken down by the weight of the pigeons cluster-
ing upon them, and the trees themselves, for thousands
of acres, killed as completely as though " girdled " with
an axe. The marks of such desolation remained for
many years, and no vegetation of any kind would grow
upon ground so fouled.

The nesting-sites of the passenger-pigeon covered a
far wider extent of woodland even than did the roost-
ing-places. In the western portions of Canada and the
United States these huge bird-nurseries were usually
found in beech forests and frequently extended, in
practically a straight line, across country for a great
distance.

Wilson, in his celebrated work, American Ornithology ,
speaks of one of these nesting-sites which ran through
the forests of Kentucky', in a nearly north and south
direction, a distance of forty miles. The breadth of this
extraordinary belt of nests extended to several miles.
Practically every tree within this tract was furnished
with nests wherever the branches could accommodate

246 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

them, a single tree frequently containing well over a
hundred.

The nest of the passenger-pigeon, like that of the
common wood-pigeon or stock-dove, was formed of a few
dead twigs, placed carelessly together, and with so little
concavity that the young were easily seen from below.
It is, we believe, an accepted fact amongst ornitholo-
gists that, though a nest of one of these birds was never
found to contain more than one " squab," the species
would breed three, and sometimes four, times during a
season. So exceedingly plump were the young " passen-
gers " that both the whites and Indians were accustomed
to melt down the fat for domestic purposes as a substitute
for butter and lard.

Before the young pigeons were quite fully fledged,
numerous parties of the inhabitants of the neighbour-
ing country used to come with wagons, guns, axes, and
camping outfit, to sojourn for several days amidst the
immense avian nurseries. Fearful must have been the
slaughter; and when a man spoke he found it difficult
to make himself heard without howling to those whom he
addressed. The ground below the nest was strewn with
broken boughs, eggs, and young pigeons. Great numbers
of birds of prey hovered over the tall forest-trees to take
their toll of both young and old from the feathered
multitude with the most daring effrontery. From
twenty feet upwards to the tops of the trees the scene
in the woods presented a perpetual crowding and fluttering
amongst the pigeons. The noise of their pinions mingled
with the crash of falling timber, for men armed with
axes cut down such trees as seemed to be most crowded
with nests, and contrived to fell them in such a manner

THE PASSENGER-PIGEON 247

that in descent they brought down several other trees
with them. The falhng of one large tree sometimes
produced two hundred squabs, well-nigh full-grown, and
a mass of fat.

Although in the Atlantic States passenger-pigeons
seldom appeared in such enormous companies as in the
Western States, they were quite numerous enough, and
great havoc was wrought among them with the gun,
clap-net, and other implements of destruction. As soon
as it became known in a city or township that the " pas-
sengers " had arrived in the neighbourhood, local gunners
rose en masse ; the clap-nets were laid in suitable situa-
tions, and, live decoys being made to flutter on a stick
as birds just alighted, numbers of the passing flocks were
induced to descend and feed on the corn, buckwheat,
etc., which was strewn around the nets. By such means
as many as thirty dozen pigeons have been taken at one
sweep. Wagon-loads of the birds used to be poured
into the markets, their price ranging from fifty cents
to twelve cents per dozen. The price offered for one live
passenger-pigeon to-day is $3000.

THE PEEP O' DAY ON THE SALTINGS

" Well, Doctor, an yow care to come a-flightin' wi' I
Noel-eve marnin', do yow be at the fall-gate, over the
great dick, at half arter six. P'raps us may get a duck
or two, and anyways an owd curloo," said " Long "
Perry, eel-catcher and professional wildfowler, as he
bade Dr. Carter, the local surgeon, " Good-night ! " and
then went clattering up the crooked High-street of the
old-time fishing town of Oozeleigh, towards his reed-
thatched cabin on the fringe of the neighbouring marshes.

" Right you are. Perry. I'll be there, and won't
forget to bring a flask of your favourite ague-killer,"
replied the Doctor cheerily.

Then he went his way also — not to the warmth and
comfort of his own house, but to the poor cot of an octo-
genarian fisherman, who, enfeebled by the weight of
years and a severe attack of bronchitis, had begged the
kind-hearted surgeon to " patch up and keep t' owd craft
afloat through Noel-tide. Me mawther [daughter, or
young girl], Mary Jane, be a-comin' to see t' owd fay-
ther, an' I du count on seein' her purty face once again,
Doctor, won'erful."

