THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

PRESENTED BY

PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND
MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

A SPORTSMAN AT LARGE

A Sportsman at Large

By Major Harding Cox :: Author of

Chasing and Racing"

With Frontispiece and Dedication

LONDON: HUTCHINSON & CO.

:: PATERNOSTER ROW, B.C. .-.- .-.-

Dedicated to
my distinguished friend and relative,

AIR MARSHAL SIR HUGH TRENCHARD, BART., K.C.B.

whose love of the gun
and his skilful use thereof

marks him as
a true and keen sportsman

(U?

FOREWORD

MY DEAR HARDING Cox,

" A Sportsman at Large " covers a wide field of sport-
ing activities, shooting, fishing, coursing and aquatic, and as
you are privileged to write on these subjects from first-hand
knowledge and experience, I feel sure that your book will
appeal successfully to the large body of readers who
appreciate what is written under such conditions by a com-
petent hand. Your sporting experiences have been varied
and successful, and I can confidently wish you all good
fortune in your latest contribution to our sporting literature.

Yours truly,

DESBOROUGH.
Taplow Court, Bucks.

M312352

PREFACE.

So kind and indulgent were the Press and the public in
their reception of " Chasing and Racing," wherein I set down
my experiences in the hunting-field and on the turf, that
I have been emboldened to submit yet another venture to
their good graces. " A Sportsman at Large " may well
be described as a companion volume to the one mentioned.
Those who have had the hardihood to wade through " Chasing
and Racing," or even to dip into its discursive pages, will,
no doubt, wonder how it came about that I was able to
indulge in shooting, fishing, coursing, etc., when I was so busy
with hounds and racehorses. The fact is, that my sporting
life has been divided into well-defined eras. It is true that
some of these have overlapped, and that, at times, hounds,
hunters, racehorses, greyhounds, show and sporting dogs,
guns, fishing-rods and hunting-horns have become inex-
tricably mixed ; but one or two particular pursuits have
always dominated the rest.

In my childhood's and adolescent days I had but little to
do with the equine element and all it portends and provides ;
but I was busy with rod and gun all the time. So when a
cruel Fate made hunting and racing quite impossible for my
finances to deal with, I fell back again upon the latter imple-
ments of slaughter. Hence the present book shows, in medias
res, a hiatus in its chronological sequence, the gap being
that period in which I was master of the M. and H. V. H.,
and, later, of the O. B. H., and when I was owning, training
and riding my own horses under J. C. and N. H. Rules ;
although I did manage occasionally to put in a little desultory
practice with rod and gun during that time. Such " side-
shows " I have touched upon in the said " Chasing and

x PREFACE.

Racing " ; but my chief activities with fur, feather and fin
have been set forth herein.

I can only hope and trust that such rambling reminiscences
as have been conjured up by sweet and bitter memories, will
serve to cause some slight interest and amusement to those
readers who patronize these pages ; albeit I shall deem
myself exceedingly lucky if I escape a charge of monotony
and reiteration, pitfalls which have beset me constantly
whilst stringing together a " story " which is no story at all,
but simply a bunch of incidents depicted in fantastic mono-
chrome. The shooting of bird or beast ; the hooking, playing
and landing of a fish ; the details of a coursing thrill, and the
excitements of a bumping race, afford the author very few
materials with which to elaborate his " colour scheme " ;
for the reason that each and all of these ventures — in their
respective spheres — bear a striking family likeness tp one
another. Such as they are, here they are. I can only beg
for the same kindly indulgence that has been meted out to
my other modest ventures with the pen.

THE AUTHOR.

CONTENDS.

PAGE

CHAPTER I

The embryo sportsman — An amateur zoo — My first sea fish — Caught
and lost — " For it ! " — An unwilling executioner — Sport before
discipline — A gentle judge — Modest sport — An archaic weapon —
The murder of the blue tit ....... i

CHAPTER II

A resplendent but fearsome weapon — How it was obtained — Mr. Com-
missioner de Fonblanque — Getting the right side of him — A bag
of small birds — How to get them cooked — Old Mary to the rescue —
My love of dogs — Dash resents the rat-trap — And loathes fowls —
I help him to vengeance — His son Tobias, a dreadful mongrel — But
a priceless pal — My first " bunny " — The Dads deprives me of my
gun — But makes a promise . .11

CHAPTER III

Why I was " for it " — The lobworm and the labourer ! — The Dads on

the Bench — A burglar's boot . 19

CHAPTER IV

My birthday, the 3oth August — A welcome present — St. Partridge's
Day — My first experience as member of a shooting-party — Tobias
runs amok — But does us a good turn — Simultaneous shots and one
bird — The Dads kindly falsehood — But I get it all to myself . . 23

CHAPTER V

Schooldays — Brother Irwin catches us poaching — Totteridge Park
School — My first scrap — I am sent to Coventry for foul fighting —
My sisters, Ada and Florence — I am transferred to Elstree — The
Rev. Thompson Podmore believed in the rod — But I avoid it —
About corporal punishment — The agent thereby degraded — I go
for the Harrow matriculation — And meet Dr. Butler for the first
time — Am relegated to the lowest form in the school — But go up like
a sky-rocket — The Rev. John Smith, and Bosworth of the same
. ilk — And others—I take to rifle-shooting — And am given my

" badge " — And distinguish myself at Wimbledon ... 29

CHAPTER VI

I try for the Graphic — So near and yet so far — An impossible weapon —
I take to cricket vice rifle-shooting — I create a record — And am
tried for the XI. — But am not elected — The Thespid Club — And

xii CONTENTS.

PAGE

Round-the-Corner Smith — A sad tragedy — Killed on the cricket
field — St. Beatty — The amorous Oriental — Bosnian beer — Canon's
Park — And Mrs. Begg — Our El Dorado — Happy days for young
anglers — About tench — And a quarrel — The other Ted — The only
fish in the pond — But a good one — A gala day with small carp —
How did they get there ? — The mystery of fish which arrive
without human intervention — Fieldfare shooting — The Dads rents
the Canon's Park shooting rights — An early morning raid on the
wild-duck — My bobbery pack of beagles — Chaos at Canon's — We
are fired ! — Eheufugaces /..... -38

CHAPTER VII

I leave Harrow — And proceed to Gloucester — My godfather, Canon
Harding Girdlestone — And his five daughters — Also his one son —
The theological students — I start play- writing — But " get the bird "
— I steer the students' four — The Trinity matriculation — Easily
mastered — I go up to Cambridge — Become a " wet bob " — I set up
a record which has never been broken — Seven bumps in four
nights — The second boat takes the first boat's colours — But just
fails to finish " Head of the River " — " Hands " . . . . 62

CHAPTER VIII

" Dardi-moor " — " Cockie " Junior, my inimitable terrier — Cat or Farm — »
Mixed game — A dastardly deed — How to dispose of the body — My
brother-in-law — An Admirable Crichton — A prolific spring — Dan
O'Rourke and his one snipe — A million to one chance — A lovely
ramble — Browning the birds — Cockie gathers a woodcock — His
stern chase — Ridden Mire — An obnoxious reptile done in —
Nearly bogged ......... 71

CHAPTER IX

Bellivor Tor — And the Valley of the Dart — An unexpected woodcock
retrieved with difficulty — Outwitting the golden plover — My
homeward journey — Gathering clouds — Lost in the night — The
S.O.S. signal — No response — A nervous breakdown — Harry to the
rescue — " He laughs best who laughs last ! " — The bullet finds its
billet — Devastation among the black-cock — A curious shot — Little
fishes taste sweet ......... 83

CHAPTER X

Connemara — Clew Bay and its three hundred and sixty-five islands —
Burrishoole Lodge — Shooting and fishing — The Furnace Lough —
Michael's terminological inexactitudes — The Glenderhawk River
— My first salmon — Pat Gallagher, a weird character — A tantalizing
fish — The White Wings — Skate-spearing — And prawn-netting —
The seals of Clew Bay — Ted triumphant — He goes for big game
on Innistorwhele — The billy butts him — But Ted has his revenge
with the help of Randy — The head is inflicted upon us and drives
us from house and home — It is used for purposes of revenge ! . 94

CHAPTER XI

Randy goes for mutton — And pays a dire penalty — Dick Garnett is
frightened out of his life — A dramatic joke — The poachers and
Glenderhawk — My intervention ignored — I am presented with one
of my own salmon — And return good for evil — A kick-up at Burris-
hoole— I take the floor — Ted becomes amorous — The end of a
perfect evening — My guests mix it with stones — A salmon and a
sea- trout — A coincidental repetition . . . . .104

CONTENTS. xiii

PAGE

CHAPTER XII

Glencalater — Collinson Hall and his wife — The River Calater — An
unworthy snatching — And ditto wetting — My first grouse — Alec
Grant the stalker — We start after the stags — But I drop on ptar-
migan— And make a good bag — My partner's wrath — I try for the
royal herd — And miss a fine opportunity — Mrs. Macfarlane and
Her Majesty — Ma name's no MacTavish . . . . .115

CHAPTER XIII

The veracious (?) anglers — The angling and the fishing warden —
Baitin' with whales — Why the Indian was bald — The pike and a
lock ticket — The Pond of Tinspoon — Teddy's turpitude . .125

CHAPTER XIV

Pigeon shooting, a pastime not a sport — Unfairly condemned — The
faddists and their dangerous wedge — Invidious comparisons —
The draw of the Riviera — Monte Carlo — The devil's martingale —
Short-lived success — The punter's one chance — Harry Roberts
wins the Grand Prix du Casino — Cosmopolitan shooters — Harry
initiates me — I adopt the game — And meet with fair success
— My best show in the Grand Prix — Cruel luck ! — I annex " Le
Grand Prix du Cloture " — A " kill to win ! " — A desperately
close thing — Le Championnat Triennal — I meet the Comte de
Paris, Le Due d' Orleans and Prince Henri — A friendly com-
petition— King Nicholas of Montenegro, a cheery and urbane soul
— His comic-opera capital — King Peter of Serbia — A keen pigeon
shot — My penchant for matches — Gun trouble — Why I shoot
with the left barrel first — A hammerless gun lets me down — A shot
too many — Jesse Curling wins the Grand Prix — An underrated shot
— I win " The Grand Aristocratic Cup " — Also the following year —
The Portland Cup and gun headache — The Grand International
Cup — A friendly warning — The Marquis de Granja prophesies
correctly ! — I take long odds — A tie between myself and Captain
Shelley — I win the Great Event with seventeen kills — A really
beautiful cup .......... 133

CHAPTER XV

Gambier puts me wise — My average at the Gun Club tops the bill — And
I win the special average prize — But am only second at Hurlingham
— " Bizzy ' Robinson — A one-eyed shooter — We issue a challenge to
the world — Boreel (Holland) and Count O'Brien (Spain) take it up
—The match at Le Cercle des Patineurs in Paris — We triumph —
And also win the return match — Bizzy loses his glass eye — But I re-
trieve it — I am invited to Bosnia — Baron Brebner — Boswell-
Preston and I represent Great Britain at Ilidji — My wretched
display — A middle distant shot only — Pigeon-shooters kindly and
courteous gentlemen — Sir John Willoughby's big bet — " Dr.
Jim " — A fellow passenger to Norway — Notabilities at Monte — I
am invited to sample the Tzar's game preserves — Wolf coursing
with borzois — The Rothschild family . . . . .157

CHAPTER XVI

The ancient sport of coursing — 120 B.C. — Arrian a true sportsman — I
write the Badminton book on " Coursing " for the Duke of Beau-
fort— Mespilus, my first greyhound — Dick Dunn lays the odds —

xiv CONTENTS.

PAGE

Habeas Corpus wins for me the South of England Challenge Cup—-
Next year Handley Cross does likewise — The cup becomes my
property — Heavy Cavalry, after winning extraordinary trial,
" stakes " himself and never runs — Coursing crooks — True Token —
Her triumph on the bench and on the field — How Dark Crystal lost
the Champion Puppy Stakes — And the trouble that came of it —
Minchmuir just fails to win the Waterloo Cup . . 169

CHAPTER XVII

Sam Deacon — An understudy for Tichborne claimant — He buys Handy
Cat for me — She runs for the Barbican Cup — Mister O'Shea .
cannot go to slips for the final, so Handy Cat declared the winner —
A brilliant runner — She falls and breaks her neck — High Crawler
distinguishes herself in the Waterloo Cup — But is beaten by China
Craze — Sir William Ingram and I become partners— But have no
luck — Fullerton — The best hound I ever saw — His history and his
end .183

CHAPTER XVIII

Norway — The Surendal River — The Harang beat and hiis — The C.O.
and her brother — Bedford and Flora — Peter Olam, the boatma^n,
a hardy Norseman — Billy the bumptious — I adopt some hoodie
crow fledglings — But Billy tears them to tatters — His condign
punishment — A joyous day's fishing — A curious incident — A
perilous position — A dour salmon — A twenty-six pounder — The
strange trout — I try a derelict pool on the Sabbath — With fine
results — A disturbing telegram — All's well that ends well . . 196

CHAPTER XIX

A debacle — Ted as Deus ex machina — Ismailia — A night attack — And
a royal rout — Primitive angling — Cairo — An Eastern panorama
— Enter Farag, alias Hassanein — Snipe at En Chasse — A yellow
cobra — A holocaust of coots — Hassanein fits out a Nile expedition
— And impersonates his brother — A crew of donkey-boys — Strange
fishes of the Nile — Sallie of our Galley — Abu Zed — The sublime
and the ridiculous — Handsome Hassanein marooned — In quest of
quail — The falconidce swoop — Ted bags a gyppie — " Is bath ready? "
— Pelicans peppered — The ducks defy us — My scheme for their
undoing . " . . . . . . . . . . 211

CHAPTER XX

A return visit to Egypt — Hassanein crops up again — Same old donkey-
boys — A bet which failed to "click" — Wasta again — The Sheikh
of Maidoum pays his respects — And invites us to shoot pigeons
at the village — A savoury but messy luncheon — The Maidoumites
object to our battue — A terrible rumpus — But we escape with our
lives — The Sheikh returns the visit — A handsome offer for my C.O.
— We arrive at Luxor — The awe-inspiring temple of Karnak — A sud-
den infliction — Dr. Keatinge summoned from Cairo — Convalescent
— Slatin Pasha escapes from the Mahdi — We meet him at Girgeh
— And return with him and Captain Machell to Cairo— The Mahdi's
threat — My meeting with Major Herbert Kitchener (Lord
Kitchener of Khartoum) and Captain " Paddy " Mahon (Lieut.-Gen.
Brian Mahon) — "Jack" Seely (Maj.-Gen. Seely) — His gallant
conduct — Hassanein invites inspection of his harem — Our camp at

CONTENTS. xv

PAGE

Fayoum — A night of noises — Nothing to shoot at — Potting at
pelicans — A weird draft of fishes — Laying up for jackals — Ted
makes a bloomer . . . . . . . . 226

CHAPTER XXI

The Orkneys — The perils of the Pentland Firth — The Leinster and
Albatross in collision — " Scrubbing " the old man — Graeme's
Hall — Mixed sport galore — More snipe than sea-trout — Novel
angling — An unexpected catch — Success with the sea-trout at last
— Dr. Straton, Bishop of Sodor and Man — He finds voe-fishing a
washout — And resorts to the gun — With great effect — Sweep dis-
graces himself — And calls for unclerical language — A couple ol
snipe to one barrel and a coincidence ..... 239

CHAPTER XXII

Sweep adopts " Little Willie " — And amazes the Bishop — Dr. Straton
appreciative of music and champagne — Cod-fishing extraordinary
— And haddock galore — Man-eating mackerel — John Gunn (not
of Notts) — The Blue Rock of the caves — The C.O., Henry George,
Gunn and myself set out to attack them — A high test for the
gunner — A storm brewing — And deadly peril impending — A dour
struggle against Fate — The C.O. collapses — A narrow squeak, but
we make port — The telepathy of the canine race — And its reasoning
intelligence — Henry George and I go to Burry Island — Golden
plover — I out-manoeuvre them — Henry George is convinced I have
gone " barmy " — And so informs my household — The wild- fowl of
the Orkneys — The black-throated diver touches my heart . . 249

CHAPTER XXIII

Ribigill — Forty miles in a " machine " — Midges — Teaching the young
idea — Who shoots well — Grouse over dogs — A roe-deer drive — I
account for a buck — And am sorry I did it — Marcus peppers the
keeper — An attempt at blackmail which failed — The Bishop
arrives — And suggests an expedition to Loch Dianard — " Oh,
what a night ! " — A complete washout — But a salmon hooked and
lost — Sea fishing in the Kyles of Tongue — A family party — Very
like a whale — The stormy winds do blow — And the children went
below — Another struggle with the waves — A safe landing — But a
death-trap — A nerve-wracking climb — Safety — Home and beauty. 262

CHAPTER XXIV

Norway — The Sand River — An unsatisfactory arrangement — The
Aasen Pool and Foss — Lars Petersen and Tolle Svensen — Tom
Lambert and his wife — A partnership — Marcus scores — And I
follow suit — My feeble spoof — The heavenly twins — A bumptious
salmon — A dangerous swim and a curious catch — The Sand runs
low — But new methods are successful — Six years pass — Again on
the Sand — Teddy Maurice's wonderful invention — His demonstra-
.tion thereof — We refuse to adopt it — I get hold of a monster — Tom
is flabbergasted — " My God, Cockie, what a fish ! 1 " — A Homeric
struggle — All Sand comes out to see the fun — Hopes and fears —
Success at last — So near and yet so far — An exasperating loss
— The C.O. goes a-fishing — She " strikes " (the water) and
refuses to let her salmon go — Prawn punching — A knack not
easily learned — The tragedy of the Foss — A bank subsides and
puts an end to our sport ........ 271

xvi CONTENTS.

PAGB

CHAPTER XXV

Connemara again — Ballinahinch Castle, an oasis in the desert — A
welcome release — Johnnie McLoughlan — Praying for rain — Coming
into our own — The salmon of Sna Beg — Larry's and Micky's
constant contradictions — Stiff salmon — They wake up in September
— And sport becomes fast and furious — Merry evenings at the Castle
— Ted puts it across Bizzy — Who gets his own back — Bad sea-fishing
— But good oyster- dredging — Fallow buck in the offing — But no
landing on their fastness ...... . 289

CHAPTER XXVI

Norway again — The fearsome Cleg — I consult Mr. McDowell — Who
offers me a sporting chance — Cockie the pioneer — The Raumer
River — Lindsay Garrod, Hattie and " Bonehead " — Sordid
quarters — The river in flood — Grayling fishing in the inundations
— No crows, only magpies — Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and Acts
— Voracious and insatiable birds — One wretched grilse — Not a
single salmon — A cannibal trout and how he died — Our boatman
Flatmarc — Reminiscence of his boyhood — The mysterious lake
We take a nervy risk — Reindeer — We gaze upon the pool of
mystery — The monsters on its surface — We wade in — Bedford
saves me from a watery grave — Bonehead gets hold of a leviathan and
is broken to smithereens — A wild scene — Farewell to Lake Cockie . 300

A SPORTSMAN AT LARGE

CHAPTER I

SHOW me a child of tender years who is keen on bird-
nesting (not for the purpose of making decorative strings
of eggs robbed from our dulcet songsters, and other homely
birds), but one who is keen on observing and studying the
habits and life history of the feathered flocks ; who makes a
well-arranged and carefully-classified collection, without de-
pleting any one nest, however rare may be its feathered
architects. Show me such an one, I repeat, and I will ear-
mark him (or her, as the case may be) as an embryo sportsman
or sportswoman.

But the afflatus is often manifested in other directions.
A child may be keen on chasing butterflies for reasonable
collective purposes. Here you have a fox-hunter of the future.

If he delights in sweeping the waters of the domestic duck-
pond with a gauze net and rejoices over ditisci, caddis worms,
dragonfly larvae, tritons, newts, snails and such small deer,
you may be sure that, in course of time, he will blossom into
an enthusiastic plier of the rod.

One wrho loves dogs will, as soon as he is old enough, want
to train them to the amenities of sport. This one will be
a huntsman, or a lover of the gun, or leash.

But he whose only ambition is to shine in games and pas-
times, and who is content to ignore the children of Nature
and their fascinating manners and customs, though he may
become a great cricketer, football-player, boxer or athlete,
assuredly will never be a sportsman in the true and legitimate
sense of the term.

2 A Sportsman at Large

Happy is he who combines efficiency in field sports with
proficiency in games, competitions and pastimes.

If what I have set down is a correct diagnosis of the inborn
sportsman, I think I may fairly rank myself as a case in point ;
for, from my earliest days, I was a lover of living things, and
all the glories and mysteries of the wild. But I regret to say,
I so far dissembled my love, that I was able and willing to
shed the blood of the beloved ones somewhat joyfully, when
my sporting spirit so demanded.

On the other hand, before I became a hunter of the woods
and waters with lethal intent, I delighted in gathering together
a sort of miniature Zoo, which I fathered with loving care.
I would take callow rabbits from their snug " stops " and
reduce them to domesticity. I would secure birds by means
of sieves, brick-traps and bat-folding nets, and confine the
victims in capacious aviaries. Even the obnoxious mouse
and the unspeakable rat were imprisoned and reformed ;
whilst patent " catch- 'em-alive " traps, set in the fields and
woodlands, provided me with a bunch of long-tailed field
mice, voles (field and water), dormice and shrews. Many
species of birds were brought up from the nest, my most
successful rearings being crows, magpies, jays, starlings and
jackdaws, together with thrushes, blackbirds and the various
finches. Curiously enough, I could never bring a young
missel thrush to maturity ; while most of my starlings failed
to survive their first moult. Of course I had many an aquarium
containing small fish of the pond variety, with a host of beetles,
larvae, crustaceans and other unconsidered trifles. Also
vivariums in which sedate toads, saltatory frogs and agile
lizards disported themselves.

But all the time my predatory instinct was alive, if as yet
only sub-conscious. It manifested itself, in the first instance,
in the form of a chronic angling obsession. Unless memory
plays me false, the first fish that fell to my lure was abstracted
from the ocean, but I did not " get away with it " as the
Americans say. It happened thus :

I fancy that, at the time, I was aged about five years (the
older one grows the more vivid are the memories of early
events, some of which appear to have been of very trifling

A Sportsman at Large 3

import), I was still under the command of " Nannie " (how
devotedly and purely I loved that woman !). It was holiday
time and our family bunch was absorbing ozone at Ryde,
Isle of Wight. I had seen certain long-suffering optimists
fishing from the pier, and longed to participate in their sport,
such as it was. So I induced " The Mums " to fit me out
with the necessary impedimenta (never trust a woman, however
devoted, to provide you with cigars or fishing tackle, it is only
asking for trouble !) . My mother, of course, " did it all wrong/'
She produced a hank of line more suitable for hanging out
clothes to dry, or for committing felo-de-se iniheSus-per-Col
style, than for the lifting of miniature fishes from the vasty
deep. The hooks, too, looked lonely without a joint of mutton
or beef to garnish them.

But was my youthful and ardent soul dismayed ? No !
not on your life ! Then came the question of bait. The keen
eye of observation had conveyed to my budding intelligence
that a worm was the one and only lure to command success,
so, after much labour in the back yard, my sand spade un-
earthed sufficient of the succulent but repulsive wrigglers to
serve my purpose. Soon Nannie and I took up position on the
iron platform below the pierhead, where the emerald waters
lapped upon the stanchions, and there I began operations.
Hard by stood a little lad, a few years older than myself,
also engaged in the gentle art, whose tackle was of such fine
quality that I visualized some monster of the deep becoming
attached and either pulling the youthful angler from his
perch, to meet a watery grave, or smashing him and his line
to smithereens.

For some time he gazed at my endeavours with contempt ;
but presently, pity for my ignorance gained the ascendancy.
He approached Nannie and raised his cap most politely :
" Excuse me, Madam," he said, " but your little boy will
never catch sea fish with earthworms," (my spirits sank).
" I have some lug worms here," he continued, "he is welcome
to try them ; the fish are not taking well. So far I have not
had a touch."

I jumped at the offer. To add to my gratitude the young
angler affixed a length of gut to my cable and bent on a

i*

4 A Sportsman at Large

reasonable hook which he baited with a lug. Hardly had
the tempting morsel descended into the depths than I felt a
decided " pull " and a tightening of my hand-line. Novice's
Luck ! "Hi, little boy, you've got one," shouted the friend
in need excitedly, " pull up ! pull up ! "

I responded as quickly as my baby hands could contrive,
and, sure enough, as the business end of my line came into
view, a silvery body was seen shimmering in the emerald
water and soon it was within my grasp. I have 'never
been able to determine to what species this, my very first
fish, really belonged. I have a vague memory of a highly-
coloured creature with considerable fin and tail ; its total
corporeal longtitude being about six inches. Possibly a small
spotted dog-fish. I was in a state of supreme exhilaration
and was for running off to display the victim of my prowess
to the family circle ; but Nannie intervened. " No, dearie,"
she said, " you caught this with that little lad's bait and
hook. It is his fish for keeps ; not yours ! " My soul revolted,
but Nannie's word, for the nonce, was law ; so I was left
lamenting. Her judgment was equitable ; but I have always
doubted if it followed the strict law of Meum and Tuum.
I appealed, but my good nurse's judgment was upheld by
The Mums and other female members of the family circle.
For the time being I had to accept the decision of the court.
Not satisfied, I took my case to the Upper House, as repre-
sented by " The Dads " ; but, though he was sympathetic
enough, he decided that the appellant must be non-suited in
conformation with " the statute of limitations."

That same dear old Dads was himself an ardent angler,
and taught me much of the gentle art. He had, however,
some weird fads, which he inflicted on my receptive brain,
most of which I had to unlearn. One of them was that, in
striking, the impetus should take a downward curve ; because,
so he theorized, the suppleness of the top joint of the rod
would cause it to spring up and so effect a quicker and more
direct attachment of the hook to the fish's jaw. Well ! well !
well !

I fancy that this theory cost the old dear many a desirable
fish ; but he stuck to the practice persistently.

A Sportsman at Large 5

Apropos my paternal progenitor, here is a story which
illustrates his gentle and homely character. By the time I
was eight years old, I was something of an artist at pond-
fishing. At our picturesque home, Moat Mount, Highwood
Hill — the highest point in the county of Middlesex — there are
two sheets of water which I plied most industriously, one
situated close to the mansion itself and dubbed the Barton
(Zummerzet vur " varm ") pond, contained roach, rudd and
carp ; the last named species affording specimens up to six
or seven pounds. These were wily customers, the capture of
which called for strategy and tactics of the most thoughtful
and painstaking nature. But, even at that early age, I
occasionally managed to outwit these corpulent fishes.

Came a day when I had been guilty of some unforgivable
lapse, the deep-dyed turpitude of which was rendered even
more unspeakable by reason of my having — in an attempt
to avoid well-merited retribution — descended to a mendacity
such as would have caused the late lamented George, of the
Washington ilk, to turn in his distant grave.

So insufferable had been my backsliding on this occasion,
that The Mums sorrowfully came to the conclusion that
castigation, of a thorough and intimate character, was the only
suitable penalty to meet the case. She insisted that her
superior moiety should take upon himself the office of ad-
ministrator. What is more, she provided a stout ashplant,
which she thrust into his hands, bidding him seek the culprit
and proceed to execution. Such an office was not altogether
to the taste of The Dads. Indeed, he wandered off and took
cover in a clump of rhododendron bushes ; but the eagle eye
of his life's partner was upon him, so he was routed out and
admonished to get busy.

The June sun had just dipped below the horizon when I
stealthily approached the swim in the Barton pond which I
had baited up in the morning with boiled potatoes, kneaded
up with stiff clay.

Soon the quarter-section of my wine-bottle cork was floating
on the surface of the water, close inshore. I was on the
qui vive for potential carp, but oblivious of what The Mums
had figured out for my literal and metaphorical undoing.

6 A Sportsman at Large

There was a slight agitation of the cork and my heart
throbbed.

Just then the figure of The Dads loomed on the adjacent
bank. " Come here, Harding," he called icily, " your conduct
has been audacious and atrocious. I feel it my duty to —

" Shut up, Dads," I hissed under my breath, " I've got a
bite ! "

My parent's tone changed.

' Why, bless my soul, so you have, and I believe it's a
carp, too. Don't be in a hurry ; give him time ! "

Carp bite slowly and deliberately. At first the flat cork
radiated tiny, circling ripples ; but after a time it began to
glide stealthily along the surface, describing an eccentric course ;
then it became partly submerged :

" Now's your chance ! " shouted The Dads excitedly.
" Strike ! Strike ! " I obeyed the word of command smartly
and the solid resistance which I felt told me that I was fast in
a weighty fish. Almost immediately there was a great turmoil
in the water, and my reel screeched as my victim sought the
deepest hole in the pond. It was as much as I could do to
hold on.

" Keep the point of your rod up, you little fool ! " yelled
The Dads as he danced on the bank. "If he gets it down
he'll break you as sure as fate."

" Run for my landing-net, Dads, I left it on the other side
of the pond."

Away went the learned Sergeant as fast as his legs and
lumbago would allow him. Presently he returned with the
necessary article.

Then he tried to induce me to hand him the rod ; but I
stuck to it uncompromisingly, and, after a strenuous battle,
was able to bring the fish within my parent's reach.

The net was skilfully engineered, and the next moment a
fine specimen carp of seven pounds was gasping on the grass.
The Dads mopped his brow and clapped me on the shoulder.

" Well done, old boy ! " (Beamingly.)

" Not so bad, eh, Dads ? But what is that stick for ? "

" This ? Oh, I don't know. You can have it if you
like."

A Sportsman at Large 7

That ashplant became the most treasured unit in my museum
of curiosities.

No ; although The Dads would take his quota of fur, fin or
feather, legitimately and enthusiastically, he neither would
nor could lay violent hands on his fellow mortals ; though in
the exercise of his judicial duties he was wont to deal out
drastic punishment to offenders against the laws of the land ;
especially those found guilty of crimes of violence and cruelty
to children and animals.

I busied myself with rod and line diligently ; but a time
came when vile saltpetre began to attract my attention very
persistently.

It was my delight to accompany the shooting parties con-
vened by my beloved parent and my half-brother Irwin.

The lands of Moat Mount were, for the most part, pasturage,
so hardly could it be said that they offered anything like good
partridge shooting ; but all were keen, and as the shooting
was over dogs, I found much delight in witnessing the
operations and gleaning such items of knowledge as my
seniors were able to impart by word of mouth or by practical
demonstration.

Ten brace of birds to four guns, with a few rabbits and
an occasional hare, marked the limit of expectations.

The very excellent coverts contained a few wild-bred
pheasants ; but when the season arrived, they were not driven
in orthodox fashion. The raiders would line up, advance
through the brushwood and take their chance of flushing a
stray long-tail, which was more often missed than floored.

Naturally, in a very short space of time, the old cocks
became wise to these primitive operations and utterly refused
to take wing, running in front of the guns and dogs until
they reached the limits of the wood, when they would rise and
soar away, whither their fancy and their wings chose to take
them.

Being an observant little lad, I duly noted this " retreating
according to plan," so I determined to take advantage of my
knowledge for the benefit of a cousin, a few years older than
myself, who had been now admitted to the sacred ranks of the
gun-men.

8 A Sportsman at Large

I lured him aside one day and led him off to that point
where the aforesaid old cocks were wont to " do a guy,"
while The Dads, Irwin and another cousin, Charlie Gill by name,
were making their painful way through the tangle and under-
growth of the covert.

Sure enough, as they approached in the distance, we heard
a pattering of the pheasant feet on the fallen leaves, and
presently, with a great to-do, a brace of beauties came up
and over.

My pal missed them both like a man ; but my acumen was
indicated, though we were in great peril of being peppered by
the advancing line, none of which had been advised of our
change of position.

I soon grew tired of looking on, and burned to try my
own skill and luck with the shooting iron. So far, an archaic,
muzzle-loading pistol, the barrel of which screwed on to the
breech, was the only weapon which I had dared to discharge
on my own. It had cost me five shillings out of my weekly
pocket-money, and had been purchased with the avowed
intention of getting a bit of my own back on a certain ill-
conditioned mongrel which used to lie in wait for me as I
returned in the evening from my daily studies at Totteridge
Park School.

This was a hateful creature. I both feared and loathed
him ; but my love of dogs forbade my adding a lethal lead
to the charge of black powder which I crammed down the
muzzle of my cherished weapon. I was prepared to terrify
but not to slay the brute whose one ambition seemed to be to
deprive me of a substantial portion of my stalwart calves.

So it came to pass that, when all was ready, I walked boldly
past the enemy's ambush.

Sure enough, he came out with blood-curdling growls and
yowls, and made for his objective. When he was within a
yard of my understandings I loosed off ! The effect was
electrifying. The cur leapt up into the air, tucked his tail
between his legs, and " beat it " at a speed which would
not have disgraced a Waterloo cup-winner. In fact, you
could not have seen him for the dust which he raised in his
ignominious retreat.

A Sportsman at Large 9

Henceforth my passage between school and home, sweet
home, was undisturbed by further attacks of this unspeakable
and cowardly hooligan.

In the Armoury at Moat Mount there was an assortment
of strange weapons, which The Dads had picked up at various
sales. The dear old man had a craze for attending Christie's
and other auctioneering establishments, and bidding boldly
for an astounding quantity of rubbish of a very polyglot
description. Hence the why and wherefore of the aforesaid
firearms.

But my ambitious eye was upon them, and I determined
to see which of them could be turned to practical use. Finally
I selected what, I had been told by the purchaser, was known
as a polygroove rifle. It had a long barrel which, indeed, was
heavily rifled — of course it was a single barrel affair, and a
muzzle-loader to boot.

The day came for the great adventure, when The Dads
was safely away attending to his judicial duties and The
Mums was taking her annual holiday, with my sisters, by the
sad sea waves. Rank burglary had to be resorted to before
I could commandeer my father's shot and powder, and even
then I had to fashion a ramrod out of the ash stick which had
been intended for violent application to my own vile body ;
but which, as stated, had been generously presented to me
in more gentle fashion by The Dads.

But search as I would, no wads were to be found.

Was I to be thus frustrated of my evil intent ? By no
manner of means ! I proceeded to insert in the barrel of my
surreptitiously acquired weapon what I judged to be about
three drams of black powder. On the top of this a wad of
newspaper was tightly rammed, followed by a handful of
No. 8 shot, with a similar incubus on top of it. Then I sallied
forth.

As in the case of my angling, ambition did not suggest any
victim more important than the first small bird which was
unlucky enough to allow me to approach within what I con-
sidered to be reasonable range.

My first victim was a " blue- tit." It was busy on the sum-
mit of a small fir. If it was not singing " Tit-willow, tit-

10 A Sportsman at Large

willow, tit- willow," it seemed, poor little chap, to be care free,
and in full enjoyment of its brief span of life.

For a moment I hesitated to make it a target for the exploita-
tion of my problematical skill ; but I was now on " sport "
(save the mark !) intent and saw red (or should I say " blue ? ").
Taking steady aim, I pulled the trigger. There was a terrific
report, and when I came to, I found myself lying prone on
my back. The treacherous polygroove lay by my side ; whilst
a few yards off, one of my paper wads was smouldering. . My
shoulder was dreadfully sore and my head ached consumedly ;
but I was keen on seeing what damage, if any, I had done to
the innocent tit-mouse ; so as soon as I could pull myself
together, I began to search for signs of the murder which I
had contemplated. Nothing was to be seen on the ground.
The more humane tendency of my nature was leading me to
experience a sense of relief, when I espied, on a branch of the
fir, a yard above my head, a small bunch of pitiful,blue-green
feathers, and on it one drop of blood sparkling in the sunshine,
like a ruby of choicest water. It was all that remained of the
dainty little bird. And I sat me down and wept.

Whether it was shame at my dastardly deed, or whether my
shoulder was too sore to permit of further attempts with the
polygroove, who shall say ? Anyway, I beat a retreat, and
after carefully replacing the primitive weapon and ammunition
in the places from whence they respectively had come, I sought
the seclusion of my solitary bedroom, there to reflect seriously
on those commandments which forbid murder and also picking
and stealing.

CHAPTER II

FOLLOWING my murderous attack on the innocent
parus ceruleus (the blue-tit) I regarded the polygroove
rifle with the oblique eye of suspicion. This was not the
outcome of an uneasy conscience, I am sorry to say ; but
because my right shoulder showed an artistic blending of
variegated tints ; moreover, it ached sorely for many a day
after it had experienced the recoil of that archaic weapon.

But my ardent desire to acquit myself bravely in the ex-
ploitation of powder and shot was in no way damped. I had
seen a wonderful weapon in an ironmonger's window at Barnet
(our nearest town, about four miles distant from Moat Mount),
which excited my admiration, and, be it admitted, my cupidity.

The price was reasonable, viz., twenty-five shillings, all
complete ! It was a single-barrel muzzle-loader and, if
outward appearances were to count for anything, that gun
was " IT ! " It was simply a blaze of varnish and burnished
metal.

In those days, twenty-five bob meant a deal of cheeseparing
and the strictest economy, if I was to save the requisite sum
from my pocket money.

However, I had the whole of the Spring and Summer months
to hoard my resources ; but when August arrived I was still
fifteen shillings short. A deus ex machina materialized in the
majestic person of my maternal grandfather, Mr. Commissioner
de Fonblanque, who was then past the eighty-year-old mark.

The learned judge was of portly proportions, and so short
of breath that had he been a horse instead of a human being
he would have been set down as a pronounced " roarer,"
and, my word, he could roar, when a particularly acute attack
of gout afflicted him. At such times it was not safe to trust

ii

12 A Sportsman at Large

oneself within reach of his malacca cane. But when in normal
health and spirits he was benign and urbane, and I could
generally count on a golden sovereign every time he visited
Moat Mount. Now when I found that my finances were not
accumulating rapidly enough to ensure the purchase of the
much-to-be-desired " shooting iron " before the season opened,
I began to urge The Mums to press her father to honour
us with a special visit, laying much stress on the love which I
harboured for " Mr. Commissioner." This move of mine
promised well, for my grandfather duly arrived and sojourned
with us for over a week ; but though I waited on his lordship
hand and foot, his hand failed to seek his pocket for the purpose
of producing that desirable and necessary " jerry o' goblin."

As the time for his departure approached I grew reckless.
I tried all sorts of expedients, and even descended to broad
hints and outrageous flattery. When the family barouche
bore him to the station, I jumped in and sat beside him, carry-
ing in my arms a mysterious parcel. As I helped him into
the train I proffered my offering with a touching little speech
which I had mentally prepared.

" Oh, grandpa dear, I'm so sorry you are going away.
It has been so nice having you with us. Will you accept this
bunch of grapes." (I had surreptitiously burgled it from the
vinery.) ' You will find them very comforting and refreshing
during the journey."

" Oh, thank'ee, thank'ee, mi'lad, that's very thoughtful of
you. By the way, I suppose you are not above accepting a
trifling donation ? Here's a sovereign for you ! "

Glory be ! The good thing had duly clicked !

The next day saw me the proud owner of the so-called gun,
plus a pound of black powder, and ditto of No. 7 shot (I chose
the size as being most suitable for any emergency. In this
I think I was wise, as later experience has taught me, though
I am aware that some sportsmen would prefer No. 6) for the
purpose toward.

Now, I had not the least intention of blazoning to the world
the tactics which I had figured out for my renewed attack on
the creatures of the wild.

One early morning in the middle of August saw me sneaking

A Sportsman at Large is

out and far afield, whilst yet the senior members of the family
were wrapped in slumber.

No tit-mice for me this time ! Nothing less than a black-
bird, a thrush, or perhaps, with luck, a wood pigeon, would
satisfy my ambition. As matters turned out, one of the
elusive " doves " did actually " fall for it." Of course it
was a sitter, but none the less precious. I had several shots at
blackbirds and thrushes on the wing, and never touched a
feather. On the other hand, I carefully stalked a bunch of
starlings which sat chattering and whistling on the summit of
a dead tree. Much to my delight, three of them fell to my shot.

Then a disturbing thought obtruded itself. What was I to
do with my bag ? With the primitive instincts of a New
Guinea cannibal, I was dead set on devouring the fallen ;
but I dared not acquaint my parents with the fact that I had
taken to shooting with a real gun, without even saying :
" By your leave."

At that time my paternal grandmother was at the head of
the domestic commissariat and culinary department, since my
mother was an invalid. The former was a fairylike little
creature of the old-fashioned sort, saucy silvery curls, cap of
the finest lace, and mittens, all complete. I remember that
she had the most beautiful hands, and the brightest eyes I
ever remember to have seen in one of her age. She was then
well on in the eighties. She was of the ancient town of Taunton,
and when she migrated to Moat Mount, she brought with her
as cook an ancient serving maid, of similar age, typical of
the brave county of " Zummerzet sheer."

Ere this, the original " Nannie " had been joined in holy
wedlock to the coachman, and the happy pair had set up in a
snug little country pub, not far remote from our home. Where-
upon " Old Mary " had adopted me as her own particular pet
so wholeheartedly that everything I might say or do was
deemed by her to be absolutely correct, whilst every lapse
from grace on my part was camouflaged, or passed over
with loving leniency.

If Nannie was the first woman I ever loved, Mary was sure
a good second, though I fear my passion was o'ercast by
more than a shade of opportunism, inasmuch as her cunning

14 A Sportsman at Large

hand devised many an enticing delicacy for my especial
benefit ; moreover, when in trouble or distress, I invariably
fled to Mary's arms and wept out my sorrows on her gaunt
bosom. So to Mary I went with my starlings and my wood
pigeon, and in due course they were served up for my delecta-
tion. The former in a pie (rather bitter in flavour) and the
latter made into a tasty salmi.

Now I must hark back a bit.

My love of dogs was, to a certain extent, an inborn trait ;
owing its origin to the laws of heredity ; for The Dads was sure
possessed of this amiable idiosyncrasy.

The first dog I ever recognized as such was a cherished
animal belonging to my parent, which he averred was a Clumber
spaniel, but which would have been hardly so rated by anyone
possessing even the most elementary knowledge of the breed.

His name was Dash. I have no knowledge of the days
of his youth, but I remember him as a rather plethoric and
blear-eyed specimen of the canine race. According to his
doting master, he had been a marvel on any and every species
of game in his time, which was not mine ! He was a kindly
soul enough, but by way of testing his amiability I loosed
off a gin-trap, teeth downwards, on the small of his back,
whereupon he proceeded to bite me — good and hard !

With loud lamentations and according to custom, I fled
to the arms of Old Mary and sobbed out my tale of woe.
The tragic tale was conveyed to Grannie, and she, in turn,
recited it to her son, conjuring him to have the offensive
Dash executed there and then. The Dads was adamant,
however, and was callous enough to declare that my lesion
served me right. When I had thought it well over, I was
magnanimous enough to agree, for my affection for the old
dog was real enough.

But a compromise was arrived at. Dash was to be awarded
C.B., chained to a kennel in the yard.

Then a feud arose between him and an aggressive old
Cochin cock, lord of a harem of half-a-dozen barn-door hens.
This vulgar bird used to marshal his seraglio, and descend
on Dash's food. When the latter made a sortie from his
entrenched position, with blood-curdling growls and gnashing

A Sportsman at Large 15

of teeth, the cowardly birds would retreat until they were
just beyond the length of his tether, and then the rooster
would flap his wings and indulge in ill-timed crowing and
struttings.

This struck me as being unreasonable, so I watched my
opportunity, unfastened the old dog's bonds, and bidding
him take up his position in his kennel and lie low, I awaited
developments.

Issue was soon joined.

The enemy descended on the flesh-pots as usual, but when
Dash, with no restraining chain, dashed out, there was a
rare to-do. The retreat became a rout, and the blatant
Cochin and his entourage were only just in time to escape
dire disaster by hustling through the trap-door of the hen-
run, where their enemy could not follow. But the raiders
were not to be thus easily debarred from their forays. Their
C.O., relying on the aforesaid trap-door, repeated the
manoeuvre, leaving Dash, thoroughly disgruntled, snarling
defiance through the wire netting of the hen-run. Again
human intelligence, as exemplified by a simple little child,
was brought into play. This time I waited until the
feathered felons were close on their objective, and then
slipped over to their retreat and lowered the trap-door of
their legitimate quarters ; consequently, when Dash made
his assault, their haven of safety was debarred them, and
the gallant old dog had the time of his life ! Such a clucking
and squawking you never heard. Murder would surely have
ensued had not Old Mary, at the head of her scullions, caused
a diversion. As it was, the bumptious rooster was a sorry
sight to behold, having lost the whole of his tail feathers and
a goodly mouthful of lesser plumes. Thenceforth Dash was
left in peace ; but his hatred of the whole chicken tribe
(except when cooked and garnished) remained unabated.

Dear little old Grannie was wont to say that Dash would
eat up an old boot rather than that the fowls should have it.

Being of an inquiring and experimental turn of mind, I
decided to put this theory to the test.

I dismembered a worn-out shooting boot belonging to
The Dads and strewed the pieces in front of the old dog's

16 A Sportsman at Large

kennel, calling out " Coup ! coup ! " and whistling, after the
fashion of the ancient servitor whose job it was to minister
to the fowls. Sure enough, Dash did devour the leather, to
the last piece ; but instead of being lauded for my investi-
gation I was severely reprimanded, whilst Dash was subjected
to a course of emetics and castor oil, with (be it happily said)
satisfactory and obvious results !

When brother Irwin came down from Magdalene, Cam-
bridge, he brought with him a black-and-tan terrier bitch, which
he had possessed himself of at alma mater, not at all a bad
specimen, probably provided by the then dog dealer of Parker's
Peace. In my time the man in possession was named Callaby.

An ill-assorted union was arranged between Dido (for so
she was called) and the ancient Dash, the result being a most
ungodly nondescript which was called Toby. I adopted
this humble mongrel from puppyhood, and grew to love
him with an exceeding great love.

" Handsome is as handsome does " was sure exemplified
in the case of Tobias, for he became one of the best aids to
the gun I ever chanced across. Nothing came amiss to him ;
he was dead keen on fur and feather, had a wonderful nose
and a faculty for exploiting it to the best advantage of the
shooter ; moreover, he was death on all vermin, and game
as a pebble. He was a black and white and weighed about
sixteen pounds only. One day he was accidentally shot by
one of my cousins and seemed in a bad way. The Dads,
who also loved him, brought him home in his arms. The poor
little fellow was bleeding profusely and appeared very weak
and limp.

I let myself go in a passion of grief, I snatched the patient
from my father, when the undaunted and affectionate Toby
rallied to lick my face with glad whines.

Happily his injuries were not so severe as they looked, and
in less than a week my little pal was up and about again.

This brings me back to my essays with my newly-acquired
tuppenny-ha'penny " shooting iron " — it would be gross
flattery to call the thing a gun.

Having brought to bag a variety of feathered victims, I,
naturally enough, began to cast longing eyes on the bunnies,

A Sportsman at Large 17

which in those days were none too plentiful at Moat Mount.
At last I determined to invoke the aid of Toby in my surrep-
titious expeditions. There happened to be an ice house
situate hard by the Barton Pond, the thatching of which was
honeycombed by a family of rabbits.