Thanks to the skill and care of the " medical ship-
wright," the world- and weather-beaten old craft was
kept afloat until after the arrival of Mary Jane, and
in lieu of a fee the Doctor received an orphan's

blessing.

248

PEEP O' DAY ON THE SALTINGS 249

X-'Cspite his late vigil at the bedside of the sick fisher-
nian, Dr. Carter turned up at the fall-gate fully ten
minutes before the appointed time, to find his humble
friend and tutor in matters appertaining to wildfowl and
wildfowling awaiting his advent, and pufhng away at a
short black clay pipe.

" How du yew du. Doctor ? Theer be nothin' o' the
dodman [snail] about yew 'smarnin'," was the wild-
fowler's greeting. Then, having very carefully knocked
the glowing ashes from the treasured " nose-warmer,"
he flung his antiquated but trusty old lo-bore pin-
fire across one broad shoulder, a hand-made canvas
cartridge-bag over the other, and led the way along the
bank of the great dyke until what is locally known as
the Dole Stone [boundary-stone] was reached, when a
high sea-wall had to be negotiated. The wall crossed,
the gunners found themselves on a wide expanse of salt-
marshes .

It was growing lighter as " Long " Perry piloted his
companion across the gully intersected saltings as easily
as though it had been broad daylight. Soon an old
gunning-pit was arrived at, and a "Do 'ee hoad the
shootin'-irons. Doctor, while I dydle out the sluss," the
fowler, armed with an old bucket, proceeded to bail out
the superfluous water that remained in the pit from the
last spring-tides. This work occupied not many minutes,
and, without wasting words or time. Perry paid a visit
to a convenient stack on the neighbouring marshes,
and shortly returned, carrying well-nigh a truss of sweet-
scented hay on his back.

" That owd duck-hole be as clean and comfortable as
a little housen, danged if it hain't ! " declared Perry.

250 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Notwithstanding the worthy marshman's efforts to
render the duck-hole " as clean and comfortable as a
little housen," the Doctor inwardly voted his temporary
retreat to be " demd damp and unpleasant," and
longingly did he watch the eastern horizon and the
tokens of dawn.

From out on the ooze-flats sounded the weird, far-
reaching challenge of the curlew and redshank, the
plaintive call of the ringed plover and lapwing, while a
strange, goat-like bleating at no great distance from the
pit told of the presence of a godwit or godwits amongst
the deep and muddy runnels which intersected and
drained the salts. Every now and again a " swish " of
wings overhead betokened the passing of an earh' team
of mallard from their nocturnal feeding-grounds inland
to the tideway, and the tingling ears of the waiting
gunner were once gladdened by the unmistakable hound-
like music of a herd of pink-footed geese in flight. But
never so much as the glimpse of a passing fowl did the
watcher in that slimy gunning-pit catch.

Cold and hard was the wild nor'-easter which came
howling in from the North Sea to search out every
nook and corner of the unsheltered levels, and the
thunder of the white-capped coamers breaking upon the
sand-bar beyond the ooze-flats told its own tale of a
heavy sea running in the fairway. But it is an ill wind
that blows good to no man, and, though the solitary
gunner in the old duck-hole pulled the collar of his
heavy guernsey well up to the chin, he welcomed the
brine -charged gale which struck him with such icy
force, for would not the fowl flight low in the teeth
of it?

"peep o' day on the saltings"

[ To face fi. 250

PEEP O' DAY ON THE SALTINGS 251

With eyes turned shorewards, the Doctor peers through
the still uncertain light for the approach of something
— he knows not of what species it may be — clothed in
feathers. The rhythmical " swish, swish, swish ! " of
many pairs of wings cleaving the air is now heard, and
he obtains a momentary glimpse of a number of hazy
forms winging seawards at a speed approaching one
hundred miles per hour. The double report of the
i2-bore awakens the slumbering echoes of the morning.
But there is no answering " thud " on the contiguous
salt-marsh — the " thud " that betokens a successful shot
— and the bunch of mallard continue on their flight to
the tide unscathed, while the disappointed sportsman
wonders how in the name of misfortune he managed to
" muff " with both barrels, and, incidental^, whether
" Long " Perry will chip him overmuch.