Many a time and oft I had incited Tobias to launch an
attack on this stronghold, and on several occasions he had
managed to set his teeth on a dilatory coney, 'ere it could
hustle to safety. But I now wanted a more personal and
intimate hand in the game.

All being prepared, I took my stand a convenient distance
from the point where the quarry was wont to bolt, and then
set Toby on the job. Nothing loth, he was soon at work,
and presently out came brer rabbit. Up went the iron-
monger's masterpiece, and with its deafening report the
odoriferous coney turned head over heels in helpless contor-
tions. My first rabbit !

With a yell of delight I threw down my weapon, rushed to
the kicking coney, and seizing him by the hind legs, gave
him a clip behind the ear, which promptly " did him in "
for good and all. I was chortling with joy and pride, when,
chancing to look round, I espied no less a personage than
The Dads himself standing by the ice-house, with my cherished
weapon in his hands. He was examining it carefully, and
as he did so an expression of withering contempt crossed his
usually amiable features.

" Well, you owdacious young scamp, what have you been
up to now ? What d'you call this thing ? "

" Ah, isn't it a beauty, Dads ? Something like a gun,
eh?"

'Yes" — doubtfully — "something like a gun ; but what
is it ? That's what / want to know ? "

I was left guessing again.

" I don't know how you became possessed of the wretched
thing," my parent went on ; " but it's just God's mercy you
are alive. How it happens that it did not burst and blow
you to atoms goodness only knows ! Not another shot do
you fire out of it — understand that ? "

"Oh, Dads! Please, Dads!" I whimpered. "It's a

18 A Sportsman at Large

ripping gun. Why, I've just bowled over this rabbit " —
holding up my victim — " with it ; running, too ! "

" Yes, I saw you ; and a jolly good shot ! But this
thing is a death trap. You are full young to be shooting
yet. Sit tight for a bit, sonnie, and by and by we will fix
you up properly."

I had to be content with this vague concession, but my
heart ached sorely for my twenty-five-bob " shooting-iron."
It was not long, however, before the glorious vision conjured
up by the last words of my beloved parent materialized—
as presently you shall learn.

CHAPTER III

A SUDDEN flood of memory has brought back to my
mind the why and wherefore of The Mums' deter-
mination that I, having been guilty of some particularly
reprehensible conduct, should suffer corporeally at the hands
of her mate, a punishment so well deserved, but which, as
stated, failed to materialize.

It was in this wise.

One day, Cousin Ted and I, having possessed ourselves
of about a pint of particularly juicy and well-developed lob-
worms, were conveying the same to the banks of the further
fish-pond, when we chanced upon the under-gardener taking
his well-earned mid-day siesta beneath the shade of a spread-
ing chestnut tree.

Although we held the head gardener in awe and some
respect, this subordinate was ever a mark for our practical
jokes. He was a bucolic ancient of the typical home-country
breed, whose life was rendered a burden to him by reason of
our unrelenting pranks. There he lay, with his mouth wide
open, and insulting the harmonies of nature with his raucous
snoring.

He was asking for trouble, and he got it !

" Go on, Ted, drop a lob in his mouth/' I urged.

No sooner said than done ! The squirming of the reptile
in its unaccustomed surroundings awakened the sleeper, who
closed his toothless gums with a snap. As soon as he was
wise to what had befallen, he spluttered out :

' Thish is too bar' o' you, Masr' 'Ardin' — I shan' swallow
it, an' I shan' spir' it out. I sh'll jis' wait until yer pa comes
'ome and show 'im war'r you've done." (Translation : " This
is too bad of you, Master Harding ! I shan't swallow it and

*

20 A Sportsman at Large

I shan't spit it out. I shall just wait until your pa comes
home and show him what you've done ! ")

Whether he kept his word as regards the swallowing or
the alternative spitting, history does not relate. All I know
is that the infamy of our behaviour was duly reported to
The Mums, with what result you know. As for Ted, he,
as usual, anticipated trouble by making himself particularly
scarce until the affair had blown over.

I used often to attend the court when The Dads was
occupying the judicial bench at the Clerkenwell (Middlesex)
Sessions, and, as something of a student of humanity and
criminology, I was greatly interested. At the time I speak
of, which was later than that which I have so far dealt with,
there were many notable counsel practising in his court
(some of whom were then juniors), who afterwards became
famous. Among them may be mentioned Mr. Mead, who
was subsequently appointed a stipendiary magistrate, and
for years sat at Maryborough Street Police Court ; also
" Willie " (afterwards Sir Charles) Mathews, who blossomed
into Director of Public Prosecutions ; but Montague Williams
was already it in this and similar courts of justice. Here is
a yarn, which illustrates the respect in which " Monty " was
held by the criminal classes. A hefty burglar who had been
caught in flagrante delicto, was invited to plead. Turning to
the attendant warder, who shared the dock with him, he
asked gruffly :

" Oo prosecutes ? "

" Mister Williams," replied the minion of the law.

" Oh, GUILTY, milord," growled the criminal resignedly.

A young and callow wearer of the stuff gown arose from
his seat on a back bench and addressed the court.

' The prisoner having pleaded guilty, milord," he began,
" it only remains for me to detail "

' 'Ere ! 'Oo the 'ell's that ? " asked the prisoner, addressing
the warder excitedly.

;< Why, Mister 'Enery Williams, o' course."

' 'Enery, 'Enery — Gawd ! I thought it was Monty. 'Ere,
NOT GUILTY, milord. Let the blighter 'av' a run fer 'is
money ! "

A Sportsman at Large 21

A contemporary of The Dads and a brother sergeant-at-
law was that celebrated advocate Mr. Sergeant Ballantyne,
and the two were great cronies.

On one occasion it happened that my parent was appointed
chairman of a commission held in the provinces. This was
before he was raised to the Bench, but under such circum-
stances he was allowed for the nonce full judicial authority
and status. It happened that Ballantyne was arguing a
case before him.

Bal. : " Now, milord, I wish to call your particular atten-
tion to the point which I have raised — I am sure your lordship
will agree "

Dads : " But I don't agree ! "

Bal. : " But surely, Milord ! "

Dads : " I don't ! "

Bal. : " Oh, come, SERGEANT COX, you must see the
force of my argument ! "

Dads : " No, I don't. It has no bearing whatever on the
case."

Bal. : " Oh, d it all, COX— do be reasonable ! "

I am indebted to my good friend Judge Parry for this
yarn. His Honour is, by the way, the son of another of the
ancient order — Mr. Sergeant Parry to wit.

It is generally believed that my father was " The last of
the Sergeants," but this is an error ; there were two at least
who were junior to him, and one or two (Gaselee and Robinson,
I think) who survived him.

The Dads was a dreamer. His mind was always wandering
into unexplored channels. Whilst actually occupying the
Bench or engaged on some specific pursuit, he was the per-
sonification of concentrated energy ; but as soon as that
particular occupation was concluded, he would relax and
allow his thoughts to soar far above earthly amenities.

Among other appointments which he held was that of
Chairman of Quarter Sessions of the County of Middlesex.
He used to drive to the court in a Stanhope phaeton drawn
by his beloved cobs, Tommy and Pet.

It happened, one winter's afternoon, that he had a bunch
of bookies before him, charged with illegal betting. The

22 A Sportsman at Large

Dads was dead keen on shooting and fishing, but a flutter
on the Turf was, in his eyes, an abomination. So, having
fined the backsliders all round very stiffly, he stalked out of
the court-house and proceeded to enter what he thought to
be his trap, when a corpulent Knight of the Pencil rushed up
in great excitement.

" 'Ere, I say, guv'nor," he bawled, " 'old 'ard. You've
fined me fifty quid — fer the love ov Mike, don't pinch me
blinkin' 'orses and trap ! "

It chanced that the bookie's tits were — like Tommy and
Pet — a bay and a grey respectively. In the dusk of the
declining day my respected parent had " fallen for it."

As a judge, The Dads invariably endeavoured to temper
the wind to the shorn lamb. I remember, on one occasion,
being in court, when after sentence had been pronounced,
a notorious burglar thus addressed him :

" Thank 'ee, Milord, I can do it on my 'ead, though you
'ave give me a pretty stiff stretch ; but, bless yer, I'd raver
cop twelve months 'ard from yer Lordship than'alf of it from
any other blinkin' bench bounder. Yer does it so damned
affable like."

But it was not always so. One day I was beside him on
the seat of the mighty, when a tough old lag (Buckley by
name), who was evidently dissatisfied with what had been
awarded him, as the consequence of his lawlessness, stooped
down in the dock, and before one could say " knife," or the
attendant warder could restrain him, had removed his clod-
hopper boot, and sent it hurtling at the head of the Majesty
of the Law, as represented by my gentle parent.

The hob-nailed missile passed harmlessly between his
head and mine, and found its billet on the wainscotting
behind the judicial chair, where it landed with a resounding
crash. The learned judge, who was busy recording the
sentence, looked up without moving a muscle, murmuring
mildly :

" Buckley, Buckley, I'm surprised at you ! "

What a nerve, and what a man I

CHAPTER IV

MY birthday happens to fall on the penultimate day of
August. Between the occasion of my foray on the
ice-house and that date I had been left guessing whether, or
when, I should next have a chance of loosing off a gun, and
had sorrowfully come to the conclusion that once again I
should have to possess my soul in patience, what time I
could only watch my elders — and alleged betters — attempting
the death of sparsely scattered birds and bunnies when St.
Partridge's Day should arrive ; therefore, my anticipation
was not of a very ardent quality. So I retired to rest on the
3 ist, without experiencing those thrills of excitement which
are apt to drive slumber from the eyes of the most weary of
small boys, who is assured of participation in the onslaught
of " The First." I slept like a top.

But I was early awake. The first object on which my
eyes fell was a long, brown, flax-cloth case beautifully bound
with burnished brass.

I leaped out of bed, bent on closer investigation.

There was affixed thereto a plate, on which was inscribed
the following touching legend :

" HARDING DE F. Cox,

FROM

" His LOVING FATHER,
On the occasion of his 12 th Birthday. "

With trembling fingers I unfastened the strappings, plied
the key which was attached to the handle, and lifted the lid.

What a^glorious sight met my eyes 1

There, in"' its" green-baize bed, was a beautiful single-barrel
pin-fire, twelve bore, with fittings complete. Glory be !

23

24 A Sportsman at Large

Rushing to The Dads room, I rudely awakened him and
poured out my gratitude in an incoherent torrent.

The learned Sergeant was coyly overwhelmed.

" There, there," he said, " that will do ! It's more than
you deserve ; but, bless me, after seeing you bowl over a
rabbit with that death-trap of a weapon, I thought I would
give you a chance, though, really, you are far too young
and reckless to be trusted with a gun of your own. You know
the rules of the game, see that you keep to them. Now run
along, there's a good chap, and be ready to start an hour
after breakfast."

Was I ready ? You bet !

But The Dads was not.

Irwin and my Uncle Gill (irreverently known by the prefix
" Gaffer " vice " Uncle ") were waiting with Ward, the keeper,
and his assistant. With them was old Sancho, a liver-and-
white pointer, which had been a stand-by for many seasons
past, but who was now somewhat archaic. He was a staunch
and reliable old fellow, as slow as a man, but a sticker and
a tryer all the time, although occasionally he would play a
well-worn practical joke on the shooters by freezing on to—
nothing! Then when the forces, with beating hearts and
on the tip-toe of expectation, converged on his point, he
would break it, and amble off with a derisive wave of his
tail, as who should say, " Sold again ! " There was a time
when such deliberate frauds on the innocent met with well-
merited punishment in the form of an ash-plant, laid on
hard and good ; but latterly the dignity which is supposed
to attach itself to Anno Domini forbade such drastic measures.
Now a gentle word of reproof, accompanied by a glance of
sorrowful reproach, was all he had to fear for the award of
his backslidings.

At last, The Dads, who had been engaged with the village
policeman in a mysterious matter which had to do with some
local miscreant, joined us in the yard. At the last moment
the ever-ready Toby, who had been locked up as one unfitted
for the sport toward, broke barracks, rushed up, and began
caressing our gun barrels one by one, as was his wont.

A gun was a fetish to Tobias.

A Sportsman at Large 25

He was about to be relegated to durance vile, loudly pro-
testing, when I intervened, and begged that my little pal
might be allowed to accompany us — if only as an onlooker.

So it was agreed that if he was kept on a lead and not per-
mitted to take any sort of hand in the game, his presence
would be tolerated.

He was handed over — much to his disgust and mine — to
the tender care of the under-keeper Hedges, and then the
cavalcade moved off.

The beat which had been selected as our objective was
known to hold three coveys, and three only. The habitat
of one of these had been carefully noted, so that Ward was
able to take us straight to the pasture, where it was good
odds on its being found.

It was a field of " rowan " (second crop of grass), which
afforded very good cover. The keeper confided to us that
the covey which lurked thereabouts consisted of twelve units,
including the " old birds "— " Unless," so he said, " they
durned old foxes" had depleted its strength. Sure enough,
old Sancho, as soon as he had sniffed the air, began to steady
his quarterings, and was soon drawing on the birds.

Presently he pulled up, stiffened, and became as a dog
modelled in bronze.

I had been placed on the extreme left, with The Dads my
next-door neighbour. He was determined that if I was fated
to slay anyone it should be his fond parent ; but I had no
intention of qualifying as a parricide.

Gaffer Gill, armed with an antique muzzle-loader, was next
in the line, whilst brother Irwin, who " did not half fancy
himself " as a shot, was on the right flank. The line
advanced.

Toby, who from the first had bitterly resented the restraining
leash, suddenly gave a leap forward, dragging it out of
Hedge's hand. He put in an amazing sprint, passed the
line of shooters, ignored Sancho's staunch stance, flew past
the old dog, and giving vent to a shout of canine exulta-
tion, dashed into the covey, which rose, with piercing " cheer-
r-r- whits ! " just out of shot.

Irwin' s remarks were not fit for publication.

26 A Sportsman at Large

Even the generally imperturbable Dads was heard to
ejaculate: " D the little beast ! "

Well, at any rate, the delinquent had succeeded in scatter-
ing the birds in all directions, and as our trusty henchman
had carefully marked down four brace of them, a good chance
of taking toll was afforded.

It is sure an ill wind that blows nobody any good !

As often was the case in those parts, partridges, when
thoroughly scared, were wont to take cover in the hedge-
rows, and so it happened on this auspicious occasion. So
now a new method of attack was devised.

The Dads and I were on one side of the fence, whilst Ii win
and Gaffer Gill were on the other ; but lo ! and behold,
although we traversed its whole length, and though Ward and
Hedges were busy with their sticks, not a feather fluttered ;
for the said hedge was thick and " blind," with a deep ditch
overgrown with blackberry brambles on our side. Both dogs
had been taken up, but now my precious little mongrel was
to come into his own. After some demur he was loosed, and
immediately set to work on the lee side of the fence. Sure
enough, we had not gone fifty yards before he pulled up and
gave most obvious signs that he had discovered the lie of a
lurking bird. As we came up, he dashed in.

" Look out, Irwin ! " shouted The Dads. Next moment
a report on the far side of the hedge was heard, followed by
my brother's exultant " Got 'im ! "

The first bird of the season 1

Further on, Toby, who had issued on the other side, in
hopes of chawing up the victim (in which nefarious endeavour
he was thwarted by the agility of Ward), made another dash,
and this time a bird bustled out our way. It seems that
The Dads and I loosed off simultaneously. But I was not
aware that my parent had fired. Down came the bird and I
was puffed up with pride.

" Bravo, old boy ! " exclaimed The Dads, " that was a
grand shot ! " Then I noticed that my parent was reloading.

" Did you fire, Dads ? " I asked, somewhat crestfallen.

" Why, yes, dear boy ; " quickly adding, " but I know I
missed. It's your bird all right I "

A Sportsman at Large 27

Now I had always regarded the learned Sergeant as one
whose word could be implicitly relied upon ; but now I had
my doubts ; moreover, my newly-acquired weapon had given
my shoulder a punch which revived painful memories of the
unspeakable polygroove ; whilst the second finger of my
right hand showed a conspicuous and highly-coloured bump.

The light, single-barrelled weapon, carrying a fully-loaded
cartridge, was bound to cause a very severe recoil, one which
was far too great a tax on the endurance of a little boy of
twelve.

But I meant to have another go. The opportunity soon
arose, but I missed my bird like a man, and again my shoulder
and finger suffered severely.

Then I began to funk, which destroyed any chance I may
have possessed of legitimately accounting for " a kill " on my
own ; moreover, " gun-headache " now afflicted me sorely ;
so I had to " cry a go."

I lay down under a haystack at the luncheon interval, and
was seized with such nausea that neither solid nor liquid
refreshment appealed to me in the least.

The grown-ups were very solicitous and a council of war
was held.

Irwin handled my gun and pronounced it too long in the
stock ; whereby the butt could not be properly placed when I
" threw up."

A brain-wave came to Gaffer Bill. u The boy must have the
stock shortened and the charge reduced." This was agreed.

No more shooting for me that day ; but a few days later
I was again on the war-path. The stock of my gun, now
shortened, fitted my shoulder to a nicety, whilst my cartridges
carried a greatly reduced charge. I tried it on bye-days,
selecting as my intended victims unfortunate blackbirds and
thrushes which the keepers beat out of the hedgerows for a
trial of my marksmanship. Of these I gave a fair account ;
so that when once more I joined the shooting-party my con-
fidence was restored, and I was determined to bring a partridge
to book, under circumstances such as would make it absolutely
certain that it was I, and I alone, who had accomplished the
deed. And this is how I contrived it.

28 A Sportsman at Large

We were after covey No. 2 — one of about eight birds only.
They had risen to Irwin and Gaffer Bill, so that neither The
Dads nor I had a chance of loosing off at them ; but, as on the
previous occasion, the survivors had scattered promisingly.
One bird came back, over our heads, unobserved by any
of the party save myself ; but I marked him (it turned out to
be the old cock) carefully, into a small, triangular patch of
mangolds.

Waiting my opportunity and taking Toby with me, I slipped
away from the others, waited until they were lost to sight, if
not to memory dear, and then made for the said roots, which
I carefully walked across and across ; but devil a partridge
was forthcoming. I was just about to " chuck it," thoroughly
defeated, when I noticed the faithful Tobias with ears well
cocked and stumpy tail violently oscillating, a hundred to the
second, marking something in a stack of pea-sticks at the end
of the patch.

" Ah," thought I, " a bunny ! I'll have his blood ; better
half a loaf than no bread ! "

Next moment there was a fluttering and whirling of wings,
and then, with plaintive " chir-r-r whits," out came the
desirable old cock. He gave me a fair chance, and, to my
intense joy, he fell to my shot. No doubt about it this time !
Then there was a pretty race between Toby and myself to
the fallen bird. I knew how quickly my mongrel would
dismember the prey, given half a chance.

He won by a bare length, but I was so close up that, as soon
as he set teeth in the bird, and before he could effect any
serious damange, I had him by the throat and choked him off.

My first partridge !

Oh, I was a happy lad !

CHAPTER V

THREE years previous to this mild adventure, having
reached the mature age of nine, I was sold into the
slavery of scholastic life. Up to that time I had run wild.
My half-brother, Irwin, had just come down from Magdalene,
Cambridge, and, as he was eighteen years my senior, he was,
naturally enough, inclined to be aloof and patronizing in his
attitude towards me ; although he did occasionally condescend
to take me angling, and to teach me the wiles of fishes and the
most effective methods of out-manoeuvring them. On the
other hand, I was constantly raising his wrath by my persistent
raids on the game preserves, such as they were ; for I was a
persistent and pernicious poacher. After all, it has been said
that a poacher is only a good sportsman turned inside out ;
so this reprehensible trait must not be writ too large against me.

Long before I made that memorable onslaught with the
polygroove, I had secretly cherished ferrets, had contrived
rabbits' nets, and, with the mongrel Tobias, had accounted for
several dozen conies, the stock of which, never very plethoric,
showed a lamentable diminution, owing to my malpractices.

It was some time before Irwin's suspicions as to the cause
of the scarcity of fur were fully aroused ; but when once
satisfied that professional poachers had nothing to do with
the decline of the said stock, he began to practise the sneaking
methods of the sleuth.

One day, a hooligan cousin (one Edward Gill, son of the
Gaffer of that ilk) and I were busy in one of the coverts, where
we imagined that our operations would be well-screened.
Our best fitch ferret was in, and we could hear Brer Rabbit
scuttling about subterraneously, as is his wont when his
vicious enemy sets about him. We were on the alert for the

39

so A Sportsman at Large

sudden bolt and consequent enmeshment in our well-placed
snare, when suddenly an icy voice spoke up, close in our rear.
It was Irwin, in all the majesty of outraged virtue.

" Here, you young ruffians, what the h are you doing ?

You infernal young poachers ! Take that . . . and that ! ! ! "

The first " that " was a sound clout on the ear for me,
which sent me sprawling. The second " that " was a hefty
kick on the only visible portion of Edward's anatomy — that
young sport being half-way down the main earth, listening
to the scrap which was going on below. He withdrew himself
with a yell of anguish and sprinted off into the thicket. The
indignant Irwin took no further notice of his little brother
Harding ; but, seizing the ferret line, jerked it so violently
that our cherished pet was like to lose his head. As it was,
he was incontinently snatched from his encounter with Mr.
Coney, and the last I saw of him was being swung round and
round at the end of the string, like an animated Catherine
wheel, by my infuriated brother as he stalked away.

I always held a wholesome dread of my half-brother ;
though he was generally of a cheery and good-natured dis-
position. Even when I was a grown man this feeling survived
to some extent.

My parents, wishing to acclimatize me to the amenities of
school life, sent me to Totteridge Park as a day boarder to
begin with. As The Dads passed and repassed it morning and
evening, when driving his smart cobs to and from Barnet
Station, I generally enjoyed a lift each way.

It was not long before I had my first fight. My opponent
was one Georgie Roberts, to whom I had taken an instant
and intense liking ; but as is so often the case with sworn pals
of the schoolboy persuasion, we fell out about some trifle
and came to blows.

Now, even in those days, I was inflicted by nature with a
decidedly prominent proboscis. There never has been any
necessity to " land me one on the point " (as located by the
experts of The Ring) in order to " put me to sleep/' A
well-directed fistic impact with my nasal organ was sufficient.
Such a blow would immediately render me hors de combat,
blind and bleeding.

A Sportsman at Large 31

It was winter time, and George was wearing a red worsted
muffler. He just missed the mark, whereupon I decided to
take no further risks, so seized him by the flaming " com-
forter " and proceeded to do my best to choke the life out of
him. He was rescued just in time by the headmaster's wife.
They put me in Coventry for three days for this lapse of
sportsmanship. I richly deserved it, but Roberts was of a
forgiving nature, and was the first to plead for my return
to general companionship and conviviality. I was really fond
of this little lad, and cried myself to sleep when he departed
from the school.

My first fight and my first unrelated friend.

After a time I became a boarder at Totteridge ; but was
permitted to spend the week-ends at dear, beloved Moat
Mount. Though Irwin was only my half-brother, I had two
full sisters, Ada and Florence ; whilst another, Alicia, whom
I cannot recall, fell a victim to diphtheria when only nine years
of age, poor little soul !

Ada (who was nine years my senior) at that time did not
favour me with much of her society. I think she was too
busy looking for "a soul's mate ; " but Florrie, on the con-
trary, was a real pal. She, too, was much older than myself,
and of a highly religious turn of mind. She would accompany
me fishing, bird-nesting, butterfly-collecting and what not.

Both girls were keen ornithologists, and it was they who
taught me the art of rearing callow fledglings from the nest
to maturity.

I was about twelve years old when we lost Florrie, through
some mysterious renal trouble.

I was utterly disconsolate !

They took me to her funeral, and this so depressed me that
the memory of the mummery haunted me day and night for
many months. I then and there took unto myself an oath,
never to attend another funeral unless and until forced to do
so, owing to circumstances over which I have no control —
and then it should be as principal . . . feet first !

Shortly after this, my first great grief, I was transferred
to Elstree School, which was situated about three miles from
Moat Mount. Here again, I was allowed an "exeat " every

32 A Sportsman at Large

fortnight, and returned, on those occasions, to my cherished
home, full of joy and thanksgiving.

At this preparatory school I began to take an interest in
sports and pastimes unconnected with the pursuit of the wild ;
such as cricket, football, athletics, prisoner's base, marbles
and pegtop spinning ; being most successful in the first and
last of these ; though I had a decided penchant for marbles.
Here was the gambling spirit revealing itself. My combative
bumps swelled, and I grew keen as mustard on acquiring,
through my skill, the bulk of my school-fellows' store of alley
taws, blood-alleys and other desirable trophies. I was a
bit of a knut too, at " Conquerors." I invented a method of
pickling my horse chestnuts which rendered them quite
pachydermatous and impervious to the impact of my op-
ponents' " champions."

At that time, Elstree School was administered by the Rev.
Thompson Podmore, a great believer in the " spare the rod,
spoil the child " theory. Nothing he loved better than to hear
his stiff cane lash on the outheld hand of a delinquent. Such
would raise a great blood-blister, which generally put that
particular member out of action for a week. But I was in
" Pod's " good graces and was never called upon to obey
the command : " hold out your hand ! "

I may say, here and now, that not once during my boyhood
(or since, of course) was I subjected to corporal punishment,
by the various masters who had authority over my person ;
though all three schools, Totteridge, Elstree and Harrow, were
given to the practice of physical torture. Perhaps it was
because I was a very small boy and looked extremely delicate
(which I sure was not !) that caused the pundits to refrain
from the assault and battery of my flesh ; and yet I was
always " asking for it." Some people, like cunning horses,
when severely pressed, are given to looking out for " rat holes "
in which to take refuge, and they generally find one. I think
I must be of this kidney. Of one thing I am quite certain,
and that is, that it was not my transcendant virtue or amena-
bility to discipline which saved me from painful inflictions on
my epidermis.

I am an antagonist of corporal punishment on horse, dog

A Sportsman at Large 88

or human child. As regards the last-named, it is a point of
honour in a public school that a boy should not funk " a
swiping," but rather enjoy it, and boast of it — so cui bono ?

If a temperamental lad does allow fear to obsess him,
more harm than good is sure to accrue ; for thus his nervous
system may be dangerously affected. But there is worse
behind. Every physiologist knows that, in some cases, the
birch acts as an aphrodisiac and a stimulant to sexual
disturbance. Such reaction is likely to occur, not only in
the case of the patient, but also in that of the agent. Many
cases of sexual degeneracy have been traced to flagellation.

Putting this very real danger aside — Is it not highly degrading
for a Doctor of Divinity to constitute himself sworn torturer
and inflicter of lesion on the " head's antipodes " of an ado-
lescent schoolboy ? If corporal punishment really is necessary,
which (except in the case of deliberate brutality to child or
animal) I very much doubt; should not the operation be
performed by the school porter, or " custos ? "

The High Sheriff is expected to hang a felon convicted of
wilful murder, only when the common hangman is not avail-
able. I have yet to hear of a governor of a gaol who insists
on wielding the cat-o' -nine-tails himself, and who glories in the
deed, as do our most revered and reverend head masters !

I am afraid that the Rev. Thompson Podmore was not
making much of a success of Elstree during the final year of
his tenure. For this, or some other reason, he arranged to
turn the school over to the Rev. Launcelot Sanderson, a
Harrow master. At the time, I was nearly head of the school,
and a member of the cricket eleven, with a decimal average.
I thought myself fairly primed with scholastic knowledge ;
but when the Rev. Launcelot came to have a look around, he
evidently thought otherwise, for he informed me that unless
I bucked up, I might well be " spun " for the Harrow entrance
examination.

This " put the wind up " me as the saying goes, and I grew
uneasy. When the day of trial and tribulation arose, I was
in a neurasthenic state, which was rendered the more acute
since I was suffering from one of those devastating headaches
which were prone to overcome me periodically during the time

3

S4 A Sportsman at Large

I was " in my teens." The consequence was that my examina-
tion papers were by no means up to the mark ; whilst I was
mentally paralysed when I faced the mighty " Head " (the
Rev. Theobald Butler) for the viva voce test. I could not take
my mind off the remarkable resemblance of the examiner to
the counterfeit presentments of Jesus of Nazareth, as depicted
throughout the ages.

At last it was finished, and I awaited judgment with fear
and trembling.

" Lit-tel boy," began the great and fearsome man, in his
curious, cooing voice, " I have decided to pass you into the
school, because you have reached the age limit for entrance,
and you would not have another chance ; but it is more as
an act of grace than because of any sign of intrinsic merit
which you have displayed. If your dear parents inquire where
you have been placed, say the Third Form : — It is the lowest
in the school ! "

Of a truth it was not only the lowest in the school, but
was a veritable home for lost dogs of the most hopeless kind.
There were only two other unfortunates so branded with
utter incompetence. One was George Capell, who afterwards
succeeded to the Earldom of Essex, and Charlie Blacklock, who
ultimately reaped a considerable fortune through the publica-
tion of that wonderful but rather intricate vade mecum,
"Bradshaw's Guide." The first-named greatly distinguished
himself by establishing a record, as he came out bottom of the
school for three terms running; whilst Charlie (with whom
in after years I fraternized on the plains of Altcar) remained
in the select coterie, as proxime accessit, or runner-up, for the
wooden spoon, until advised to quit as a hopeless dunce.

It was not so with your Uncle Cockie, however ; for it soon
became evident that his private trial was all wrong and that
Dr. Butler had not formed an accurate estimate of his true
form.

As " The Third " was so numerically and mentally weak,
it did its work with " The Third-Fourth; " consequently the
combined " field " numbered some two dozen boys. I was
determined to wipe out the insult imposed upon me by in-
clusion with the aforesaid George and Charles, so I became

A Sportsman at Large 35

ultra studious, with the happy result that, the very first week,
I came out head of the coalition. I was immediately raised
a peg, and at the end of the term, was only beaten a short
head by a little pal of mine called Wells. The next term
we were both honoured with " a double remove."

This placed us in " The First Fourth " then handled by the
benevolent, but somewhat eccentric Rev. John Smith, whom
all Old Harrovians of his time will bear in reverent and
affectionate remembrance.

John was of a highly religious turn. It was his custom
to interview new boys in the school library, there to warn them
against the wiles of the devil and the temptations of the flesh.

For some reason or other, he hit upon me as a " sub " who
should act as guide, philosopher and friend to shy and diffident
new boys. I am afraid his confidence in " Little Father Cox "
(as he had dubbed me) was sadly misplaced ; for my doctrines
had more to do with the evasion of discipline and the revela-
tion of discreditable methods of outwitting authority, than the
inculcation of those tenets which dear old John held so dear
and desirable.

If one was late for school, one had to stand on a form,
cor am populo, and repeat a hundred times : " It is as easy
to be a minute too soon as a minute too late," and if, on the
inevitable morning inspection, one's finger nails were found
to be in deep or even half-mourning, one had to recite " Cleanli-
ness is next to Godliness " a like number.

I had only one term with John Smith, for the previous
" running " came out to the tick, according to book form
(rather neat quip this) ; for Wells and I finished first and
second. Once more he pipped me on the post by a short
head. Again we went up two places in the form schedule ;
but now we were separated, for I found myself in " The First
Shell B " of which my house master, the much beloved
" Boz " (Bosworth Smith) was in command ; whereas my rival
was allocated to "The First Shell A" ("Billy" Mutton's).

I was rather a favourite with Boz, both in the house and
in form ; I think because I professed a profound interest
in Gibbon's " Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire," which
classic work was a second Bible to my house master.

3*

86 A Sportsman at Large

Having me now under his hand, he was not keen on re-
linquishing the hold ; so I had to stay two terms in his form ;
the first check to my meteoric rise in the scholastic firmament.
Thence, through the Removes and the Fifths I progressed,
finally coming to a standstill in "The Second Fifth "
("Vanity" Watson's).

So much for my more erudite education. Now about my
exploits ' ' out of school. " ' ' Villainous saltpetre, ' ' as you know,
had an irresistible attraction for me, so I elected to join the
School Cadet Corps and take up rifle shooting.

The weapon served out to us was the " Long Sneider ; "
rather cumbersome, but very accurate. In those days, in the
recruits' classes, one had to fire standing, at the shorter ranges.
The rifle was considerably longer than myself, so it was a good
thing that I was strong in the arm, or I should have failed to
bring it to shoulder and keep it steady ; but I successfully
overcame such physical difficulties, and scored quite respectably
in all my classes, finally achieving the honour of the marksman's
badge. What is more, I was tried for " The XI " and shot
in the preliminary matches with quite consistent success.
The time came when the final selection of Harrow representa-
tives for Wimbledon had to be made. I was on tenterhooks,
for it came to my ears that the two masters (Messrs. Holmes
and Bull), who represented the staff, were dubious about
including such a microscopic lad as myself ; for they feared
that when it came to the contest for the Ashburton Shield,
I might be overcome with " stage fright," or afflicted with
one of my " knock-out " headaches. But there was no getting
away from my average, which stood second on the list. I
had a staunch friend in our C. 0., Capt. " Cherry " Trench,
who insisted on my being given my " blue." I shall never
forget my elation when, calling at the office of The Harrovian
(then edited by my now club friend, Walter Sichel), I was
shown by him the list of selections. I was high up therein.
Glory be !

Came the great day, and it was a scorcher !

Among my comrades were Trench, Harrison, Cunliffe,
Apcar, Todd, Hayward, Porteous, Bailie-Hamilton and
Blewitt (Bill of that ilk).

A Sportsman at Large 87

In those days the conditions were, five shots at 200 yards
(standing) and five shots at 500 yards (any position). Our
instructor was Sergeant-Major Gilder, the winner of many an
important event at the annual Wimbledon gala. He was an
advocate for the " feet first " position. The shooter lay on
his back with his feet towards the target, the rifle butt resting in
the right armpit, the barrel passing along the body and between
the drawn-up legs. The head was supported by the left hand,
whilst the right manipulated the alignment.

Now this position may lend itself very conveniently to
long-range, small-bore shooting ; but experience has taught
me that, for the shorter ranges and service competitions, the
ordinary prone position is to be greatly preferred.

Nevertheless, Gilder had coached us well in his pet method,
and had been particularly attentive to myself.

At 200 yards I managed to put on five centres, three of which
were only a fraction from the " bull.J>

At that time, there were three scoring circles only, viz.,
the Bull, the Centre and the Outer. " Magpies " had not been
invented. At 500 yards I found the bull first shot and it
looked well for my prestige.

This I followed up with two centres and then another bull.

I was as steady as a rock, but my last shot let me down.
I suppose I was a bit over anxious. I drew a good bead for
a bull ; but held my breath too long before pressing the
trigger. Instead of taking a rest and a breather, I let off rather
jerkily. Luckily, I found the target ; but a very wide outer
on its left edge was signalled.

This was exasperating. Had I registered another bull
I should have claimed " cock score " and have shot for the
Spencer Cup. Moreover, Harrow would have won the Ash-
burton Shield. Even a centre to my score would have given
us a tie ; but as it was, Winchester " short-headed " us.

Still, no other member had exceeded my total, though I
had to share the honour of "cock score" with Hayward,
Cunliffe and Todd. A dead heat between four !

CHAPTER VI

WHEN the excitement had passed, I wandered about
with one of our team and watched some of the com-
petitions which were proceeding. Among these was the
Graphic prize, which in those days was open all day, like the
pool shooting. Anyone could enter if able to find " seven
bob and a tanner."

" Have a dart, Spadger " [my pet name " Cockie " had
not arrived then, the term " Spadger " being an abbreviation
of "Cock Spadger" (or sparrow), derived from my sur-
name]. " Have a dart and try your luck ! "

Well, the only coins of the realm which remained in my
pocket were a half-crown and a shilling in silver, and fivepence-
halfpenny in bronze. This impecuniosity I had to admit,
when my pal became insistent ; whereupon the generous
lad " came across with " the balance, on condition that if
any dividend accrued I was to adopt the " fifty-fifty "
principle.

So I procured a voucher and took up my position on the
mat. The conditions were seven shots at two hundred yards,
prone.

Now I thought that if I could make an average of centres
at the distance standing, I might perchance make a " possible "
under these far easier circumstances.

Sure enough, a " bull " was signalled to my first shot.
What is more, I followed with five more of the desirable
cattle ; but, alas ! my last shot just missed the inmost circle.
Eagerly we scanned the scores, and, strange to say, we found
that no " possibles " had been registered that day.

Unfortunately for us, the competition remained open the
following one, when three objectionable interlopers put in a
clean card. So that was that !

38

A Sportsman at Large 39

I could only congratulate myself on having put up a good
show, but I and my pard were seven-and-six down, desperately
thirsty, and not a mag left to expend in ginger-beer ; so we
had to cadge around among the other members of the team,
in order to lubricate our parched throats.

I looked to making a mighty mark the following year,
but meanwhile Messrs. Holmes and Bull (known respectively
among the boys as " Skipper " and " Mishter Bullsh " — the
latter on account of his imperfect pronunciation of " st ") were
seized with a brain-wave which turned out disastrously.
They decided on scrapping the good old Long Sneider and
adopting a horrible weapon — the Short Martini (converted).

Not only did this beastly contraption administer a kick
which would have done justice to a petulant camel (the
Arabs say that a man can recover from anything save the
kick of one of these "grousing" and ill-conditioned beasts),
but was terribly inaccurate. At two hundred yards the
defect was not so noticeable, but at five hundred yards it
was only too obvious.

I struggled against adversity and gun headache for some
time, but at last determined to abandon so hopeless a pro-
position. Good Sergt. -Major Gilder was in despair. When
the contest for the Ashburton Shield came round again,
Harrow was conspicuous " down the course." "So I had
reason," as my French ancestors were wont to assert.

I then turned my attention to cricket, a game to which
ever have I had a leaning. I played for my House, and
made some show as a bowler and as a safe and quick " holder "
in the short field — especially point ; but it was not until the
" Shell "—in which I then was— played the " Fifth " that I
made a real stir, for in that classic contest / took nine wickets
for two runs ! This led to a trial for the School, but my
hoped-for brilliance with the leather must have been a mere
flash in the pan, for I quite failed to " produce the goods "
when called upon. Incidentally, I may mention, that as a
Harrow batsman, I was the veriest of "rabbits" ; but in later
days, when the School-on-the-Hill and Alma Mater were left
far behind, I entirely lost the art of trundling, but became a
hefty wielder of the willow, and made some very respectable

40 A Sportsman at Large

scores for The Thespids and other clubs ; though I never
succeeded in claiming a century — seventy-five not out being
the best record to which I can point.

We of the said Thespids were a merry team of Mummers.
Our captain, Aubrey Smith (known as " Round- the-Corner-
Smith," on account of his eccentric approach to the crease
when bowling), was a host in himself — a Cambridge cricket
Blue and captain of Sussex County. Bobby Evett (who had
a reprehensible habit of running me out — we generally opened
the innings together), O'Neill, Oscar Asche, John Drinkwater,
senior, and poor Jimmie Blakeley and Harry Nye Chart,
were some of those who wore the green-and-purple colours
of the Dramatic team with grace and distinction.

To return to Harrow. There came a day when I was to
witness a sad tragedy. A boy called Cotterell was umpiring
at the playing end and standing by short leg. Willie Blacker,
one of the best bats in the eleven, hit one square and very
hard. Before poor Cotterell could duck, the ball caught
him full behind the left ear. He threw both hands up to his
neck and then fell forward on his face — stone dead ! This
dreadful accident caused a deep depression in the school.
It happened shortly before the Eton and Harrow match.
Blacker swore he would never touch a bat again ; but wiser
counsels prevailed, and he not only went up to Lords as one
of our most cherished representatives, but " made good "
handsomely in both innings.

My last term at Harrow was not altogether a happy one,
for I was afflicted constantly with headaches of such severity
that I was continually being prostrated. Medical skill
brought but little relief, and our school " saw-bones " (Dr.
Drinkwater) was quite unable to diagnose the cause of the
trouble or to mitigate its effect. My own opinion is that it
arose through acute dyspepsia set up by the badly-cooked
food served to us. " Boz " was too obsessed by his worship
of Gibbon, and his wife too busy bearing him children, to
properly superintend the House cuisine. Hinc ilia lachrymcz.

On my return to my beloved Moat Mount I speedily re-
covered my normal state of health.

Before abandoning my reminiscences of Harrow, I cannot

A Sportsman at Large 41

resist the temptation to slip in a good story or two d propos
our distinguished " Head," Dr. Butler.

He had a peculiar and distinctive manner of speech which,
to be appreciated, had to be heard ; but all old Harrovians
of his time will be able to set the music of his silken voice to
my libretto.

There was in " Skipper " Holme's house a lad of the name
of Beatty. At the age of eighteen, and when passing his last
term at Harrow he became reckless, and used not only to break
bounds, but actually to venture within the portals of public
houses, there to acquire and consume beer, a heinous offence
indeed ! One day he was caught ftagrante delicto, by no less
a personage than the venerable and white-bearded Rev.
Thomas Steele, who, of course, " sent him up." The head-
master was shocked. " You are a great big boy, Beatty,"
he murmured sorrowfully, " and you are high in the School.
As a rule, it irks me to inflict corporal punishment on such ;
but your offence is rank, and I can conceive no lesser punish-
ment that would meet your case : therefore, oh, Beatty, I
must request you to meet me in the Fourth Form Room
forthwith."

When they met on the fateful spot, Butler spoke again :

" And now, Beatty, I neglected to inquire of you — who
sent you up ? "

" Why, that x. y. z. (awful and abominably coarse swear
words) old fool, Tommy Steele, and I'll see him and you to
H before I take a licking — so there ! "

The good " Head " was thunderstruck ! For a few
moments he was too paralysed and scandalized to speak.
At last he drew himself up and with a majestic wave of the
hand uttered this short but priceless speech :

" Oh ! ! ! Go far— far away— HORRIBLE BEATTY ! ! ! "

And Beatty went.

But his name has been ever treasured in the archives of
Harrow. He has even been canonized, and is recalled as
St. Beatty !

A friend of mine, bringing his son to the head-master's
house, told me that Butler had thus addressed the new
boy :

42 A Sportsman at Large

" Lit-tel boy, you must be prepared to meet with the rough
as well as the smooth ; but you must bear yourself meekly
and reverently towards your schoolfellows, especially if they
are older and stronger than yourself. I remember when I
first went to school, a great big bully of a boy produced a
sharp pen-knife, which he drove into a certain tender portion
of my anatomy, exclaiming, ' Take that, you lit-tel . . .
— something ! ' "

Eventually Dr. Theobald Butler was appointed Master of
Trinity College, Cambridge. This was shortly after I had
gone down.

A certain Indian potentate, who had come to Alma Mater
and Trinity College for the ostensible purpose of acquiring
scholastic distinction, allowed his ambitious activities to
wander in another and less reputable direction — to wit, an
undue admiration for such of the opposite sex, who, for a
consideration, were willing to encourage his amorous
gymnastics.

Unfortunately for the dusky philanderer, the matter
became a public scandal, so he was invited to interview the
Master, who, after reciting a compendium of the backslider's
offences, ended his discourse with :

" Go far back to the Gorgeous East — lascivious oriental ! "

Stet Fortuno Domus !

When at Harrow I would gaze out of my bed-sitting-room
window across the Weald, to where my beloved home Moat
Mount stood high upon the horizon, about six miles distant as
the crow flies, but quite nine as that villainous and odoriferous
bird would hop. I would, in spirit, find myself in the family
circle at late dinner, with The Dads enthroned at the head
of the table, The Mums on his right, and other members of
the family group ranged around the board. Or I would
picture myself, rod or gun in hand, wandering down to the
Big Pond, full of hopeful anticipation, or pushing my way
through the woodlands in search of such game as I might
have the remotest chance of finding. I loved every stick and
stone, every tree and every bush in the dear demesne. When
the holidays at length came round, and I once more set foot
on the sacred soil, I would throw me down and kiss the very

A Sportsman at Large 43

grass on the velvety lawn in front of the house in an ecstasy
of sheer joy and thanksgiving !

As the end of each term grew near, I would draw up a
calendar and scratch out each date as day passed into night,
and I sought my fold-up " frowsting crib."

Not that I was unhappy at " The School-on-the-Hill,"
mark you ! Far from it ! Indeed, I had a pleasant and
fairly easy time there ; but Moat Mount was Moat Mount,
and I had a super-feline attachment to my home and its
inmates and all that it and they meant to me.

Of the holidays, the midsummer vacation appealed to me
particularly. Not only was it the longest, but by far the
most attractive ; for it meant camping out, fishing, shooting,
unlimited fruit (for which I have always had an insatiable
appetite), and various other good things, sports and adven-
tures. My parents always encouraged me to forgather
with contemporary lads. As a smaller boy I was given to
solitude, and when my youthful spirit moved me to seek
the society of others of my age, I had to fall back on the sons
of the soil, as represented by the male offspring of the head
gardener, the farm bailiff, and even on those of subordinate
hinds and menials. Of these I was an unchallenged leader,
and as such led my contingent into innumerable scrapes,
which resulted in the tanning of their several hides, hard and
good ; whilst I, who ought to have suffered in like fashion,
managed to avoid Nemesis, but looked upon the units of my
legion as fitting scapegoats, or " whipping boys," to bear
the burden of my own iniquities.

This association engendered somewhat socialistic theories
in my youthful brain ; whereat The Dads grieved sorely,
since he was a Tory of the old-fashioned, uncompromising
sort

But whilst I was at Harrow my politics underwent con-
siderable modification. The tendency of the school, taken
as a whole, wras decidedly Conservative. When I came to
mix with other boys of equality in social status, I began,
rather snobbishly perhaps, to look down upon my erstwhile
boon companions and to perceive in them a lack of culture
and understanding, and an uncouthness of manner and of

44 A Sportsman at Large

speech, which had not struck me at the time I was marshalling
them for deeds of daring and of mischief.

During the holidays some lad of my own standing and
about my own age — generally one of my cousins of the Gill
ilk — Crandon or Edward — was asked to Moat Mount to keep
me company. Ted Jaquet was some three years younger
than myself, and three years is a considerable hiatus in
seniority when boys are in their middle " teens." At that
time I looked upon Ted of the Jaquet s as " a mere kid,"
though as time went on he seemed to level up, and we became
inseparable pals, and so we remained for more than three
decades. Then circumstances caused a friendly cleavage ;
but to the last he remained the dear, delightful, helpful and
jovial pal, welded to my heart with Jbonds of sterling gold.
Ted of the Gills was, therefore, at that particular phase of
my existence which I am now dealing with, my special
favourite, and a right good time we had of it together in the
woods and far-spreading lands of Moat Mount. It was our
custom, in the summer holidays, to procure a bat-wing tent
and camp out in the park. It was a point of honour with us,
not to partake of any meal in the house except late dinner,
such exception being granted, because it was our pleasure
to listen to the words of wit and wisdom which fell
from the lips of The Dads ; but Ted went very near to
forfeiting the old dear's goodwill altogether, owing to a
piece of tactless greediness on the younger Edward's
part. (The Dads' Christian name was also Edward, be it
understood.)