A second bunch of mallard glide over the salt-marshes,
and, the old gunning-pit being immediately under the
line of flight and the light having greatly improved, the
Doctor manages to score a fat young mallard with the
right barrel, while a duck, hard hit, after carr3dng on a
short distance across the salts, drops with a sounding
" plonk " into a shallow swidge. The first bird is dead
as the proverbial mutton, but the second, although
very hard hit, leads the Doctor a merry dance among
the muddy runnels of the saltings ere he runs it to
earth in a bed of glasswort. From time to time the
report of " Long " Perry's lo-bore comes booming
across the salt-marshes. Nothing further worthy of
powder and shot ventures to pass within range of the
old gunning-pit, however, and the Doctor begins to
think that his sport for this morning is finished.

252 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

But luck sometimes falls to the lot of the shore-shooter
when he leasts expect it. In this case, luck is heralded
by a long-drawn " cur-lee ! " which puts the gunner on
the alert. Keeping every portion of his anatomy weU
hidden in the pit, he awaits the coming of the curlew,
which are flying over the contiguous marshes towards
the shore, and may, perchance, pass within shot of the
pit.

Cur-lee ! cur-lee / cur-lee ! What a row the cunning
and keen-sighted birds make as they travel across the
treeless marshes and come screeching over the head of
the patient gunner. The Doctor springs to his feet, and,
singling out a bird flying within the " brown " of the
herd, he fires. A leash drop to the contents of the right
barrel, while the left accounts for yet another bird ere
the remainder of the herd fly scolding and shrieking to
the outlying ooze-banks.

Splashes and streaks of liquid gold and scarlet now
brighten the grey eastern heavens, and these, in turn,
fade away and give place to a cloudless sky of turquoise
blue. Stunted trees and bushes on the adjacent marshes
lose the grotesque forms which they assume under the
pale beams of the moon, and during the uncertain light
of early morning; the outlines of the sea-walls are no
longer leaden clouds upon the sky-line, but high, grassy
escarpments of solid and unvarying structure. The
dawn of Yuletide is here ; the flight is over, and the two
gunners wend their way homewards across the frosty
marshes, one to attend to the bodily ills of his fisherfolk
patients, the other to barter a leash of mallard and a
curlew for a joint of tough " Chris'mas " beef and a bunch
of evergreens.

AT FLIGHT TIME

There is a bite in the air and the amateur gunner
shivers a little while fumbling at the " granny " with
which he fastened the painter of his dinghy to a ring-bolt
on the fish-wharf the preceding night.

" Don't 'ee cast off t'owd dinghy for a moment,
maister ! Oi be a-comin' flightin', too," is the stentorian
hail of " Widgeon " Joe, the professional wildfowler and
eel-catcher, as the man in the dinghy thumbs away at the
unholy tangle.

" Widgeon " Joe clatters down the fish-reeking wharf
in his heavy tuck-boots, and ere the amateur has solved
the m3^stery of how to unravel a double-tied " granny "
reef, he has lain his long-barrelled 8-bore 'cussion gun
along the thwarts of the little craft and seated himself
comfortably in the stern-sheets.

" What be t' matter with t'owd painter, maister ? Got
un granny tied agin, I doubt," says the professional, for
although the darkness of early morning obscures the
movements of the amateur, " Widgeon " Joe makes a
very shrewd guess anent the cause of the delay in setting
out for the Point salts. He has sailed with the amateur
before to-day, and has learned that the latter does not
excel in the art of knotting and splicing.

At length the painter is cleared, the small balance-
lug-sail belhes to the brisk, off-shore breeze, and with
253

254 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

" Widgeon " Joe at the tiller the cockle-shell of a craft
disappears into the darkness, her bluff-bows heading
towards the Point salt marshes, which lie well across the
little estuary. Far out, on the fringe of a high and
treacherous sand-bank, known locally as " The Ridge,"
stands a pile-lighthouse, the lantern of which, at frequent
intervals, casts a narrow but brilliant gleam of light
athwart the dark tide-way and neighbouring mud-fiats,
while the riding-lights of a fleet of weather-bound coasting
vessels, anchored in the fairway, dance and flicker like
so many will-o'-the-wisps.

The incoming tide having only just commenced to flow,
the ooze-flats are still uncovered, and the passage to the
Point salt-marshes must, therefore, be made by way of a
tidal-creek, which worms its sinuous course through a
vast expanse of mud and glasswort clothed salts, be-
tween dyke-protected marshes and rich corn-growing
lands, threading in and out amongst a cluster of tiny
islets and then opening out into a small estuary, well
sheltered from the fierce nor'-easters by a high ridge of
sand which forms a natural breakwater during all but
spring tides.