You must know that my beloved parent had a marked
partiality for baked apple dumplings. Our archaic cook
Mary, who had known him and nursed him as a child, was
ever mindful of this gastronomic penchant, so that " the
jockeys " were very often in evidence. She would provide
exactly enough to go round, plus an extra one jor The Dads'
second offensive, which he invariably launched.

This was, I thought, an understood thing ; but one evening
Edward the Younger so far forgot what was due to his host,
so immeasurably his elder and better, as actually to race
The Dads for the extra dumpling, and, what is more, he

A Sportsman at Large 45

" went near to annexing the stakes " (as we say in racing),
but the " objection " signal was hoisted.

The one remaining dumpling — a very plethoric and inviting
specimen of its kind — reclined on the dish in solitary grandeur.

" Another dumpling please, Uncle Edward/' pleaded his
youthful namesake, handing his plate.

The Dads was very nearly " rushed." Indeed, he took the
desirable confection in the tablespoon, and moved to comply
with the request of this unconscionable " Oliver." Then he
paused, took the bit (no, not the dumpling, of course !) in his
mouth, so to speak, and settled the question. Transferring
the prize in dispute to his own plate with a determined flop,
he exclaimed calmly but decisively :

" No I I'm damned if I do I "

" Edward the Younger " disqualified ! Race awarded to
The Dads !

But for all other meals we decided to be our own caterers,
so had to rely on what we could shoot with the gun, or catch
with the rod, plus eggs of moor-fowl, coots, or what-not
(barring, of course, those of pheasants or partridges), that
we could find, or the layings of the domestic barn-door fowls
which we were able to purloin from the farm-yard. Fruit
and vegetables were obtained by constant raids on the kitchen-
garden, and we had the audacity to milk the docile cows as
they browsed in the meadows.

We built us a field-kitchen of our own. It was certainly
of a somewhat primitive design, but, all things considered,
we managed to turn out really Lucullian repasts, to which
we occasionally deigned to invite the poor dwellers under
the paternal roof. Sometimes, after dinner, The Dads him-
self would come to our camp, and, seating himself, with the
glowing embers lighting up his highly intellectual features,
discourse of interesting Nature studies, or psychological mys-
teries, whilst we listened open-mouthed, what time the owls
flitted in ghostly silence overhead, and then alighting on an
adjacent tree, hooted lugubriously. Suddenly, The Dads
would turn from grave to gay, and rejoice us with flashes of
his ready wit and humour, tales of his own boyhood, or his
experiences at the Bar and on the Bench. Eheufugaces I

46 A Sportsman at Large

It was whilst thus leading a primitive and fairly innocent
life that I had one of the finest bits of carp-fishing that has
ever come my way.

Ted was no adept at the art of the angle, so this depart-
ment was left exclusively to me.

I was well aware that the bit of water, known to our family
as " The Big Pond/' but charted on the ordnance map as
the " Leg-of-Mutton Pond " (owing to its shape), held very
fine carp ; but catching them by ordinary means was quite
out of the question.

I had seen a score of them — fine, fat fellows of alder manic
proportions — sailing in lethargic fashion close to an islet
which studded the centre of the pond, sunning themselves
and basking quite close to the surface.

Thought I: "These fellows must feed sometimes — perhaps
in the early morning. Dashed if I don't have a try ! "

That very evening I punted quietly over to the island,
landing on the side remote from that on which I had so often
spotted the carp, and, crossing over it, I threw in a goodly
ration of ground-bait, consisting of bran, soaked bread and
boiled potatoes. Then I retreated.

The next morning I was up at six o'clock (no " Summer
Time " in those days — genuine six o'clock a.m. !). Leaving
Ted with his expansive mouth wide open, and giving voice
to strangulated rasps and gurgles, I picked up my nine-foot
bottom rod, ready mounted and equipped for the purpose
toward, and slipped down to the pond and into the punt,
which I quietly paddled to the island, and then, with stealthy
tread, approached my baited swim.

" The white mist, herald of a golden morn,
Sweeps from the waters, on whose placid face
The swallow wantons with her mirrored self,
And sombre grey, to tender blue gives place.
The wandering rays of yonder rising sun,
With diamond scintillations deck the grass,
And passing o'er the beads of glittering dew,
Absorb the grateful moisture as they pass."

Such were the conditions, when cautiously I dropped my
hook, baited with bread-paste, over the spot where I had
cast my ground bait the previous evening, when also I had

A Sportsman at Large 47

carefully plumbed the depth and set my tiny cork float
accordingly. It now cocked beautifully. Anticipation was
in evidence. Agitation not unexpected. Realization hoped
for ! Happily the three emotions materialized. First there
was a gentle oscillation of the cork, which sent little fairy rings
radiating from its circumference. Then it curtseyed slightly.

" Those confounded little rudd," I thought. (There were
hundreds of them and baby perch in the pond). " They
will have my bait off before ever a carp has a chance to grab
it ! "

But now the float dipped decidedly, but sedately, until
only the quill at its top remained out of water. Then it
began to sail majestically out and away from the bank.

No rudd this !

I had had sufficient experience of carp bites to sense the real
thing. My heart thumped as I struck !

Yes, there was a dour resistance presaging a mighty rush.
The reel screeched as the line was torn off it.

The first run of a heavy carp is something to remember.
It is no good trying to stop it, or to put on a gentle, ever-
increasing pressure as one can with a salmon. A carp must
be allowed to go right to the end of its sprint, before any
attempt is made to curb its impetuosity. After that, control
may, or may not, be successfully attempted.

On this occasion I triumphed, and had the satisfaction
of netting a golden beauty of nine pounds. What is more,
I accounted for eight others before the fish gave up feeding.
But the first was the " daddy " of the bunch ; the next biggest
being five and a half pounds and the smallest three pounds.
The average four and a quarter pounds. These were not really
big carp, as carp go, having regard to the twenty-pounders and
upwards that we hear of from Cheshunt and various other
quarters ; but they gave me splendid sport for nearly two hours
and filled me with an exceeding great j oy .

I killed only one of these fish, just to see what it tasted like
(it was decidedly muddy in flavour) ; the rest I placed in the
well of the punt as I caught them, and when opportunity
afforded, transferred to the Barton Pond, near the house,
where, to this day, they may be seen enjoying their sun bath

48 A Sportsman at Large

when climatic conditions are favourable. In forty years
my big fellow, whom I know as " Goliath," has grown surely,
if exceeding slowly. He must now weigh close on the standard
twenty pounds pattern. Year after year I have had a hunch
to re-take and examine some of these jokers, but somehow or
other I have continually missed my opportunities early in the
season ; whilst later on, the whole pond is choked with weeds
and you can only just see the great yellow leather mouths and
leaden-hued heads of the carp as they suck in air between
the fronds. But I will pull one of the devils out yet ! You
see if I don't !

Some three miles distant from Moat Mount lies the village
of Edgware, celebrated for its profusion of pubs. They seem
to alternate persistently with the shops or private dwellings,
" pub — shop, pub — cottage, pub — office and so forth. I am
reminded incidentally of the banquets I used to enjoy in
Bosnia, provided in my honour and that of my colleague,
as representatives of Great Britain at the great Sporting
Congress at Ibidje. Every repast began and ended with
beer, with beer between each course and as a topping to
each of the various vintages which were handed round.

At the western end of this same village of Edgware, lies the
fine old mansion and estate known as Canon's Park. When I
and my cronies were lads, Canon's was in the possession of an
aged dame of Scottish descent, Mrs. Begg by name, who, very
graciously gave us boys permission to fish in the " Great Lake "
and the various ponds in the park. This was a privilege which
we thoroughly appreciated, I assure you. It was always an
exuberant joy to drive from home to El Dorado. We would
pull up at the " Round Pond," which lay nearest the gates,
and prepare our rods and tackle, whilst Wilson, our coachman,
would drive on to the mansion, to obtain the necessary permit
for the day. The owner was punctilious about this, and would
never grant general permission ; but I do not remember any
occasion on which a refusal was forthcoming ; nevertheless, I
can vouch for it that we were always obsessed with needless
anxiety until Wilson and the wagonette re-appeared, bearing
the good graces of our patroness. Then happy relief would
reign supreme and we would set to work with a will.

A Sportsman at Large 49

Oh, those were joyous days for enthusiastic young anglers.

Let me recount a typical one.

The said Round Pond swarmed with fish of sorts. The
rudd and roach were of fair size and possessed of voracious
appetites ; also they were pleasantly unsophisticated. There
were possibilities of big tench and perch, but we liked to
start catching fish right away, as an augury for a real good day,
so, on the occasion with which I am dealing, we began nicking
the rosy-finned rudd and ruby-eyed roach in masterly fashion.
Getting tired of this diversion, I wandered off to certain
holes, where I thought tench might be lurking. Having found
a swim to my liking I substituted the tail of a well-scoured lob
for the bread-paste which had proved so effective with the
lesser denizens of the pond. Hardly had the bait time to sink
when it was violently seized. My float shot away under water
and yards of my line were dragged out. A perch, of course !
I gave him time, and then struck, but his size proved to be
in inverse ratio to his energy. He was barely half-a-pound.
I soon had three others of the same quality, and then there
was a marked variation in the phenomena of the next " bite."
For the float, instead of shooting off and under on the slant,
now bobbed serenely two or three times, before submerging
sedately and vertically.

I knew what that portended, so was not surprised when
my strike encountered a very solid resistance. A tench, sure
—and a big fellow to boot. I yelled to Edward of the Gills,
who was still busy with the smaller fish the other side of the
pond. He dropped his rod and sprinted around smartly
enough.

" Here, you ass," I cried, as he arrived panting. ' You've
forgotten the net ! Hook it off and get it — look lively — this
is a beauty ! "

" Oh, net be blowed," my cousin answered rudely. " I
can scoop him out with my hands, if you will drag him in
to the bank."

I had my doubts, but the fish was now beat and rolling on
the top of the water, so I did as asked.

Ted began fumbling with the tench, but at last managed
to raise it from the water.

so A Sportsman at Large

" Chuck him out, and on to the bank," I shouted.

The effort was made, but the fish gave a despairing squirm
and slithered out of Ted's hands, falling back on the surface
with a resounding flop, and incidentally breaking my line
just above the hook, thus freeing itself. It lay still on the
surface for a moment, waving its great, black fins. I dashed
into the water, knee-deep, in hope of retrieving it, but just as
I was about to clutch it, the tench rolled over and sailed
away slowly into the depths from whence it had come. I
was furious and had the wind fairly up, for this desirable fish
was a three-pounder at least !

" You rotter ! " I shouted to my cousin witheringly. " What
the devil made you drop it ? Why on earth didn't you fetch
the net when I told you ? How did you hope to lift a big
tench with your mutton fists ? "

" I couldn't help it, old sport. The dashed thing was as
slippery as an eel ; but what does it matter, there are plenty
more where that ugly brute came from ! "

This was altogether too much. I scrambled out, wet and
muddy and strode up to the offender. I am afraid I conjured
up my whole store of sultry anathemas and voiced them
to the astonished Edward.

He stood it for a time, and then, all of a sudden, his own
choler rose in revolt.

" Shut up ! " he yelled. " Confound you and your slimy
tench. Here, get back into the pond and fetch him out
if you want him."

With this he gave me a shove which sent me to the very
brink of the pond again. The war clouds were gathering, and
it looked as if serious issue would be joined, but, happily,
there was a diversion in the shape of Mrs. Begg's red-headed
and colossal nephew and heir, Charlie Forbes, who came
up and wanted to know what all the rumpus was about, and
whether we had leave to fish his aunt's waters. Having assured
him that such was indeed the case, we simmered down, but
the loss of that particularly fine tench oppressed me for months
and will be held in regretful memory until the end of all things.

Next, we tried a long, river-like bit of water which stretched
between the Round Pond and the " Great Lake " and here,

A Sportsman at Large 51

among other fish of various kinds, I landed two brace of
specimens, which rather puzzled me to identify. Afterwards
I discovered that they were carp-bream. (Even now I am not
sure whether these fish are a distinct species, or are really
hybrids between carp and bream. Certainly they have
marked characteristics of both. It is said that they are to
be caught only in the counties of Middlesex, Herts and Bucks.)

These four which now came to net were much of a size,
about one pound each. In later days I had a round-dozen
between two and three pounds from a private pond near
Watford.

Whilst I was exploiting these strange fishes, Ted got going
with a school of fair-sized perch.

We gave the Big Lake the go-by because it had been drained
off and left dry the preceding winter and we had been given
to understand that it had not been re-stocked. So we made
our way to a small bit of water near the mansion which,
so one of the farmhands informed us, held some " big 'uns."
But our informant failed to specify what manner of fish
they were.

The edges of this pond were very shallow and rush grown,
but far out there seemed to be a deep, clear hole, in the middle
of which was a miniature island.

I baited with lob and cast well out into this open space ;
nor had I long to wait for a response, since my float had hardly
cocked before it was drawn completely out of sight, whilst
my line was dragged quickly along the surface.

When I thought that the psychological moment had arrived,
I struck and found myself fast in something really heavy,
which played deep and refused to show for quite ten minutes.

This time, profiting by experience, Ted devoted himself to
serious business. Tucking up his " bags " he waded through
the shallows to the edge of the deep and soon had our victim
safe in the net. It proved to be a magnificent perch of three-
and-a-quarter pounds ! Good egg !

I began to have visions of a basket of similar beauties, so
set to work again with hope blazing boldly in my bosom.
But never another touch did I have, though I fished on patiently
for nearly two hours ; whilst Ted was trying in a likely-looking

4*

62 A Sportsman at Large

hole on the far side, with an equally barren result. I fished
that pond over and over again on subsequent occasions, but
never had I the ghost of a bite, so I have come to the
conclusion that the ponderous bulk of this perch had resulted
from his cannibalistic practices on what other fish had origin-
ally shared the water with him, and that at last he had
remained monarch of all he surveyed, but rationless, hence
the prompt avidity with which he had seized my worm as soon
as presented. But if half-starved, he certainly did not -look
it, for a handsomer or better-conditioned specimen of his tribe
it would be hard to imagine.

It was now time to wend our way to the Round Pond
again, where Wilson was to pick us up with the wagonette.

We passed along the banks of the Big Lake on our way,
where I gazed with longing eyes at the mallard, tufted duck
and pochards which were in evidence. Passing a bed of
round-reeds, I noticed that they were being violently agitated,
whilst here and there big ripples showed where undoubtedly
fish of some sort were moving.

"Hullo, Ted," I exclaimed, "Dashed if they haven't
re-stocked the lake again, and here have we been thinking
it fishless. We must be after these jokers next time we get a
permit."

" Edward of the Gills " concurred.

And so it came to pass that I wrote to good Mrs. Begg
for leave for a particular day, some fortnight later.

On the preceding night Ted and I went over and dropped
a dose of ground bait, consisting of brewers' grain, greaves,
bread, bran and boiled potatoes in two likely-looking swims.

The next morning saw us mounting our tackle betimes.

The depth was not great and there was something in the
liveliness of the water which told of the presence of fish — many
of them ! I bent on two medium hooks, the one baited with
worm, the other with bread paste. We had plumbed the
depth the previous evening.

No sooner were our floats in action than they became
lively.

At once I was playing what I supposed was a single
fish, but found I had one on each hook. I failed to net them

A Sportsman at Large 53

both, but the one I did land was a carp of about three-quarters
of a pound.

Almost at the same moment Ted had one which might
have been the twin brother of my victim.

The fun, such as it was, was fast and furious. No waiting
here. As soon as ever our baits sank, they were seized,
and so the battle waged until we had two score of these
carplets to our credit. Each were the counterpart of the
other. The same weight, and the same condition, which
was good and healthy. There was a little pool handy in
which we placed our captives. We borrowed a sack from the
Canon's bailiff, and when our trap came to take us home,
we netted out the fish and inserted them therein, packed with
wet grass. This kept them alive until we reached Moat
Mount, where we immediately released them in a little bit of
ornamental water in the garden known as The Basin Pond.
And here they remained for years. They were regularly fed
and became tame enough to eat out of our hands, but they
never grew much, indeed, few of them ever exceeded a pound
in weight. Now had they been Prussian carp this would
not be strange, but, as a matter of fact, they were true
Britishers.

On making inquiries, I found that no fish had been placed
in the Canon's lake to the knowledge of any of the " quality "
or employees. When the water was drained, some whopping
carp had been taken out, also tons of fine tench and some
specimen perch ; but none of these were returned. Where,
then, did these small, even-sized carp come from ? There
were thousands in the lake. How did they " happen " ?

Some ten years later the same problem was presented by
the Big Pond at Moat Mount. It had become foul and silted,
so the water was drained off in July and the fish removed
to other waters. The mud and clay were scooped out to the
depth of at least three feet and then the basin was left fallow
until the following November, when it was allowed to refill
by help of the autumnal rains.

No fish oj any kind were returned to the water, as Irwin
had an idea of stocking with two-year-old trout in the following
February, but for some reason or other this was not done.

54 A Sportsman at Large

In the month of May I happened to notice movements
in the water such as I had observed at Canon's. I felt sure
that fish of some sort were in the water, so I fetched my rod,
and, baiting with brandling worm, set to work. History
repeated itself, for I was kept busy from the very start. This
time the mysterious fish proved to be tench, averaging about
three to the two pounds, and all of practically the same
weight.

I took twenty-seven of them and the next day a visitor had
forty ! And yet, only six months had passed since the pond
was as dry as a turnpike road !

What about it ?

" Oh ! " say some, " the tench must have lain snug in the
mud until the pond refilled ! "

It won't do ! There was no mud. There was not even
clay. Besides, tench have not the pulmonary advantages
of the cerodotus !

" Someone must have introduced them without your
knowledge,'1 say others.

Not on your life ! Fancy anyone taking the trouble to
procure some ten dozen three-quarter pound tench and
surreptitiously introducing them to private waters just for the
fun of the thing ! Go to ! — otherwise — Rats !

No, the sanest theory which I can advance, is that wild fowl
convey the spawn of fish to virgin waters on their feet or
plumage. Or, what is still more likely, devour spawn, which
passes through without being sterilized. But such being
admitted, for the sake of argument, it is still a brain-racking
puzzle to conceive how fish thus propagated could possibly
attain a weight oj three-quarters of a pound in six months ! I
give it up !

It is a remarkable thing, too, that tench never previously
throve in the Big Pond. I introduced many, but not a single
one was ever seen or caught again, and when the pond was
drained devil a tench was in evidence.

What is more, after about sixty of these mysterious new-
comers had been landed by various anglers, there was a sudden
cessation, and from that day to this (on which I write) not
a tench has been caught, seen, or heard of in the Big Pond

A Sportsman at Large 55

of Moat Mount I They had just happened and they just
were not I

That is all there is to it.

But the ultra-rapid growth of fish under certain favourable
circumstances has been strikingly borne home to me on several
occasions. Here is a case in point.

Some few years after the Big Pond had been drained off
as described, a like method of clearance was resorted to as
regards the Barton. Similarly, the bed was left dry for some
months, but the pond was at last replenished by " February
Fill Dyke."

In May, the water swarmed with diminutive rudd and
roach fry. (How they came there goodness only knows !)

Now the Big Pond was over-stocked with perch of the
microbian order, such as never increased in length or bulk
by one jot or tittle. It was easy enough to catch them for
they would fight and hustle for a particle of worm on a small
hook, before it could sink to its proper level.

Two dozen of these liliputian fishes I transferred to the
Barton Pond, where forthwith they set to work gorging them-
selves at the expense of the luckless fry, and had the tune
of their lives !

By October these same fry were utterly exterminated and
I determined to see how the perchlets which I had introduced
had fared meanwhile, so I made an attack with worm.

Success was instantaneous and I landed seven fish weighing
close on three-quarters of a pound each ! Fine, sportive fellows,
in excellent condition, with deeply-coloured stripes and fins,
and opalescent gills.

These I returned to their native element, figuring that in
another year, at their present rate of progression and develop-
ment, I might find myself fighting with Brobdingnagian
specimens.

But oh, dear no ! Now that the supply of cannibalistic
provender had failed, these voracious hooligans refused to
grow an ounce heavier ; moreover, as soon as the last of them
paid forfeit, their numerous progeny reverted to the two-
inch scale, and so remain to this day. Whereby and where-
fore I have come to the conclusion that the average size of

56 A Sportsman at Large

any kind of fish, in any water, depends entirely upon the
normal supply and quality of the food which such water is
able to provide.

When the Christmas holidays came round the gun reigned
supreme, for my angling efforts had not risen to winter
fishing. The leviathan pike was beyond my dreams then,
nor have I ever enjoyed one of those gala days with Esox-
lucius, when fishing in ice-rimmed waters, wonderful specimen
of twenty to thirty pounds are often accounted for. • In
fact, I may at once confess that a paltry fifteen-pound pike
is the best of its ilk that I have ever claimed for my own.

I have already stated that the show of game on the home
estate was of a very modest description, even at the com-
mencement of the season. By the time December was
ushered in there was practically nothing to shoot at in the
way of legitimate game, so we had to fall back upon very
small " deer," such as blackbirds, thrushes (common or
garden and missel), fieldfares and red-wings. The two last-
named were fair game, and enthusiastically welcomed in
any numbers by old Mary, our " Zummerzetzheer " cook,
who served them up in many appetizing and dainty ways.
Personally, I preferred them plain roast and stuffed tight
with bread and butter crumbs, to which just a soup f on of
onion had been added. Believe me, sirs, a fat missel thrush
or fieldfare is something to smack the lips over, cooked and
served in the fashion described.

In my boyhood's days the grass lands which lay to the
north-west of the Metropolis were a favourite resort of the
Scandinavian turdi. When conditions were favourable, large
flocks could be seen scattered over the pastures, busy gather-
ing their daily rations of earthworms, leather-jackets, wire-
worms and other obscene creatures. Wherefore, these birds
might be accounted real good friends to the farmer ; but I
sorrowfully admit that this did not save them from our
murderous raids on their flocks. It was only when a hard
frost rendered their food supply more than problematical
that we had any chance of bringing them into action during
the day-time. In open weather they had ever an alert eye
to mark our stealthy approach.

A Sportsman at Large 57

We got our own back, however, when roosting time arrived.

The two principal coverts on the property were named
respectively, " Scratch " and " Barnet " woods. The former,
by far the larger, covering some forty acres ; but both were
frequented by vast numbers of fieldfares and redwings,
seeking a peaceful night's repose, but often meeting with a
dose of lead pills, which must have dissipated any idea they
may have had of such a happy consummation. By the
" droppings," we were able to determine the best posts to
take up, and so distribute our forces, that the luckless birds,
when harried from one resting place, would seek another,
only to find an equally uncongenial reception.

These excursions were indulged in by all (The Dads as
keen as any), and each shot his birds sitting as they came in
an almost continuous stream from sunset to dark, persistently
perching in certain bare trees. The purist Harry, who
severely condemned this method as not being " cricket,"
would take position outside the wood, where he made some
pretty practice at the fieldfares and redwings, which, after
circling round several times, would swoop down at a high
rate of velocity. One evening he induced me to try this
form of practice. I found it so exhilarating that I gave up
the less sportsmanlike but rather more exciting method of
obtaining a bag.

Yes, exciting ! You have no idea of the thrill experienced
when waiting for the flocks to settle with loud " chack-chacks."
The breathless stalking from tree to tree, until one could
be pretty sure of pinking one's bird ; then the satisfaction of
hearing it hit the ground ; the thrusting through the dense
undergrowth and groping in the semi-darkness, until — with
luck — one's hands touched feather !