It is still quite dark as with sheet now free, now taut,
the dinghy ploughs her way down the turbid creek, and
though the sinuosities of the same are both frequent and
abrupt, " Widgeon " Joe steers the little craft with that
skill and precision which may only be acquired by life-
long experience in the navigation of the water-way and
fore and aft sailing. An inexperienced hand would have
sent the boat ashore a dozen times during the passage
of the creek, but " Widgeon " Joe touched ground not

AT FLIGHT TIME 255

A heron disturbed from its early morning breakfast
of eels, or flat fish, as the case may be, rises on great fan-
like wings and passes, with a weird and uncanny croak
of alarm, into the darkness, while ever and anon the
" whistling " of pinions overhead betokened the passage
of a bunch of duck from their nocturnal habitats inland
to the sanctuary of the open tide and outlying banks of
ooze. The neighbouring flats form the feeding-grounds
of great numbers of wading birds, and shrill and clear
sounds the far-ranging challenge of that vigilant sentinel
of the fore-shores, the curlew, and the " teuke ! " of the
ever-watchful redshank, above the plaintive call of the
lapwing and ring-plover, and the pipe of the grey and
golden plover, the dunlin, and man}^ other species of
shore-birds.

The first grey tokens of dawn now begin to gather on
the eastern horizon, and as " Widgeon " Joe runs the
head of the dinghy on to a shelving spit of salting, he
mutters :

" Yere we be under the flight-line, and hinter be the
daylight."

There is no time to lose, for at the peep o' dawn, the
fowl will leave the stubbles and meadows inland to sleep
out the day on the tide and banks. Ducks travel fast,
more especially — as in the case this morning — with a stiff
breeze of wind behind them, and " Widgeon " Joe, having
drawn his tuck-boots well up, steps into the water, and
bidding his companion, " Hold taut ! " he hauls the nose
of the boat well up on to the salts, and the amateur walks
ashore dryshod.

To pull the dinghy high and dry, and safe from the
rising tide, is but the work of a very few moments. Then

256 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Joe takes his companion to an old gunning-pit — which,
by the way, the recent spring tides have left in a de-
cidedly moist and muddy condition — and bidding him
keep low and hold straight, he moves off to another duck-
hole lying at no great distance away.

Brighter and brighter grows the greyness in the eastern
heavens, the stars begin to pale and fade, the lights of the
shipping in the Roads wane dim and yellow at the coming
of da\Mi, and surrounding objects take more definite
form as the light improves.

Very soon the gladsome sound of pinions rapidly
beating through the brine-charged air greets the ears
of the amateur, who, very patiently, sits in the wet
and muddy duck-hole, waiting for something to turn
up.

" Swish-swish ! — swish-swish ! " here comes the first
bunch of mallard. They fly wide of the gunning-pit,
however ; affording the amateur not so much as a fleeting
glimpse as they wing their way seawards through the still
dim and uncertain light.

A tongue of flame suddenly spurts up from the surface
of the salting, and the boom of a heavy shoulder-gun
awakens the slumbering echoes of marshland, creek and
ooze-fiat. " Widgeon " Joe's ancient weapon has spoken,
and to some effect, no doubt, for the worthy fowler is an
adept in the art of flight -shooting.

Scarcely has the report died away, than a number of
hazy forms flash past the amateur left-handed.

He sends the contents of a couple of 12-bore cartridges
hurtling after the bunch of mallard, and the snap of
" Amberite " is answered by a sounding splash in one
of the many runnels which drain the saltings.

AT FLIGHT TIME 257

" There is one down, anyway ! " ejaculates the amateur,
and having no dog, and somewhat fearful that the bird
may have but a wing down, and so escape to the open
creek by way of the runnel, he goes to gather it.

But the mallard is dead enough and lies floating,
paddles upwards, in the water-course. As a truthful
man the amateur was fain to confess — to himself — that
it was a good deal more by luck than judgment he killed
that fat mallard, for truth to tell, he shot more by sound
than by sight.

While the amateur is in the act of gathering the duck
from the runnel, the report of " Widgeon " Joe's 8-bore
again booms out, and a spring of teal come twisting and
screwing over the saltings like a flight of erratic rockets.
The i2-bore hes harmless on the bank of the runnel,
however, and the little duck continue on their flight sea-
wards, unscathed by the amateur who silently, albeit
roundly, anathematises them for flighting so inoppor-
tunely, forgetting, of course, he should not have vacated
the duck-hole.

The flight of the fowl has now commenced in earnest,
the light improves perceptibly each moment, and the
amateur hastens back to his dank pit.