One evening I had the good fortune to be posted near a
high beech, which topped all the surrounding trees. Here
the fieldfares came in a continuous stream. I was using
cartridges loaded with a reduced charge of black powder
and Number 8 shot, pro rata. The birds came one by one to
a particular branch on the tree-top, and one by one I dropped
them, until I had two dozen and one to my credit (perhaps
I ought to say discredit — what ?). Then I ran out of ammuni-

58 A Sportsman at Large

tion, and by the time I had replenished my store from that
of brother Irwin, who was on duty at the adjacent post, and
who had hardly had a shot all the evening, the flight was
over.

There came a time when The Dads was able to secure the
sporting rights over the Canon's Park Estate from Mrs. Begg,
and here, in the season, we had some very decent partridge
shooting over dogs. It was not unusual for a party of four
of us to account for between twenty and thirty brace of birds
and half-a-dozen hares in one day's shoot.

But what intrigued me the more seriously were the wild
duck which I had located during my several angling visits.
I was dead keen on duck, and always have been. I thought
the matter out, and persuaded The Dads and Irwin to have
a go.

My tactics entailed the setting forth, in Cimmerian darkness,
of the cutting-out expedition, during the small hours of a
bitter January morning.

Each unit of our contingent was to take up a well-concealed
position near the several reed beds, where the canards sauvages
were known to seek slumber, and there await the first faint
promise of a hopeful dawn, when the " savage " ones, so I
imagined, would awaken and begin flighting to and fro.

This was a sound scheme theoretically, but in practice it
did not pan out particularly well, because The Dads, who
was somewhat purblind in subdued lights, let off at a vagrant
carrion crow — thinking it was a mallard — just as a chorus of
quackings announced that the fun was likely to begin. This
premature and ill-considered explosion caused an awful
turmoil. The duck rose in clouds, with loud lamentations
and splashings, and flew aimlessly in all directions. The
light was still very feeble, and it was hard to cover one's bird
effectively.

However, I had half a dozen shots, and following two of
these, I had the satisfaction of hearing loud " plops "on the
water, denoting the impact of a plump body on its surface.
Both these victims proved to be fine drake-mallard, which,
when retrieved by Irwin's pet bitch Rose, I handled with
intense satisfaction. My brother accounted for another brace,

A Sportsman at Large 59

one of which was a red-headed pochard ; whilst The Dads,
having missed the crow, could produce nothing better than
an old " moU'ern " (heron), which had confidingly flopped
over my parent's head, a moorhen and a water-vole. Any-
way, a mixed bag.

When it is considered that Canon's Park is but little over
seven miles distant from Hyde Park Corner, one may well
marvel at such a good show of game as was here to be found.
I have mentioned that hares were fairy numerous on this fine
estate. So when, later on, I got together my (very) scratch
pack of foot beagles at Moat Mount, I lost no time in taking
them over to Canon's. What is more, we soon " found " in the
park, and had a rare barney. My little " beauties " (?)
who had had a series of blank days at home, now threw their
tongues joyously, and " chowked " about all over the shop —
quite out of my control — for I had no whipper-in. Presently
there were three hares afoot at once within the ringed fence.
The beagles changed from one to another, and pandemonium
reigned. But one division, consisting of about five and a half
couples, somehow glued themselves on to the line of a huge
tabby tom-cat, probably because grimalkin's scent did not
call for such careful and intense nosing out as that of their
legitimate quarry. Anyhow, " pussy " went off hot foot,
making straight for the back-yard of the mansion itself, with
the " brave beagle boys " running from scent to view, and
legging it for all they were worth. When the haven was
reached, there was a devil of a rumpus. Mrs. Begg's prize
poultry broke barracks and flew clucking and squawking in
all directions, with the varlets and scullions cursing and
swearing, kicking and hitting right and left. Then their
mistress's fat but beloved prize pug had an epileptic fit and
nearly paid in his checks !

Luckily, good Mrs. Begg was absent that day, but you may
be sure that a highly-coloured description of the fiasco was
conveyed to her by her menials, though, goodness knows, the
episode was lurid enough, even when not exaggerated.

Anyway, it put " paid " to our further activities at Canon's.
We were all " warned off " for life ! Of course, I " got the
bird," as the saying goes ! I have dealt with these blessed

60 A Sportsman at Large

beagles of mine elsewhere. They were destined to get me
into further trouble as related in an earlier book of my
reminiscences. In later years Canon's passed into the pos-
session of my club-friend, Sir Arthur Du Cros. He had the
Great Lake drained and all the coarse fish removed (I am
told there were three tons of enormous carp and tench among
other species), with a view to stocking it with trout. Some
ill-advised friend persuaded him to introduce " rainbows,"
with the usual and inevitable consequence that, in a year's
time, they had entirely disappeared.

Then I offered to go into the matter thoroughly, guaranteeing
that the lake should become a perfect paradise for the angler.

Of course, my plan was the stocking with three and two-
year-old brown trout, seeing to it that a plentiful supply of
snails, leeches, minnows and nymphida was kept up.

At first Sir Arthur concurred, but business took him out of
England, so I had no opportunity of conferring with him
personally. Meanwhile I had made a careful investigation of
the water, but quite failed to ascertain that there were fish
of any kind therein, though I did not try with my rod.

When Sir Arthur returned, he informed me that it was
not his intention to retain possession of Canon's Park.

So that was that !

After my beloved father's death, my brother Irwin became
tenant for life of Moat Mount, and so he remained until his
death, September, 1922. Immediately he came into posses-
sion, he set about game-preserving in orthodox and quite
liberal fashion. He employed experienced keepers and raised
a large head of pheasants. The rabbits increased and
multiplied in surprising fashion, until at last they became
pestiferous, and then the unanswered question was how to
keep them down ?

Where, in the old days we would account for half a dozen
bunnies in a day, we now could count our tally in figures of
hundreds, with long rows of pheasants laid out in gorgeous
array.

These shoots became very formal affairs, and when brother
Irwin invited me to join in, as was his custom so to do, I be-
came, like a convict, a mere number !

A Sportsman at Large 61

It was no longer : " Look out, Cockie, a rabbit coming your
way ! " but " Mark over No. 3 " (or whatever my number
might chance to be).

Plenty to shoot at, good sirs, and a nice hot luncheon in
the interim to batten on. But oh ! for the days with Toby,
Cato or Cockie (according to the era of operations), and one
tried and trusted pal, working hard all day for half a dozen
rabbits, a possible pheasant, partridge or woodcock, and an
assortment of pigeons, fieldfares and redwings !

Once again — Eheu fugaces !

When bent on the more formal gatherings at Moat Mount,
after poor old Irwin had suffered a breakdown, which
necessitated the laying aside of his beloved gun, I generally
motored down from town with my distinguished relative, Air-
Marshal Sir Hugh (" Boom ") Trenchard (a very keen and
skilful shot), or Capt. Gerald Rivington, an Ai exponent of
the shooters' Art. I think the former was far more upset
about a rocketter or a woodcock missed (and regretted the
" wash-out " far more deeply) than by the undoing of his
wonderful and meticulous plans for raiding Berlin with his
air forces, by reason of the intervention of the Great Armistice
of November nth, 1918.

CHAPTER VII

I WAS eighteen years of age when I left Harrow. My
parents considered that I was a trifle too young to go
up to the Varsity straight away, so made arrangements for
private tuition with my godfather, Canon Harding Girdlestone
of Gloucester. He was head of the Theological College in
that ancient city, and occupied a house in Dean's Yard. The
Girdlestones had a fair quiverful of offspring — five girls :
Mary (" Mynie "), Josephine (" Black Joe "), Lucy, Florie and
Maudie, and one son, Theophilus, who was the youngest but
two of the bunch. Mynie was then just of age. Of course
I fell in love with, and proposed to, her, but was deservedly
snubbed for my pains ; whereupon — giving Black Joe the go-
by— I transferred my affections to Lucy. But she was already
enamoured of one of the students, one Charlie Stook, lately
down from Clare, Cambridge. Instead of bearing jealous
enmity I took a great liking to this lad. He did not seem to
me to be altogether cut out for a clerical life, but that was
the way with most of his fellow students. They seemed to
be very busy enjoying life ; on the " make hay while the sun
shines " principle, I suppose !

Little Maudie was the beauty of the family, but since she
was then only twelve years of age she was not on my map
as a prospective bride, though I made a note of her for future
reference. Truly, some hobbledehoys have a colossal cheek !

But all of the household were very kind and indulgent to
me ; whilst my good godfather spared no pains to cram me
with sufficient book learning to ensure my passing the Trinity
College (Cambridge) Matriculation.

My great regret was that there was no sport to be had round
about Gloucester — not even reasonable rat hunting. The local

62

A Sportsman at Large 63

gun-maker informed me that snipe were often to be found on
the flats of the Severn, so I made several expeditions with
the youthful Theo in attendance ; but devil a snipe or any
other considerable bird — or beast, either, for the matter of
that — did I see. But one day I stood on the ditch in awed
astonishment and excitement, watching the first horse race
that ever came within my ken. I went home carrying the
deadly infection with me.

Otherwise my leisure hours were spent in poring over
novels of a sporting or amorous nature, and in the evenings
attending the theatre, where I saw so many bad plays that
— imagining I could write better — I wasted much ink and
paper in the endeavour, and actually had the effrontery to
send the libretto of one of my feeble efforts to Messrs. David
James and Thomas Thorne, who, at that time, presided over
the fortunes of the Vaudeville Theatre. It goes to the credit
of their kind hearts that, instead of consigning my ridiculous
script to the waste paper basket, they expended a twopenny
stamp in order to return it to its author. Moreover, they en-
closed a short note thanking him " for allowing them to see it."

Then I bethought me of a kind of classic revue, founded on
Homer's " Illiad " which should be enacted in the " Theatre
Royal Back Drawing Room/' when Christmas time should
arrive ; but as its producer required the Girdlestone girls to
wear tights, his ambitious play was promptly banned by the
parental censors. So that was that !

But as Spring came round Charlie Stook, who had occupied
second thwart in the Clare II. boat, bethought him to get
together a four that should disport itself on the local stretch
of the Severn, which at that point was both narrow and
tortuous.

Being a light weight (about 8. 4.) I was inveigled into
acting as cox. I took to it as a duck to water, and what
I learnt under Charlie's tuition stood me in good stead when
I became a Member of the First Trinity Boat Club.

Now that I have reached this point I may as well go ahead
and deal with what befel me during my varsity career, for
there is not much more to be said about my sojourn under
my godfather's roof.

64 A Sportsman at Large

I passed the matriculation quite easily. Here I may
perhaps be allowed to " buck " — that I have never been " spun "
in an examination, though I had a precious narrow squeak
when I came before Dr. Butler for the Harrow entrance
exam, as already set forth.

I went up to Trinity for the Michaelmas term a year after
I had shaken the dust of the school on the Hill from my shoes.

My first idea was to follow up my experience as a rifle shot,
and to attempt to work my way into the Varsity Eight. . Ac-
cordingly I joined the corps ; but hardly had I done so, when
I was pounced upon by some of the " wet bobs/' who, noting
my diminutive proportions, thought I might prove a valuable
asset to the I.T.B.C. as coxswain.

I was in the position of the proverbial ass, steering between
two bundles of hay, but I came to the conclusion that the river,
and not the range, was the place for me. I did not relish the
idea of recruits' drill and other disciplinary amenities. My
experience with the theological four had whetted my appetite
for steering. Moreover, I was wise to the fact that if discipline
were to be the order of the day, your Uncle Cockie was the
one to impose, not to suffer it ! A " Cox " has, or should have,
plenary powers.

My first venture was the steering of one of the Harrovian
scratch fours. Here I was among old schoolfellows, and it
was my luck to draw a pretty useful quartette of oarsmen.

What is more, my little lot won the final in great style,
so I found myself the proud possessor of a double-handled and
lacquered pewter mug, with the names of the victorious crew
neatly engraved thereon, beneath the well-known Harrow
School arms.

When the Lent races came round I was allocated to the
Club Fifth boat, which held an inglorious position — fourth in
the Third Division.

Meanwhile I had put on some weight, and was now close
on nine stone, which at that time was considered over heavy
for a coxswain.

The other captains, in order of seniority, if they were not
already suited with seniors, had had the pick of the freshmen
to handle their lines. They had gone for the lightest bits of

A Sportsman at Large 65

immature humanity that they could lay hands on, without
any respect for natural adaptability to the purpose toward.

Consequently more than one of the clubs' higher boats
were encumbered by anaemic and neurasthenic " coxes,"
who, as might have been foreseen, proved disastrous failures.

It was known that I had had some little experience at the
game, so there was no doubt but that, had I been a couple of
stone lighter, I should not have been relegated to the lowly
Fifth boat.

Now it so happened that an influx of very hefty freshmen
had occurred. Booth, who was captain of the Fifth, had a
fine eye for good material, however raw, and was a master
hand at knocking it into shape and polishing it.

Our stroke was a charming chap, J. T. Penrose by name.
Both he and Booth were religionists of the strictest order,
but for all that, first class sportsmen and as keen as mustard.

Ours was a heavy, powerful crew, and when it came to the
Lent races it became obvious that we were a bit more than
useful.

Penrose rowed a long, sweeping stroke, and was well backed
up by No. 7 and the rest, so that we were full of beans and
hope.

I had noticed how many coxes, during training, had
adopted the traditional method of handling the lines ; that is
to say, they held them behind their backs, with the palms of
the hand turned upward.

This struck me as a foolish and fatuous thing to do. How,
in such fashion, could they possibly exercise that delicacy of
control, such as is necessary to edge a racing eight, going full
swing, around the acute corners of the Cam ?

Another stupid trick they had was to jerk their bodies
forward at the finish of the stroke ; whereby, I felt con-
vinced, that the way of the boat must be disastrously
effected.

Your Uncle Cockie had other ideas. He caused two round
pegs to be attached to his " strings," in such a position, that
when his elbows were pressed to his side these " holds " were
in much the same position as a jockey's hands on the rein
would be when racing.

5

66 A Sportsman at Large

Thereby I was able to make use of that delicacy of
" hands " which is of such precious value in so many sporting
activities.

When it is said of a horseman that he has " good hands/'
the term is perfectly well understood by society in general,
and by its sporting element in particular. The hand is the
executive of the brain ; indeed, it may be said that the latter
is the strategist and the former the tactician ; for in the
nicety of balance, the quick and accurative initiative, and the
nervous and muscular power which links them, depends the
effect which it is desired to produce.

Where this condition of perfect accord exists we have
" hands " as understood in sporting parlance. Where other
conditions prevail we have only physiological members,
which perform their various offices in perfunctory and
unsatisfactory fashion ; since muscular power only is in the
ascendancy, whilst nervous and psychic control is either
entirely wanting, or is of negligible assistance in bringing
about the wished-for result.

The possession of " good hands " is an asset of immense
importance in a great variety of sporting and other endeavours.
Take, for instance, my own case as coxswain of a racing eight.
This is a job where " good hands " are of inestimable service.
They can only exist when clarity of brain, nervous stability and
lightning-like initiative and decision are present. Especially
are they valuable when the course is a tortuous one, such
as that of the Cam. Watch the performance of the various
coxswains as they attempt to negotiate " Grassy Corner "
during the May races. You will then understand where
" hands " come in. The happy possessor of such will take
his angle and slip round the salient, with his rudder only
slightly inclined to the stroke side. As the boat answers to
his touch, hardly a ripple will be raised, so that the " way " is
well maintained, and the craft " straightens out " directly the
open stretch is reached.

Now examine the performance of the novice, or one whose
" hands " are at a discount. He will " come over " too soon
or too late, and then to correct the error, will bring his rudder
with a jerk to such an angle that it will throw up a veritable

A Sportsman at Large 67

fountain. The boat will lose her pace, and appear almost to
stop between the strokes.

It has been said that the difference between good and bad
steering round " Grassy Corner " on the Cam, amounts to
the gain or loss respectively of from one to one and a half
lengths.

It is a remarkable but undoubted fact, that comparatively
few professional jockeys have " hands," and that in this
respect, the amateur rider makes the better show. It is
interesting to watch a large field sweeping past the stands
when cantering to the post. You will have no difficulty in
spotting " hands " — or the want of them. I have always
considered that the snaffle is the excuse for bad hands, and
I am good to support that view.

I have ridden horses of all sorts to hounds ; from the
" blood 'un " to the weight carrying cob, and in summer
time have used some of them as cavalry chargers with my
Yeomanry. I never had a real crash, and my bones retained
their pristine soundness to the end of my hunting career. I
do not think anyone could or would accuse me of not riding
straight to hounds. That was " hands " again ! " Hands "
of the moral variety are required for hunting hounds just as
they are for controlling bodies of one's fellow men and
women, though here the term applied to the natural gift is
tact. But the connection is clear. What a deal of trouble,
unrest and discontent can be caused by a tactless officer in
dealing with all beneath him in rank. Per contra how
pleasant and smooth military service may be under one who
possesses this most desirable quality.

' The eye follows the brain, and the hand follows the eye,"
is the elemental instruction of gun and musketry experts.
One who has not the advantage of " hands " will never be
a dependable shot, whether he be drawing a bead on a figure
target or on an advancing Hun, or whether he be swinging
on to a driven grouse or partridge, or snapping a quick-rising
snipe — he will press the trigger with a nervous jerk which
completely upsets the alignment and windage allowances.

The steering of motor cars and boats, launches, yachts
and larger craft also requires " hands," and in some cases

5*

68 A Sportsman at Large

considerable muscular activity. But I should imagine that
the one accomplishment above all where " hands " are sine
qua non is that, which to me is a mystery on which I look
with reverential awre and unbounded admiration — the art of
the flying pilot in the air. I have no technical knowledge or
experience whatever in this direction ; but surely I am right
in supposing that it is work for " hands " in excelsis ! Oh,
those wonderful boys !

I have never heard it said of an angler that he has " good
hands," yet here is a case where undoubtedly such a pos-
session is of inestimable value, whether he is exercising the
Waltonian art in its highest form (which he asserts is dry-fly
fishing) or whether he is making Herculean casts with a treble
gut cast, and a sixteen-feet rod, in an offensive launched
against the lordly salmon.

In either case, it is not only the subtlety of the attack
which needs " hands " ; but if haply the victim has attached
itself, they come most insistently into requisition when
reducing the struggling fish to that state of sweet reasonable-
ness which makes him amenable to net or gaff.

The " slipper " in the coursing field needs " hands " to
deliver his charges smoothly and evenly. Lacking this
advantage he is apt to jerk them off their feet and put them
out of stride. And what sort of claim to distinction would
the aristocratic sportsman of the Four in Hand Club possess
unless so gifted ? But with " hands " of the right quality
and hearts in the right place, the man, the woman and the
child need fear neither material nor moral opposition.

These are mere academic generalities. It is time I returned
to actualities.

At last the Lent races were toward and the stage was set
for a game quite new to me ; but one which I had looked
forward to with unbounded enthusiasm. So I was in a high
state of excitement when I embarked my crew five minutes
before gun fire.

We were fourth in the long line of the Third Division.
The boat immediately in front of us, if I remember rightly,
was Clare II. Magdalene was head of the Division, and I
think it was Downing which came next.

A Sportsman at Large 69

I looked to my rudder lines and tested them. All correct !

Booth stood with watch in hand. " Three minutes more !
Two minutes ! Sixty seconds ! "

I gave the word of command.

" Ready ? Forward ! "

" Thirty seconds, fifteen, ten, five, fou*, three, two, one.
GUN ! "

We were away smartly and immediately began to gain
on Clare ; but they, in their turn, were quickly pegging back
Downing.

I was almost within striking distance as we rounded First
Post Corner ; but before I could make my effort, I saw the
arm of the Downing cox go up in token of defeat by Clare.

Immediately I decided on a desperate venture ; coming
up on the inside of the easied boats (conquerors and con-
quered) I yelled out to Penrose, " Pick it up, stroke. I'll
squeeze by and we'll have a shot at Magdalene."

My gallant crew responded with a will. Magdalene, badly
steered, had swung out at Grassy Corner. Here was my
opportunity. Despite the obstruction caused by Downing
and Clare I managed to manoeuvre my craft so that I could
slip close round this tricky bend, without making too hard
use of my rudder, with the consequence that we gained fully
one and a half lengths on the leaders. As we swung round
Ditton and into the Long Reach, we were still two clear
lengths to the bad ; but we continued to gain steadily all up
the stretch, and when the nose of our boat was within a quarter
of a length of their rudder I called on my men for a final
effort. Again they responded magnificently. I was not
going to risk a direct shot, but determined to edge on to them
obliquely.

"HUP! HUP!! HUP!!! Put it all in. . . . BUMP!"

Up went the arm of the Magdalene cox !

We had bumped over two places with only about two hundred
yards to go !

This of course put us at the head of the division. So now
we had to get back to the starting point, in order to row as
last boat in the Second Division.

Our objective was to lower the colours of Lady Margaret II.

70 A Sportsman at Large

Despite the severe race which my chaps had just had, they
were quite ready for the fray, and at gun fire hit the water
with a hefty punch.

The job proved an easy one, for I made my bump in " The
Gut/'

Each of the ensuing nights we scored one ; whereby we
put up the remarkable record of seven bumps in four nights.
I believe it has never been lowered.

Some crew, believe me !

A propos neurasthenic coxswains, a good story is told of
one of the kidney, who, holding his watch in one hand, and
the " nut " of the hawser (which holds the boat to the shore
until the gun gives the departing signal) in the other, was
in a state of unholy terror. He counted " five — four — three
— two — one." Then, as the gun spoke, away went his watch
into the river ; whilst he stuffed the " nut " into his waistcoat
pocket. Of course, he was pulled out of the boat and got a
dreadful drenching ; whilst his unfortunate crew had to suffer
a bump !

CHAPTER VIII

IT was during my sojourn at Gloucester that I first made
acquaintance with " Dardi-moor," sacred to the memory
of Uncle Tom Cobley, and his reprehensible associates, Messrs.
Will Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peder Guernsey, Peder Davey,
David Whiddon, Harry Hawke, and Jan Pearce's unfortunate
" old grey mare," as immortalized by that classic ditty which
had its origin in Widdicombe-on-the-Moor.

I met our party (consisting of The Dads, Irwin, my brother-
in-law (Capt. Harry Edwards) and another of the Gill ilk,
Gerald to wit) at Taunton Station, en route for the famous
moor.

At that time, my own particular canine shadow (I always
had one such inseparable companion) was Cockie (known in
the Kennel Club register as "Coxswain"). I have already
alluded to this highly intelligent and devoted, but some-
what peppery little fox terrier, in another place. I had taught
him almost everything that a dog can learn in the way of
sport — leg timate and otherwise — and a truly apt pupil he
had proved.

The Dads had invested some of the superfluous dross
which was derived from his profits on The Field newspaper
business, in the purchase of several farms on Dartmoor.
The why and wherefore of the said investment I have always
failed to understand, but my parent was possessed of an
uncommon shrewdness and probably had some good and
sufficient reasons for supposing that these holdings would,
in time, bring a handsome return for his outlay.

We detrained at Moreton Hampstead. Much to my horror
my exuberant parent would insist on our walking to our
destination — seven weary miles across the moor ; whilst
our impedimenta and commissariat were sent on ahead, by van.

7« A Sportsman at Large

He said it " would stretch our legs " after our long train
journey ; but I was not keen on " having my leg pulled/'
either metaphorically or actually, therefore I concealed myself
in the transport wagon with Cockie, but was discovered and
incontinently thrown out ; so we had to make the best of it,
and " pad the hoof."