From time to time " Widgeon " Joe's " ode shootin'-
iron " belches forth its heavy charge of black powder
and No. 3 shot, but though the amateur both hears and
sees more than one bunch of duck pass his " hide," all
are well out of range of a 12-bore gun.

The brief period of the flighting time draws rapidly
to a close, for the daylight broadens, and a fiery red sky
proclaims the birth of a wet and stormy day.

" May as well walk over to Joe and compare notes,"

258 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

soliloquises the amateur while watching the ever-changing,
kaleidoscopic effect of the rising sun upon sea and sky.

But even as he drops the mallard into the capacious
inside pocket of his old jacket, a shrill " cur-lee ! " causes
him to grab up his gun and stoop low within the narrow
confines of the duck-hole.

The far-reaching challenge rings out again, and from
apparently close quarters.

Springing to his feet the amateur is just in time to get
a couple of shots into a small herd of curlew as they swing
along over the edge of the salt-marshes at a great racket.

Beyond sending the birds to the right-about the first
barrel takes little or no effect. But as the herd turns,
with the decision of a regiment of well drilled infantr3%
one drops from the ranks, pitching into a shallow pan of
water.

" Widgeon " Joe now appears on the scene, and pointing
to the great fiery sun, which is rapidly rising above the
horizon, exclaims : " Theer be the sun, maister ! Floight be
over, tide be ebbin'. 'Tis time us got aboard t'owd foot-
boat."

SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE

Numbers of foreign fowl, including a good herd of
pink-footed geese, had arrived in the estuary, and the
owner of an extensive marsh abutting on the northern
shore of the same had written inviting me to make one
of a party of five guns to take toll of the duck inhabiting
the fleets and dykes of the enclosed marshes, and to wait
up for the geese as they flighted from the uplands to
their nocturnal habitat on the shore. Having enjoyed
but a few very indifferent days' partridge-shooting in

early September, I was only too glad to accept E 's

invitation. Throwing a few necessary articles of cloth-
ing into a kit-bag and overhauling my somewhat
battered — but nevertheless trusty — old long-chambered
i2-bore gun, I was soon spinning through the con-
gested London streets towards Liverpool-street Station
in one of those most convenient and rapid of all public
conveyances — a taxi-cab.

Within a couple of hours a fast train carried me
through some of the flattest and most unpicturesque-
looking country in Europe to the one-horse little railway
station which formed my destination. Here I found
my host awaiting my advent in a dog-cart, and a five-mile
drive through twisting lanes, bordered by leafless hedge-
rows, brought us to the headland of M Marshes,

under the sea-wall of which nestled a quaint old reed-
259

260 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

thatched homestead which was to form our headquarters
during the next two days.

Assembled in the sparsely furnished sitting-room, the
wainscoted walls of which were decorated with fear-
some specimens of the taxidermist's art, were assembled
my fellow guests in the shape of the vicar of the parish,
the local doctor, and a brace of rosy-gilled, well-fed
yeomen discussing the prospects of sport on the morrow
over a pipe and a gouty-looking decanter of Scotch
whisky.

Now, the sleeping accommodation at the homestead
was decidedly limited, while Baihff Toogood's family
was, to say the least of it, numerous. The three younger
members of our "stag party," including myself, were
therefore " picqueted " on good Witney blankets and
sweet wheat-straw, in a roomy octagonal granary, which
the worthy bailiff warranted to be free from rats and other
vermin, while our host, the parson, and one of the before-
mentioned yeomen, being of more mature years, elected
to shake down in the sitting-room.

By the time the improvised beds were prepared for
occupation, the last fiery spears of the setting sun were
beginning to disappear below the horizon, and, every
man being eager to score his first pink-footed goose of
the season, the guns (three 12's, one 10, and a single
8-bore) were put together, and we posted ourselves at
intervals of about ninety yards along the high sea-wall,
which faced the North Sea.

As luck had it, the piercing north-easterly wind not
only came in direct from the main, but blew with half-
gale strength, which augured well for both an easy and
a low flight.

SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE 261

I had not long to wait, when the vvhisthng sound of
pinions gladdened my ears, and very soon a bunch of a
dozen or so mallard passed between the doctor and my-
self, flying comparatively low and within easy shot of
my stand. Holding, as I thought, well before the lead-
ing mallard, I pulled, but, to my surprise, he went on
his way rejoicing, while the bird flying next him — a
young duck of the year — dropped with a sounding splash
into a sedgy dyke, and my second barrel accounted for
a fine old drake in magnificent plumage.