Our temporary residence was to be Lower Cator, one of the
farms of which The Dads was now landlord. At this length
of time the name of the worthy tenant has escaped me ; but
he was a typical son of the Devonshire soil, whose uncom-
promising dialect afforded me a grand opportunity for my
favourite study of variegated vernaculars.

I flatter myself that I have been ever apt at picking up the
lingo of any places that I have visited within the United
Kingdom or over seas.

Our prospects of sport — if not brilliant as regards quality
and quantity of fur, feather and fin to be had — was of a
pleasantly varied description. Hares and rabbits, snipe, cock,
occasional mallard, black game (rare) , plover, green and golden,
pigeons, partridges and " various," whilst the Dart and its
tributaries were full of trout — of a sort ; somewhat diminutive
it is true — about eight to the pound was the average — though
occasionally a " monster " of fourteen ounces or so would
grace the creel.

Salmon had been known to ascend to these upper reaches.
It was my misfortune to come across a vagrant specimen ;
and thereby hangs a disgraceful tale. It was late in Novem-
ber when Harry Edwards, who had spent many years on
military service in India, and had there proved himself a
pukka shikari, and I, set out in pursuit of the elusive snipe.
We picked up a couple of brace on Ridden Mire, and then made
to cross The Dart, with a view to exploiting Bellivor Tor,
there to contrive the circumvention of a bunch of golden
plover which was known to favour the locality. Skipping
from stone to stone I happened to glance down at a runlet,
when my eye caught the shadowy form of a great fish that
was lying quiescent therein. It was submerged in the clear
water about a couple of feet.

Immediately I called my gallant brother-in-law's attention

A Sportsman at Large 78

to the apparition. After a careful scrutiny he surmised it was
a sturgeon — of all things in the world ! I was an innocent
in the ways and life history of the salmo family at that time,
but Harry ought to have known better !

He searched about for a convenient stick, and when he had
found one to his liking he unfolded his plan of action.

" Now be steady ; I will quietly lift him to the surface.
As soon as his head shows, let drive at it ! "

I stood with gun ready.

The luckless fish did not seem to resent the lifting tactics.
Presently my chance arrived and I pulled off.

There was a devil of a rumpus ! My shot had grievously
wounded the victim but failed to stun him. It leapt into the
air and then went rolling and gyrating down stream, leaving
a ruddy trail of gore in the water. It reached a pool some
twenty yards lower down, where it continued its contortions.
It was a pretty cold day, I promise you, but Harry had his
clothes off in a jiffy, and, plunging in, succeeded in retrieving
the fish, which proved to be an unmended kelt, a repellent
monster, which, in condition, would probably have pulled the
index to thirty pounds, but which, as we saw him stretched
on the heather, could not have weighed half as much. It had
a beak like an eagle, was as lanky as a half-starved pike,
black, slimy and sinister.

And now that the fell deed was done my companion was
conscience stricken, as I might have been, had I then fostered
the fetish of the orthodox salmon angler, as I did in after years.
My only regret was that the flesh of the fish was obyiously
unfit to add to the attractions of the Cat or menu.

" Let's bury it, and try to forget it," murmured Harry
gloomily.

And we did. Nor did we breathe a word of the disreputable
adventure until years after.

I was for giving a vivid recital thereof to the rest of our bunch,
but my brother-in-law bound me to silence with blood-curdling
threats as to what would happen if I " went back on " him !

A propos my excellent relative by marriage, he was, as a
rule, a positive puritan where sport of any kind was con-
cerned, a prieux chevalier, who held that the slightest deviation

74 A Sportsman at Large

from the unwritten Laws of the game, was sufficient to put
the offender quite beyond the pale of his fellow sportsmen's
esteem or even tolerance !

That is why the grievous lapse (the unforgivable crime of
shooting a salmon — quite as reprehensible as bowling over a
fox) , so disturbed the depths of his soul. I am sure he dreamed
of that dreadful fish again and again for years following the
committal of the crime. Added to this, he took unto himself
the discredit of having lured me, in my innocence, to be • the
perpetrator in chief of the unworthy deed.

None was so keen as he at all manner of shooting and
fishing. He would brave the elements in their wildest moods
in pursuit thereof, and would tramp from morn to night over
hill and dale, through dangerous mires and over-rugged Tors,
for the chance of a few shots at snipe, which were the favourite
marks for his skill.

But there came a time when his ideas suffered a sudden
bouleversement. It was not a religious " call " which pulled
him up, but some psychological obsession which caused him to
realize that all sport is cruel, and that it is wrong to slaughter
the children of the wild, under the pretence that it is necessary
so to do, in order that their poor bodies may be served up hot
(or cold) for human sustenance.

So he gave up shooting and fishing and took up carpentering.
I have often wondered if he was right ? I have even questioned
myself and indulged in unproductive introspection on the
question as whether — if I had my time over again — I would
eschew the slaughter of the beautiful creatures of the earth
and the waters under the earth. But the answering whisper
has been : " These birds, beasts and fishes prey upon one
another. If mankind did not foster sport, they would soon
be decimated, if not altogether exterminated."

Anyway, sport, even when indulged in for the sake of
slaughter, makes for virility of mind and body. Some
Eastern castes which forbid the destruction of life are horribly
and persistently cruel to their domestic animals !

But right or wrong, there is one class of individual whose
arguments in this direction cut no ice with me. Such an
one is he or she who, whilst grieving at the cruelty of field-

A Sportsman at Large 75

sports of any and every kind, gloats over roast beef, boiled
mutton, sausages and veal cutlets !

I should like to take him (or her) to see a bullock, maddened
by the odour of blood, and an uncanny prescience of impending
doom, indifferently pole-axed : or the patient sheep, bound
on a trestle, and enduring the agony of the cruel knife, driven
through the jugular vein and windpipe ; whilst it's life blood
thuds into a bucket, and oozes from its mouth and nostrils
for many minutes before death brings relief.

I wonder how our " humanitarians " would regard a pig,
stuck in the gullet, dashing aimlessly about its sty, until
it drops exhausted from loss of blood ? I know what he would
say : "Oh, but it is necessary to kill such animals so that he
may live."

My answer is that it is not necessary. Man could well live
on eggs, milk, cheese, fruit, vegetables and cereals, without
the killing of a single one of the so-called " inferior animals."
In fact I am confident that the general health, vitality and
stamina of any nation or group that chose to adopt such a
regime, would enjoy an infinite betterment.

This is my theory. My practice is — always has been and
always will be — to enjoy any sport with rod and gun, horse
or hound that comes my way, not for the purpose of obtaining
necessary food, but because I enjoy it ! So there !

Just below Cator Farm, and on the fringe of the moorlands,
were some water-meadows whose lush grass was irrigated
by a natural spring which bubbled up in a corner, surrounded
by rushes and edged with bright green moss.

The first day I chanced across this verdant oasis I flushed
a snipe, but being unarmed, I was unable to satisfy my blood-
lust. However, I bore the little patch in remembrance ;
so the next time I approached it I was ready for emergencies,
and had slipped a couple of No. 8's (by this time I was able
to handle a full-sized Greener double) into my gun.

Sure enough " Mr. Scollopax " was at home, and as he rose
with a protesting " scape-scape ! " I cut short his career
with my first and proceeded on my way in triumph.

Now it is an odd thing that this spring should prove an
almost certain final for one snipe, and one only.

76 A Sportsman at Large

I have — on another page in this book — remarked how a
particular stone, trench or " hide " in a river, will harbour
a salmon persistently. As soon as one is caught, another is
almost sure to take its place.

It was a similar case with this pellucid little spring and its
visiting snipe.

It was a case of " one down, 'tother come on ! " though I
drew on the reserve rather severely. Of course there were
days when it was a case of " call again " ; but I reckon that
on four out of five there was a " find," and generally a " kill,"
as by this time I had mastered the art of snipe-shooting,
this form of gunning having been always a speciality of mine,
and one which, later on, proved an excellent education for
pigeon contests, the eye, the swing and the timing being
very similar.

But for some reason or other the rear-guard of the snipe
which patronized this spring became very wild and wary ;
unlike the earlier habitues which had been confidingly close-
liers. One would almost imagine that the shades of the
departed had sounded a warning note to the survivors of
their kind.

This persistence of single snipe, in frequenting a particular
patch, reminds me of one Dan O'Rourke, an Irish farmer on
the Ballynahinch Estate, on whose holding was a small spring
— similarly visited by a single snipe. Every morning when
Dan went to his work, he passed the spot, and regularly as
clockwork that snipe would rise and dodge the shillelagh,
which Dan invariably hurled at it with a withering curse.

At last the fatal day dawned when, by some dreadful
decree of Fate, the million to one chance came off, and
the luckless snipe failed to avoid " the sprig," which
met it full-force in mid air and brought it lifeless to Mother
Earth.

" Hooroosh ! " shouted Dan, as he rushed to gather the
spoils. " Aw, a moighty foine shot, me bhoy ! More power
te yez ! "

Then all of a sudden he pulled up and scratched his ruddy
locks, as a horrid thought obtruded itself. " Ochone ! " he
wailed. " Ut's a demented fule yez is, Dan O'Rourke. Faith !

A Sportsman at Large 77

uts yezelf phwats zoo-und yez spoort fer good an' all ! Yez
dod-rotted galoot ! "

Talking of million to one chances, these come off more
frequently than is generally imagined. Two instances spring
to my mind as glaring examples. By your leave, I will quit,
" Dardi-moor " for a space, in order to set them forth.

A young soldier friend of mine, fishing a well-known river
in Norway, became fast in a heavy fish ; but for some reason
—perhaps careless bending on — the whole cast came loose
from the line and was borne off by the salmon, leaving the
angler utterly disgruntled. The next day he was fishing
the same pool, when he had a pull. He says that, at the
time, it struck him that there was something queer in the
way the fish " took ; " but he was fast, sure enough, and
soon realized that he was dealing with a pretty lively and
weighty customer. When at last he had the fish well under
control and began to reel in, he was astonished to find that,
when the end of the cast was close to the rod's top, so that
the salmon should have been fairly near to the surface, it
was still remote and boring deep. As he lifted the point
he was utterly amazed to perceive his fly attached to another
loop and a long length of treble gut ; but he did not fully
realize what had happened until he had his fish (a fine thirty-
two pounder) safely on dry land. He had actually hitched
his fly into the loop of the cast he had lost the previous even-
ing. The fish was still on, and paid the penalty ; though
the gaffing of it, under the circumstances, was a difficult
and touch-and-go matter ; but by carefully retreating from
the bank and ascending a friendly hillock he had enabled
his boatman to ply the steel successfully.

Who can estimate the chances here involved ? You have
a big salmon moving about in rapid waters and dragging
a cast, the loop of which owns a diameter of less than an
eighth of an inch. The angler casts another fly at a venture
and works it through the pool. How many times might this
happen, 'ere his fly catches in the swirling loop ?

A very knowledgable chap, when told this strange, eventful
history, surprised me with the following thesis :

" My dear Cockie, the chances are not so remote as you

T8 A Sportsman at Large

might suppose. Imagine the salmon sulking behind a rock
or some such object, head up stream. The whole length of
the cast, gently oscillating, would float down stream almost in
a straight line, and parallel to the surface and the bottom.
The angler, casting another line over this, would stand a
very good chance of engineering his fly so as to hitch up at
some point in its length. As he drew in, it would slip along
the submerged cast until it reached the loop, and then it
would not be such very long odds, that the barb did -not
become attached. See ! "

When you come to think of it, there is some logic in this
argument ; but nevertheless the occurrence was certainly
an astonishing one. I believe it has never previously been
recounted. My young friend had a hunch to send an account
of the adventure to The Field, but on second thoughts
refrained from so doing, being in deadly fear lest his veracity,
hitherto like unto that of the immortal " G. W.," should be
fatally impugned.

The second case is equally illuminating and somewhat
similar ; but does not entail such a sporting flare.

When fishing my friend Lord Cork's water on the Pang
(the little river which runs into the Thames at Pangbourne)
during the may-fly rise ; in attempting to place my green
drake in front of a leviathan trout which was taking down
the nymphs with great gusts, I got hung up in the branches
of a tall ash tree, in my rear. It was a hopeless entangle-
ment, so after trying coaxing methods in vain, I had to
exert a breaking strain, chancing my luck as to how much
of my cast — if any — would be salved. It gave at the juncture
with the line, and the whole of it was left dangling aloft,
some twenty feet out of my reach. It was no good crying over
spilt milk, so I affixed a new cast and fly, and went my way,
as the big fellow was now " down " — no doubt, scared by my
antics in trying to free my cast.

The following day, when I arrived at the spot, His Nibs
was busy again. So I prepared my attack. It was a very
awkward job, with those confounded trees in my immediate
rear, so I was not over hopeful of presenting my offering to
the trout in anything like efficient style. My fears proved

A Sportsman at Large 79

well grounded, for after a couple of futile attempts, I again
found myself hung up in the aggressive foliage, and again I
essayed to get clear. This time my cast came away almost
at once, and with it the one I had lost the previous evening.
My green drake had affixed itself to the gut loop of my lost
cast, and had safely drawn to hand the whole of it, with
fly intact ! What do you think of that as a specimen million
to one proposition ? In this case the chance was more remote
than that previously dealt with, for obvious reasons, and
especially when taking into account the reconstruction of
the fish story, as visualized by my friend.

But I have wandered far from the wilds of the beautiful
and picturesque Devonshire moorland, so let us hie back.

There were times when the spirit moved me to set out
alone (save for the companionship of the redoubtable Cockie
Junior), in search of adventure with the gun. On such
occasions my enterprise often was rewarded with a plethoric
and mixed bag.

Come along with me — in spirit of sportsmanship — and see
how I fared on one particular expedition — a day which is
clearly and proudly indicated in the calendar of my memory,
though over forty years have elapsed since its enjoyment.

Starting from Cator early in the morning, I straightway
made for the snipe-producing springlet in the water meadow.
Sure enough my call was answered by a flick of wing and the
familiar " scape, scape,'' as a " long-bill " darted off at
lightning speed. I missed with my first, but my second
caught him on the turn — a clean and clever kill.

I knew of a covey of nine partridges which frequented one
of the few arable fields (roots) attached to the holding. This
little enclosure wras bounded by a high stone supported bank,
with a thick growth of briar and fern on top, but on the far
side of this there was a break or opening about three feet wide.

Almost as soon as I had set foot in the mangolds the birds
were flushed. I dropped one with my right, then as the
rest crowded together to pass through the aperture in the
hedge I " browned " them with my left barrel !

" Shame ! " you will cry.

Well, I have already admitted that, in those youthful

so A Sportsman at Large

days, I was an irreclaimable poacher, and I must brazenly
confess that I exulted in the holocaust of feather that followed
the report of my gun.

A leash of birds were down and out ; whilst a fourth, after
winging its way for a hundred yards or so, began to mount
higher and higher in the firmament, until it suddenly ceased,
turned over in the air, and fell perpendicularly to Mother
Earth, where it lay on its back stone dead, as is the custom
with " towering " partridges. Having gathered this .little
lot, I became aware that Master Cockie was busy on the
top of the bank. There was no mistaking when my canine
shadow was on " the goods ; " for as an aid to the lonely
gunner, he was a worthy successor of the beloved Tobias-
long since passed to the happy hunting fields where ash plants
are unknown and where vermin and convenient tree trunks
abound. (Perhaps you know what a dog's ideal Paradise
is?)

" A bunny," thought I ; but I thought wrong !

There was a flick of rapid wings ; but before the bird could
clear itself of the close-growing tangle of briar and bracken,
Cockie Junior made a lightning spring and caught it in mid air.

What was my astonishment to find it was a woodcock.
The first of the season, and a well-conditioned bird at that.
I regretted that I had not been vouchsafed a chance of trying
my skill on the desirable scollopax, for I had yet to add one
of its kind to my schedule of feathered victims ; but after all,
a bird in the bag is worth many in the air (to paraphrase a
well-worn proverb). Moreover, I knew that The Dads would
revel in the capture, when skilfully cooked and served upon
toast, with " trail " complete.

Then I emerged upon the heather of the open moor, en route
for Ridden Mire, famous for its snipe. I was not expecting
game on the way, but I had hardly arrived at the ridge, over-
looking the mire, when up jumped an old "jack" hare, which
looked to my startled eyes, about the size of a young mule.
Of course my terrier was at it in a moment, and so close was
he to the scut, that I had no chance to loose off
before my mark was some forty yards distant. I then let
" lepus " have it with both barrels. He was, obviously,

A Sportsman at Large 81

hit hard and good, but not sufficiently so to bowl him over.
Away he went, with Cockie Junior coursing him gallantly.
Pursued and pursuer soon topped the summit of the ridge
and disappeared from sight : nor could either be seen when
I also arrived at a point where I could scan the valley beyond.

After whistling and calling for my terrier until I was utterly
fed up, I ran to the hill and set foot on the edge of the mire.
Here a rather high stone wall had to be surmounted. I placed
my hand on the top, and was lifting myself up when I heard
a loud hiss and felt something rap my hand hard. I guessed
what it was at once ! An adder had been coiled on the wall,
sunning itself, when my hand had disturbed it. With a deadly
thrill of horror I examined that member. There was a red
mark on the third finger of the left hand, but, glory be, the
skin was not broken. Either that adder had suffered from
caries or pyorrhoea and had so lost his fangs, or, in his hurry to
be quit of my presence, had delivered an ineffective stroke ;
but it was a lucky escape for your Uncle Cockie anyway.
No wonder he clean missed the first three snipe which gave him
a chance.

Adders were superabundant on Dartmoor in those days,
and may be so now. I had the satisfaction of blowing three
of these obnoxious reptiles to smithereens during my progres-
sion through Ridden that day. Also when going to retrieve
a fallen snipe, I disregarded the warnings which had been
dinned into me anent the dangerous " moss-holes " which
that mire possessed, and so was within an ace of paying a
terrible penalty for my negligence. These death-traps are
distinguished by the inviting-looking, bright green moss,
which surrounds them. Once in their deadly embrace, with
no succour at hand, the end is sure and horrific. In this case
I felt I had made a faux pas, but, throwing myself backwards
on to a tuft of round rushes and holding on like grim death,
I was able to drag my one submerged leg free of the lethal

gri.P-

This was a lesson which I took well to heart. Never again
was I placed in similar peril, though I was witness of what
might have proved an appalling tragedy had not prompt
action saved the situation. It happened thus :

6

82 A Sportsman at Large

One day our party was beating an outlying mire, known
to be particularly dangerous. Our farmer-host's lad — a boy
of twelve — was leading our brace of setters on chain, when
suddenly all three disappeared, as if the ground had suddenly
opened and swallowed them up, and, Faith ! that is exactly
what had occurred !

The moss-hole was luckily a very circumscribed one, so we
were able to get well within reach of the black, bubbling
ooze in the middle of the verdant moss. Harry Edwards
cast himself flat whilst Irwin and I held on to his feet. Plung-
ing his arm into the mosses, my brother-in-law happily got
hold of the dog-chain, by aid of which, and our united efforts,
we succeeded in dragging dogs and boy to safety. This
was the work of a moment, so none was the worse for the
immersion, though all three presented a pitiable sight, reeking
with black and foetid mire. A dose of whisky administered
to the weeping and thoroughly terrified lad quickly put matters
right as far as he was concerned, whilst a swim in the Dart
was all that was required to restore to the setters their pristine
beauty.

CHAPTER IX

BY the time I had traversed Ridden Mire I had gathered
unto myself two and a half couple of snipe. Not so
bad ! As I ascended the Ridge my eye was arrested by a
white object among the heather, whilst a distant yapping was
borne to my ears. On closer investigation I found that it was
Cockie Junior, voicing trouble.

There he was, panting and utterly exhausted, and by his
side lay the old jack-hare (now " gone west " for good and
all), which he had evidently run down and killed and then
had attempted to retrieve until nature gave out, when he had
fallen back upon his tongue as a means of calling the attention
of his master to his meritorious exploit. Goodness only knows
how far he had dragged the victim, which was well nigh as big
as himself. Truly a very gallant little dog !

On gaining the top of Ridden Ridge, Bellevor Tor revealed
itself, with its stoney summit wreathed in wisps of silver
mist. As I descended to the valley of the Dart, Cockie began
to show signs that game of some sort was toward. He began
nosing his way among the gorse and bracken, with his
stump of a tail furiously oscillating. I thought that this
might portend another hare. (By the way, I had secreted the
old " jack " in a convenient cairn, " to be left until called for "
on the return journey ; he was much too weighty a burden
to be lugged around during the whole of my peregrinations) ;
but I was wrong in my surmise. The scent which so titillated
the nostrils of my terrier, proved to be that of an antiquated
black cock ; rara avis, indeed, on this side of the Moor.

The wily bird was far too sophisticated to give me any
sort of chance of bringing him to book, for he rose some two
hundred yards away, and sailing majestically over the heather,

83 6*

84 A Sportsman at Large

perched himself, with a decisive whisk of his skew-tail feathers,
upon a distant stone wall, where he continued to regard our
operations superciliously. I knew it was no good attempting
to stalk the joker with a gun, but I made an imaginary black
mark against him in my memory, and determined to have his
blood sooner or later.

Having negotiated a ford in the river, I began the ascent
of Believer. The sides of the Tor were studded with patches
of gorse, whose golden flowers added a gorgeous touch of
vivid colour to the purple of the heather and the infinite
shadings of the bracken.

There were a few rabbits in this locality, but I was not over
keen on burdening myself with one or more of the odoriferous
conies. These creatures had become a drug in my sporting
market. Familiarity had, as usual, bred contempt. However,
I allowed Cockie Junior to do a bit of hustling. Suddenly,
with a rustle of wing there arose from the rough, game of a very
different quality. Nothing less than another woodcock,
which gave me an easy chance. I immediately availed myself
of the offer, but the succulent bird fell in the very middle of
what seemed to be an impenetrable gorse patch, the growth of
which was old and tall. The only chance of salving my prize
was to crawl on hands and knees under the stems, and so
suffering the torments of the damned the while.

I thought of recruiting the terrier's skill as a retriever,
but I knew he was more likely to chew up the long bill and to
leave its remains where it fell, than to bring it to hand ; so I
chose the straight, narrow and exceedingly painful path.
After many inward groans and anathemas I reached my
objective, and made my way back a proud but dreadfully
sore lad !

When at last I gained the stone cairn which crowns Bellevor
I found that the mist was still clinging to the Tor, though it
was now being gradually dispersed by a fitful breeze. On
the Western side there was a bare expanse of stoney ground,
where I expected to come across the golden plover. I figured
that the drifting mist would give me a fair chance of coming
to terms with the desirable birds ; but much to my disappoint-
ment the bunch was " not at home " ; so I went back to the

A Sportsman at Large 85

cairn, and selecting a comfortable spot, sheltered from the keen
north wind, I unpacked my frugal rations, and with an appe-
tite whetted by my walk and the excitements of the chase,
I set to work energetically with my teeth, sharing my bits
and pieces with the voracious Cockie Junior.

The repast being concluded I lighted my pipe, but scarcely
had I taken half a dozen pulls than I distinctly heard through
the mist the whistling of golden plover. I could see nothing
of the birds, but immediately afterwards the rush of their
wings, as they passed at lightning speed, delighted my ears.
I felt pretty sure that they would come to rest on their
favourite billet ; nor was I mistaken. I hurriedly approached
the spot, when a rift in the mist revealed a score of the golden
flecked beauties, standing motionless, almost within shot
of where I stood. I took the very necessary precaution
of hitching Master Cockie on to the lead which I always carried,
and then, lying prone, awaited a drift in the curling vapour,
such as might enable me to dash in and take up position in
close proximity to the bunch. This much-desired consumma-
tion soon materialised. Rising hurriedly I sprinted forward,
and, as luck would have it, emerged from the damp shroud into
clear atmosphere, within twenty yards of the plover, which
were so surprised at the sudden apparition, that they seemed
paralysed, and stood stock still on their toes with heads erect.