The firing by this time had become pretty general
along the line, for the evening flight of the duck had
commenced. But, with the exception of a small spring
of teal, which I missed clean with both barrels, nothing
further came my way, and I was beginning to think
that my sport, for that evening at least, was done, when
the far-reaching and unmistakable trumpeting of pink-
footed geese sounded above the muffled thunder of the
white-capped coamers, breaking upon the treacherous
sand-bar, and the calls of the waders assembled on the
ooze-fiats.

The hound-like music of the geese approached nearer
and nearer every moment, and, although it was impos-
sible to see any great distance ahead through the rapidly
gathering darkness, one gazed instinctively towards the
direction whence the music proceeded. At length a
great fanning of wings to the left of my stand caused
me to look skyward, when I saw a number of hazy forms
passing seawards at a great racket.

Now, flighting between the lights is purely a case of
snap-shooting; indeed, many old flight -shooters, guided
entirely by sound, will often fire into a bunch of passing

262 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

fowl which are rendered quite invisible to the human
eye by darkness. Successful shots in this manner,
however, are very few and far between, and we cannot
but think that there is a good deal more luck than judg-
ment in shooting by sound.

But to hark back to our geese, the nearest of which
appeared to be within range of my 12-bore "Magnum."
Pulling at one of the hazy forms, I had the satisfac-
tion of hearing a heavy thud on the contiguous marsh
beyond, which told me that I had scored my first pink-
foot of the season. My second attempt, taken more or
less at random, proved a blank, and, although I obtained
a couple of other shots at geese during the short flighting
time, I failed to make an addition to my bag. Not so
the man on my left, however, who grassed a leash of
geese in as many shots, while the remaining three guns
scored a couple between them.

Thoroughly well satisfied with the evening's sport, we
returned to the homestead to dine, chat, and smoke, and
it was well past midnight ere one of the older members
of the party suggested it was time all respectable young
men were in bed. Then we " juveniles " sought our
couches of straw in the granary, while the " oldsters "
retired to their respective corners in the wainscoted
sitting-room.

" Rise with the sun " should be the motto of the wild-
fowler, and the stars were still twinkling in the cloud-
less heavens when a loud banging on the door of the
granary, followed by a raucous "Now then, maisters;
the governor do say there be jest time to get a morsel o'
wittles afore ye start a-shootin'," caused my companions
and myself to jump up from our straw lairs and race to the

SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE 263

creek, which — the tide being at top flood — was running
bank-high.

Phew ! the first plunge into the icy-cold sea-water
from the frosty deck of a leaky old eel-boat, moored off
the island jetty, was a stinger ; but a good rub-down and
a brisk 500-yards sprint to the homestead sent the blood
coursing through the veins until one seemed to have
taken a new lease of life — nay, to have harked back to
boyhood.

A few couple of mallard and a brace of teal were shot
during the morning flight, and then arrangements were
made for driving a big fleet (a small seed-fringed lagoon
of water) which extended across the further end of the
island and had an average width of, perhaps, seventy
yards. Fringed on either shore by tall sedges and
other aquatic plants, the fleet affords excellent harbourage
to wildfowl of different kinds, and it is no unusual thing
for several pairs of crested grebes to breed thereon, while
great numbers of duck, coot, and moor-hens nest on the
island during the season of incubation.

At intervals along the shores of the fleet, " blinds,"
had been erected for the purpose of sheltering the guns
during the duck drives. Upon arriving at the head of
the fleet, the guns drew lots for " stands," while the
beaters (seven or eight of the farm hands) captained by
the bailiff, started off to beat the reedy dykes which in-
tersected the marshes like a network of miniature canals.
Each shooter having taken up a stand amongst the tall
sedges, our host signalled the beaters to start operations.

264 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

II

From my " blind " I was able to watch the movement
of the marshmen working towards the fleet, and very
soon I noticed a nice little spring of teal dart out from
the sedgy pond-hole, and come twisting and screwing
over the marshes like a flight of erratic rockets. The
beautiful little duck, after wheeling round the farther
end of the fleet, pitched in a little reed-fringed bay, and
then mallard, pochard, and coot, in twos and threes and
small bunches, came in before the beaters to seek the
unsafe harbourage of the lagoon. At length the prin-
cipal drains were worked out, and the duck drive com-
menced in earnest. Distributing themselves along the
shores of the water, the marshmen brushed the sedges
with their leaping-poles, and every now and again a
whooping from the men warned us that something was
a-wing.

In the majority of cases the duck, upon being dis-
turbed from the reed-cover, would come stringing along
the fleet and past the concealed guns at a great pace,
affording them very sporting shots. Comparatively few
returned to the fleet, however, and, after wheeling over
the marshes, the duck would either fly seaward or to the
neighbouring marshes lying beyond the creek. For
perhaps twenty minutes the sport was fast and furious,
and the " pop-popping " of the 12-bores amidst the
sedges well-nigh incessant. My fellow-guns pulled down
mallard after mallard, pochard after pochard, teal after
teal, and coot after coot in excellent style ; but, person-
ally, I am bound to confess that the numbers of empty
cartridge cases which lay strewn round my stand at the

SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE 265

finish of the drive greatly exceeded the sum total of my
bag.

The mud-soiled beaters now approached, and, with
their long thigh-boots pulled well up, they assisted the
dogs in gathering the dead and cripples from the dense
sedges. It was still quite early, and our host suggested
that an extensive marsh, overgrown with rough ground
cover in the shape of bents and dry rushes, should be
tried for partridges and hares. Thinking it not impro-
bable that I might fall in with a few duck and snipe
among the drains of the saltings, I wandered off on my
own account, and, taking a well broken old retriever
bitch with me, crossed over the sea-wall and started to
walk across the drain-intersected salt-marshes, up-v.ind,
towards what is locally known as Broom Point.

I had not proceeded far on my sohtary beat, when my
four-footed companion flushed a full snipe from a deep
gully, which wormed its way through the salts and down
to a wide tidal creek. The snipe rose within easy shot
of me, and went screwing and scaping marshwards.
I missed clean with my first barrel, but managed to
drop the bird with the left just as it topped the wall,
and although, like many other dogs, old " Jet " was by
no means fond of retrieving snipe, she brought the bird
to hand with scarcely a feather ruffled. The report of
my gun set a-wing a spring of eleven teal, which I marked
down into a gully running at right angles to the sea-wall
at a point about a quarter of a mile further along the
saltings.

Carefully marking a stunted thornbush growing on
a sea-wall, and from which I knew that I should be able
to command full view of the gully wherein the teal had

266 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

harboured, I called the dog to heel, clambered over the
embankment, and commenced what was to prove a
successful stalk.

Although the marshes were white with frost of the
preceding night, the long, rough grass growing along
the base of the sea-wall deadened my footsteps, while
the wind blew directly from the birds to myself, and,
therefore, they would be unable to scent me. Upon
approaching my landmark — the thorn clump — T pro-
ceeded more cautiously than before, while old " Jet,"
who seemed to know instinctively what was afoot, crept
close to heel. Pushing my gun before me, I crawled up
between the straggling growers of the blackthorn until
my head was level with the top of the sea-wall; then,
shielding every portion of my anatomy behind the
friendly bush, I peered down upon the gully below.
Yes ! the teal were there right enough, for I could see
the " stern " of one projecting beyond the high spit of
mud, behind which was, doubtless, resting the whole
" spring."

Now, as every gunner is aware, it is no easy matter to
gauge distance across either mud or water, more especi-
ally if the weather be at all hazy, as was the case on that
particular morning. I judged, however, the little duck
to be not more than forty yards distant from my " hide,"
and therefore well within range.

A shrill whistle was sufficient to set the teal a-wing
instantly, and as they rose in a bunch, a couple dropped
stone dead to the contents of my two barrels, while
another, hard hit, struggled on gamely as far as the edge
of the creek, into which he pitched with a splash, to be
gathered a minute later by old "Jet."

SPORT ON MARSH AND FORESHORE 267

The next attempt was to stalk a flock of knots, assem-
bled on a tongue of slob just beyond the saltings ; but,
despite a friendly gully, which should have taken me
within range of them, the knots proved too many for
me, and my crawl along the oozy channel brought me
nothing but a goodly coating of particularly rich mud.

Leaving the salt marshes behind me, I arrived at the
headland of the island, from which a grand view of the
North Sea and a vast expanse of sand, ooze-flats, and
black-ground was obtainable. Great numbers of wader?
were to be seen quartering the muds in search of food,
the incoming tide driving them gradually shore wards.
About half a mile out, a long line of tall stakes stretched
away seaward, and these wave-battered remains of an
old fish-weir afforded a shore-shooter excellent cover
behind which to lay up for curlew and other wading birds,
when they were flooded off the banks by the rising tide.

Now, I was desperately hungry, and I knew that by
this time my host and fellow-guests would be sitting
down to a rattling good breakfast. The question was:
Should I return to the homestead and feed, or should I
wade out to the old fish-weir on the off-chance of picking
up a stray curlew, godwit, or plover ?

" Heads breakfast, tails fish- weir ! " The coin came
down the reverse side uppermost, and, leaving my boots
and stockings on the headland, I commenced to wade
through the batter-hke, greasy slob. It was thoroughly
bad going, and more than once I scored my feet and legs
against broken mussel and cockle shells. At length I
arrived at the obsolete fish-weir, and, choosing as com-
fortable a stand as possible, and with old " Jet " snugging
her muddy but warm fur against my feet, I watched

268 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

through the wrack-matted stakes the movements of the
various kinds of waders as they were driven towards me
by the quickly flowing tide.

It proved a dehghtful study ot bird-hfe. The long-
billed curlews and godwits, quartering the flats like so
many pointers ; the knots, plovers, redshanks, and oyster-
catchers dodging nimbly here and there and everywhere ;
a huge flock of dunlins, wheeling over the banks; and a
whole colony of herons standing like so many grey sentinels
along the serrated margin of the flats.

But mark how quickly the hungry tide swallows up
bank after bank, driving the restless fowl ever shore-
wards, until the advance guard of curlew is well-nigh
within range of my stand under the old fish-weir.

" Cur-lee ! cur-lee ! " shrieks out the leader of the
herd, warning his fellows that danger lurks behind
the weed-wreathed wooden piles. But the challenge
comes too late, for not only does he bite the dust — or,
rather, mud — to a charge of No. 5, but his consort
also comes down with a broken wing, ere the remainder
of the herd wheel sharp to the right-about and out of
danger.

Next a little trip of five bar-tail godwits come within
range, one of which is duly accounted for. Then a single
curlew is shot at and missed, and then the incoming tide
floods me out of my " lay-up " and causes me to beat a
hasty retreat shorewards.

[To face ^. 268

KILLED IN THE OPEN

KILLED IN THE OPEN

Pull 'im an' worry 'im ! Poo-ll 'im an' worry 'im !
Wanderer, Wisdom, an' Watchman an' all ! —
Thowt 'e 'd a-beaten me over the plough :
Lifted 'em on to 'im, devil knows how :
I 'ad the run of 'im :
I 'ad the fun of 'im :
Lorst 'im an' coursed 'im an' — look at 'im now !
Eighty-five minnits, an' well it may be :
Biggest ole dog-fox what ever I see !
Ah, the ole plunderer !
Ah, the ole blunderer !
Nobody up but the Master an' me ! —
Poo-ll 'im an' worry 'im ! — Talli-'o ! — Talli-'o !
Romulus, Rhymer, an' Ringwood an' all !

Pull 'im an' worry 'im ! Poo'll 'im an' worry 'im

Dancer 'an Dexter an' Dryden an' all ! —

Think of 'is lordship be'ind in the drain :

Think of the tommy-tits ridin' the lane ;

We'll 'ave the laugh of 'em :

We'll 'ave the chaff of 'em :

Swankin' an' clankin' an' — not seen again !

Fourteen-mile point, Sir, as near as can be :

Pity the man that's gone 'ome to 'is tea !
269

270 MELTON AND HOMESPUN

Ah, the ole wheezy ones !
Ah, the ole greasy ones !
Nobody up but the Master an' me ! —
Poo-ll 'im an' worry 'im ! — Talh-'o ! — Talh-'o !
Ganymede, Gamester, an' Guardsmen an' all !

Pull 'im an' worry 'im ! Poo-ll 'im an' worry 'im !
Paladin, Pilot, an' Pilgrim an' all ! —

Think of 'em rowstin' 'im out by the mill :
Think of 'em screamin' up over the 'ill :
They 'd 'ave a seet of 'im :
They 'd 'ave the meat of 'im :
Stoopin' an' swoopin' an' — look at 'em still !
Runnin' like smoke since a quarter to three :
Gamiest gallopers ever I see !
Lor', 'ow they sung to it !
Lor', 'ow they clung to it !
Nobody up but the Master an' me ! —
Poo-ll 'im an' worry 'im ! — Talli-'o ! — Talli-'o !
Rifleman, Roland, an' Raglan an' all !

Richard Clay a' Sens, Limited, Lenden and Bungay.

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