Indeed, I had to clap my hands to make them rise. For a
moment my poaching proclivities had inclined me to " brown "
the lot as they stood bunched together on the ground ; but the
dawning spirit of true sportsmanship, as inculcated by my
excellent brother-in-law, prevailed, so I decided to give the
birds a fair chance.

I fancy this did not avail them much, for when they took
wing I quickly snapped in my right, and followed up with
my left as they turned in the air. It seemed to rain golden
plover ! Five were stone dead, and two others winged, which
gave Cockie, in retrieving them, his share in the exploit.
As he was on the tracks of the livelier of the two cripples,
the survivors of the bunch kept wheeling around him and
swooping close to the ground. Seeing the possibilities offered
by this manoeuvre, I ran forward as fast as my legs would

86 A Sportsman at Large

carry me, and was just in time to slip in a couple of barrels
which brought three more of the venturesome birds to book.
Good egg !

By this time I had had enough of it, for the shades of night
were approaching.

" Time had passed quickly, the shadows were long,
The tit-lark had finished her evening song,
And the gloaming was now at hand.
I gazed at the tors so massive and bold
With the setting sun glinting their edges with gold
And lighting the purling stream."

Heavy clouds were gathering on the horizon and coming up
swiftly against the wind. I sensed a severe thunder-storm,
so turned my back on Bellevor Tor and quickly descending its
slopes, I crossed The Dart. I clambered up Ridden Ridge.
Darkness came on apace, and the clouds lowered threateningly.
The rumbling of the thunder became more and more resonant.
Then at last the storm broke, just as I had recovered the old
" jack " hare, fastened him up with my handkerchief, and
slung him over my right shoulder ; my left being already
painfully pressed by the strap of my bulging game bag.

The rain came down in sheets and torrents, so I had per-
force to cower under a friendly boulder, with Cockie Junior,
draggled and shivering, pressed closely to my knees. Dart-
moor is :

" Far from pleasant in dirty weather,
With lightning flashing on stream and heather,
And the cold blast cutting you through."

By the time the fury of the elements had somewhat sub-
sided it was pitch dark, and though the thunder was rumbling
in the distance in diminuendo, and the electric flashes were no
longer overhead, a steady and cold rain had set in.

Well, a good drenching was inevitable, so there was nothing
for it but to make a move. As I rose from my stoney " hide "
I felt very cold, stiff and weary. I dared not sink the ridge
and trust myself on Ridden Mire in the dark. The alternative
was to follow along the ridge of the rise until it merged into
Cator Hill. This would entail a much longer journey ; but
safety — first and always — was my motto.

Now, every step seemed to drag, and I was weary unto

A Sportsman at Large 87

death. At last I figured that a quick descent to the left
would bring me direct to the Cator homestead ; but I had
to grope and stumble my way ; for, burdened as I was with
my gun and the " dead meat," with which it had afflicted
me, my progress was extremely slow and painful. At last
I reached a point where I expected to strike the road ; but
no road was there ! I turned in all directions, but my feet
touched nothing but heather, fern, gorse or stone. A sudden
horror overwhelmed me. I did not know where I was ! I
was utterly lost on Dartmoor on a bitter and stormy November
night. My strength already exhausted, and my nerve
shattered ! What was I to do ? I thought that Cockie's
instinct might urge him to give me a lead that would bring
me to the friendly farm, the cheery peat fire, the goodly fare
(I was desperately hungry) and the beloved family circle ;
but the little dog was as disgruntled as his master, and only
crouched nearer my heels, whimpering and shivering miser-
ably.

Then came a brain wave. I would fire my gun as an S.O.S.
signal. " I cannot be very far out of my reckoning," I
informed myself. '' They will hear it and come to our aid."
No sooner thought of than done ; but on searching my
cartridge belt I found to my dismay that I had only three
shells left. I had withdrawn two of them when I took shelter
from the storm, and now they were wet and sodden. I forced
them into the breech, and fired my first signal. The report
echoed and re-echoed among the hills, and then there was
silence, save for the swish of the rain on the bracken and the
fitful sighing of the wind. I wasted fully ten minutes, which
seemed like as many hours. There was no response. Then
again my weapon spoke. Hardly had its reverberations
petered out than there came a responsive report, apparently
some half-mile away. My heart leaped with joy and thanks-
giving. With trembling fingers I essayed to extract the
spent cases and to insert my one remaining cartridge, but
to my horror they refused to budge from the breech. I
produced my sportsman's knife and tried to prize them out,
but only succeeded in parting the metal caps from the sodden
cases.

88 A Sportsman at Large

I felt like bursting into childish tears of rage and despair.
Remember, I was then but eighteen years of age !

But I pulled myself together and started shouting, " Coo-
ee ! " (our family had long since adopted the Australian call
as a means of distant communication) for all I v/as worth ;
whilst Cockie Junior joined in with an obligato of short,
sharp barks. Bless him, he seemed to know now what was
required of him. But nothing happened for some time. Again
black despair was clutching at my heart and nerves, when all
of a sudden there was the flash of a gun, and a loud report
within a dozen yards of us. ... I fairly screamed for help !
The next instant Harry Edwards rushed forward and caught
me in his arms, as I fell, overcome by weakness and reaction.

He sat me down, and pulling out his whisky flask, forced it
between my chattering teeth. The fiery liquid to which I
was altogether unaccustomed soon took effect, so that I soon
felt quite chirpy again.

" I lost my way, Harry ! " I said. " How far are we from
Cator ? "

" Oh, a few hundred yards. Do you feel equal to making
a start ! Here, give me your gun and game bag. By Jove,
you seem to have filled it all right ! And that old hare, too !
Don't tell me you have been humping that along all the time ? "

Oh, yes. I had stuck to my victims all right. Had I
perished they would have remained as a proof of my powers ;
that is to say, unless the faithful Cockie Junior, driven to
desperation by the pangs of starvation, but loath to leave my
corpse, had devoured them, bones, feathers, fur and all, using
my poor remains as a dinner-table ! It seems that Harry,—
as was often his wont — had started out alone that morning in
search of a far distant and somewhat mysterious bog, known
as Fox Tor Mire, where snipe and duck were said to abound
in surprising quantities. After a tramp of some nine miles
over very rough going, he had, in fact, found El Dorado ;
but the said mire was so deep and dangerous, and so dense
with tall and rank growth, as to be almost impenetrable.
He had tried to force a passage from several points, but could
never proceed more than a dozen yards or so. However, he
bagged one mallard, and " downed " another, which — not

A Sportsman at Large 89

having a dog with him — he was unable to gather ; whilst he
had accounted for three and a half brace of snipe in an adjacent
and more accessible marsh.

He was nearing home after himself having nearly lost his
bearings, when he heard my second shot, and sensing trouble,
replied ; but it was a piece of pure good luck that he came
within ear-shot of my " Coo-ee ! "

As we moved off we saw lights, like fire-flies dancing below
us. It was the party from the farm, with lanthorns. They
had heard the gun-fire, and as they were beginning to feel
anxious about both Harry and myself, they had sallied forth.

The forces soon met, and mutual felicitations and explana-
tions were excitedly exchanged.

Never did I so welcome return to a warm, cosy farm hall,
with its wide and open fireplace, and its glowing embers of
peat ! With what a gargantuan appetite did I sit down to
a shoulder of little moorland mutton and onion sauce, snipe
on toast, junket and Devonshire cream, with liberal libations
of cider of the superior quality (save one from the raw native
article !).

My bag, when laid out on the kitchen table, was a wonder
and a joy to all beholders.

One jack hare (probably tough — but promising delicious
soup or juicy jug), two brace of partridges, three and a half
brace of snipe, two woodcock (one credited to Cockie the Dog,
and one to Cockie the Boy) and nine golden plover, to say
nothing of the three adders, whose shattered remnants were
not gathered for the bag.

Oh, I was a proud and happy lad. •

That night I slept the sleep of the just. Next morning
I arose, none the worse for my overnight adventure, and as
keenly bloodthirsty as ever. I had not forgotten the derisive
old black-cock, and had figured out how to spill his gore.
Discarding my twelve bore for the nonce, I armed myself
with my rook-rifle, and a supply of cartridges, and sallied
forth — making a bee line for Ridden Ridge, where I felt
pretty sure His Nibs was again to be found, given normal
luck. And so it turned out. As on the previous day, Cockie
Junior soon had the wind of the truculent bird, and as before,

90 A Sportsman at Large

the latter took wing — well out of gun shot — and made for
the identical stance on the stone wall, from which he had
crowed defiance yesterday. I affected to take no notice of
his lack of good manners, so passed on unconcernedly ; but
when I had sunk the hill and was out of the bird's sight, I
wheeled sharply to the left and took cover behind a second
wall, which ran parallel to the one on which the dusky black-
cock was perched. In this way I was able to get within
a hundred and fifty yards of him.

I peered over my " O.P." There he was, craning his
neck and looking towards the line of my retreat. I rested
my rifle on the wall, drew a careful bend on the middle of
his fat body, and let drive !

The sharp, but by no means loud, report was followed by
a hearty " plunk ! " as the lead found its billet, and let day-
light into Mr. Black-cock's sombre soul.

He fell off the wall as dead as a herring, doornail or
mutton !

He was a fine fellow as a " good-looker," but a tough,
bitter and unpromising bit of provender from a culinary
point of view.

Here again was I laying myself open to a charge of unsports-
manlike procedure ; but my conscience did not prick me.
On the contrary I rejoiced with an exceeding great joy !
That wily old fowl would never have afforded anyone of us
a fair or sporting chance ; besides, an ancient fighting cock
grouse — be he of the black or red variety — is an unmitigated
nuisance on any moor ; and here, where his kind were very
few and far between, such as he, was a nuisance to the welfare
and success of all those holding the Duchy license. I am
glad to say that even my sportingly punctilious brother-in-
law pronounced my deed justifiable " ornicide ! " (please
excuse the Greek and Latin coalition !)

On our own shoot there had been that season only one
brood of the " Coqs de bruyere." These we one day shep-
herded to a convenient bit of cover, where Irwin bagged a
brace and The Dads a single bird ; but much to my disgust,
I did not get a look in.
My chance was, however, soon to arrive. A neighbouring

A Sportsman at Large 91

landowner of the name of Firth, of Hambledon Down, pos-
sessed a stretch of moorland noted for black-game, and good
" sport " that he was, he invited our crowd to try its luck
with him.

This was before I had plugged the patriarchal and solitary
specimen, as detailed herein. Up to that time I had never
seen a black-cock, except as depicted on paper or canvas, or
set up in a glass case.

When we started on the incline of Hambleden we were
told that we were not likely to come across any birds until
within a few hundred yards of the ridge, though the heather
here was high and thick. So I lighted my favourite meer-
schaum pipe (fancy smoking a meerschaum on a moor !),
which I had been studiously colouring for a couple of months,
and was marching at ease, when suddenly — almost under
my very feet — and with a terrible clatter, there arose a bird
which, to my startled eyes, appeared to be about the dimen-
sion of a Number One full-sized prize Christmas turkey. I
threw up my gun — which I had been carrying over my
shoulder — as best I could, and let drive both barrels wildly.
Needless to say, the black-cock (for black-cock it sure was)
winged his way unscathed ; whilst I, in my startled excite-
ment, had bitten clean through the amber stem of my
cherished pipe ! However, that day did not pass without
my adding a brace and a half of young black-cock (grey hens
were barred) to a bag which totalled five brace.

It seems that when my bullet had penetrated the ancient
of Ridden Ridge, another black-cock of similar quality had
come from goodness knows where, as heir to the deceased's
estate. This one would seem to have had a penchant for
Ridden Mire — a strange resort for one of its kind ! — I suppose
he went there for a drink. Anyway, brother Irwin caught
him on the hop — I should say wing — one fine day. He
offered a fair mark at say, a thirty-yards' rise. He slanted
down on receiving the contents of the first barrel ; but Irwin,
to make sure, let him have the second when he was about a
couple of yards from the ground. On going to pick him up,
lo and behold, within a yard of the stone-dead black-cock a
snipe was bobbing up and down with a freshly-shattered

92 A Sportsman at Large

wing. The unlucky scollopax must have been rising just as
my brother had popped in his left barrel.

Nearly every shooting man can tell of similar coincidences.
Several have come within my personal observation.

On Dartmoor we thought a lot of a black-cock ; but in
after years I looked upon them somewhat contemptuously,
though on more than one occasion I have had quite exciting
sport in contriving their undoing. These happenings took
place late in October and during November, but the following
year we foregathered at Cator again, in the late summer,
intent on plying the rod in lieu of the gun.

The Dart was full of fish — of a sort — playful little fellows,
of which it took, on an average, five to level up a pound
weight ; but it required skill and experience to make a really
good basket. To tell you the truth, I believe the majority
of them were salmon par ; but " little fish taste sweet," and
all were trout that came to our nets. The returning of par
to the water was a rule more honoured in the breach than in
the observance. Anyway, there were countless thousands
of the little chaps in the Dart, and the toll we took could not
possibly have had any sort of effect on the run of salmon
in years to come.

It was a great event when a genuine pound trout found its
way to my creel. I think it occurred on about half a dozen
occasions, though Harry got hold of a " monster " of nearly
two pounds, but it was a logger-headed, ill-conditioned speci-
men, and could not compare with the really beautiful and
succulent pounders which fell to my lot.

It was mild sport as fishing goes, but it was, nevertheless,
a joyous game, amid lovely surroundings, breathing the
free, pure air of the moor, and observing Nature and her
children of the wild to the best advantage, under enthralling
conditions.

As time went on, draining operations acted disastrously
on some of the most prolific snipe mires. These sportive birds
became rarer and rarer in those parts, until at last it was
hardly worth while seeking them.

When, to my unutterable grief, the dear old Dads passed
away in 1879 his little freeholds on Dartmoor were, by his

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will, divided between Irwin, my sister Ada, and myself.
Bellevor and Drury were my portion ; whilst Irwin was allotted
Cator, and Ada took two more remote farms.

But I had not the heart to visit my property. It was all
so different now ! I gave instructions for its unreserved
sale. Thenceforth " Dardi-moor " knew me and my poaching
activities no more.

CHAPTER X

I HAVE gone into some details regarding my earliest
experiences as an angler and shooter, for the purpose
of giving an inkling of the spirit of the born sportsman,
who wants to take a hand in any enterprise that may be
afoot. The boy's first victim of feather and fur, and his
first fish, are events which make an indelible mark on his
memory. Such incidents are never forgotten, and are always
treasured ; but it would be a work of supererogation and
one which would " feed up " the patient reader, if I were to
enlarge upon my first pheasant, hare, snipe, woodcock, pike,
perch, tench or chub — though the capture of the first trout
might be admissible ; but I will keep these thrilling experi-
ences to myself and concentrate my attention on that
auspicious occasion when, at last, I gazed on a salmon safely
gasping on the river bank, the victim of my unaided skill.

It was in far Connemara, and hard by that wonderful inlet,
known as Clew Bay, which claims an island for every day of
the year, to be exact — 365.

I had taken a three months' lease of Burrishoole (pro-
nounced 'Brusshoole) Lodge, which stands on a promontory
at the Newport end of the bay. With it were five thousand
acres of rough (very rough !) shooting, with fishing for sea
trout and salmon in the Glenderhawk stream and the Furnace
Lough. The latter a famous piece of water from which the
skilful angler might be sure of snatching a goodly toll of
salmo trutta, with an occasional salar of modest dimensions.

It was when driving from West port (ten Irish miles distant)
to this desirable pitch that the native reputation for gross
exaggeration was brought home to me.

I was met at the station by him who was to be my keeper,

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guide, philosopher and friend — one Michael Dever. Our
conveyance was the ubiquitous and bumpy, jaunting car,
which was drawn by an archaic steed possessing the thoroughly
Hibernian name of Biddy. Hers was by no means a life of
ease, for her acquaintance with a stout blackthorn was both
forcible and chronic ; each " whack " being accompanied
by an encouraging, " Goo ahn ! " from Michael. These
admonitions were repeated at regular intervals of about
thirty seconds, being interpolated as a kind of accompani-
ment to the conversation which my companion kept up with
his passenger ; though apparently they had no visible effect
on the old mare, who treated both the vocal and the physical
appeals with studied indifference. She refused to accelerate
her pace, but kept jogging on without varying it one iota.

I should imagine that she was not only deaf but pachy-
dermatous ! On our way we passed a big sheet of water :
naturally I was inquisitive.

" Any fish in that lough, Michael ? " I asked.

" Faith an' there is yer 'anner — manny a wan. Aw, uts
full av monsther poike, ut is. Ye nivver see the loikes av
thim. So be ye hooks wan, uts loike teu pull yez out av the
boat an' swaller yez whole, loike a shark ! "

" Indeed ! And pray what bait do they generally use for
these man-eating leviathans ? "

" Aw, whell yer 'anner — Oi don't roightly knaw, but ut's
a militia man in full uniform, O'im thinkin' ! "

I was greatly impressed, and being anxious to know what
sort of sport we might hope to enjoy at Burrishoole, I followed
up my interrogations.

" How are the grouse, Michael — is there a good showing ? "

" Indade, an' there is that, yer 'anner. Whin yez goes out
on the moors yez roise so manny av thim that it's sure loike
a cloud obscurin' the sun ! "

" Good ! — and hares ? "

" Aw whell, sorr, yez have teu be careful as teu how yez
walks, fer fear uts fallin' over thim an' breakin' the neck
av yez, yez are."

" Some hares ! And are there plenty of snipe in the
marshes ? "

96 A Sportsman at Large

" Aw, there is that, yer 'anner ! Faith, whin the divils
shpring up lamenting an' twist about in orl directions, uts
loike to be pickin' wan another's oyes out they be — uts that
thick they are."

This was encouraging, but I was still bent on exactitude.

" Are there any hippopotamuses in the river, Michael ? "
I asked casually.

The jarvey-keeper looked at me out of the corner of his
eyes, somewhat suspiciously I thought ; but after a pause he
answered, and made reply, laconically :

" Sometoimes ! — be noight ! "

Is the foregoing dialogue authentic, you will ask ?

On the word of an angler, which as everyone knows is

Well, if you have any doubts you must blame my distinguished
collaborator, Ben Trovato. . . .

" But what has this to do with your first salmon ? " you
will be wondering.

I had lost no time in going for the sea trout in Furnace
Lough, and when conditions were favourable had gathered a
goodly toll of the game and succulent fish. By way of variety,
I thought I would try the Glenderhawk, which hitherto had
been unfishable, owing to a lack of water ; but now a good
downpour over night had put the stream in ply. It is a narrow
piece of water, but at intervals there are deep pools between
steep, peaty banks. These look still and dour, but at times
hold big sea trout and occasionally a salmon. I had creeled
two-and-a-half brace of sizeable trout (the biggest nearly
two pounds in weight), when on casting over one of these
" moss-holes " there was a big boil at my " zulu." Instinc-
tively I knew that this was something superior to a sea trout,
and my heart leapt. Luckily the fish, whatever it was, was
not pricked. Remembering what I had been told anent its
being advisable to give ten minutes law to a salmon that has
risen and retired untouched, before casting over him again,
I sat me down on a tuft of heather, all of a tremor. Now
had I known as much of the manners and customs of the
normal salmon as I do now I should, then and there, have
shown this joker the zulu again ; but at that time I imagined
that such a fish could be caught only with a salmon fly of

A Sportsman at Large 97

orthodox pattern, so, with trembling fingers, I bent on a
" Jock Scott " of medium size. The sun was obtruding itself,
so I waited until a small cloud came over its face and then
made the fateful cast. The fish came at it with a bang, and
I was fast ! After a sharp tussle, and several sprints along
the bank, my prey was at my mercy and I slipped the landing
net under him. Had he been a finer specimen than he actually
proved to be, this operation would have been impossible,
and I should have been in peril of losing my fish, for I could
not have hand hauled him up those steep, peaty banks, and
I had had no practice at " tailing."

Happily, my captive just fitted comfortably into the net
and I bore him aloft in triumph and ecstasy.

Yes ! a salmon right enough ! Only a nine-pounder,
but " Oh ! how very fondly dear ! "

Whilst still devouring my capture with my eyes an ancient
native, who acted as watcher, came up. He thought he had
rounded off a poacher. I had some difficulty in establishing
my identity and my right to fish the Glenderhawk.

Pat Gallagher (for that was the worthy's name) was a
rather weird character, with that strong strain of inborn
poetical afflatus, which is found in so many of the inhabitants
of Connemara. Subsequently we became great friends, and
discussed all sorts of abstruse problems — sporting, political
and domestic. He had a great store of ancient Irish legends
with which he regaled me, what hours fishing was " off the
map."

On this occasion he opined that I might supplement my
present tally, as he had seen a salmon persistently rising
above the bridge, which was about a quarter of a mile below
where we sat.

Of course I was up and busy forthwith.

Sure enough, when we arrived at the point indicated, Pat's
words were proved by demonstration, for there was a hefty
boil under the far bank. The river here was much wider,
but the vicinity of the rise was easily reached. With exalted
aspirations I covered it accurately. Nothing happened ;
but whilst waiting, up came the fish again in the identical spot
where he had first shown. My second venture was equally

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unproductive, and so on and so forth, though the fish kept
bulging in between whiles. I tried every fly recommended
by Gallagher, as well as my own particular fancies, but all
to no purpose.

At last there was a mighty splash and plunge. I thought
that a bolt from the blue had descended on the tantalizing
salmon, but a simultaneous yell from old Pat indicated from
whence the seismic disturbance had arisen.

' Take that, yez dirthy, ungrateful omadhaun," he shouted.
" Uts not the loikes av yeu teu be playin' the fule wid the
quality, bad cess teu yez for a slimey, mangey scaled, ill-
conditioned cod fish ! "

Pat had hurled a great rock at the dour and disappointing
brute.

I introduced my tenancy at Burrishoole as a bit of local
colouring to set off the capture of my first salmon, but now I
have started on this very sporting let I may as well deal with
it here and now, without respect to chronological sequence.

There was an infinite variety of sport to be enjoyed in this
delectable pitch. Had I known as much about the devious
ways of feather, fur and fin as I do now, I could have dupli-
cated my tally and evolved all sorts of gamesome sports.

As it was, Ted Jaquet and I, together with the various
guests that from time to time honoured our shack, found plenty
to employ us. We had an eighteen ton smack, very broad in
the beam, and somewhat lethargic under sail. Hers were not
exactly the perfumes of Araby, for they were redolent of the
sea, and of the scaly crop reaped therefrom, plus the usual
soup£on of tar and bilge water. She was euphemistically
named White Wings. Hardly appropriate, having regard to
her grimy sheets.

But she served us well.

In her we cruised about the 365 islands of Clew Bay, and
even made several attempts to reach Clare Island — conspicuous
nine miles west of the bay itself — but on each occasion stress
of weather and the " safety first " principle constrained us
to go about.

I am afraid we did not take proper advantages of the sea
fishing which my later acquired knowledge now assures me

A Sportsman at Large 99

would have been Ai, especially with pollack, skate and other
lusty denizens of the deep, though when the mackerel were in
we set about them with a will, and thoroughly appreciated
them as an addition to our dietary.

One sport we had which was an entire novelty to me, though
I could not but regard it as a somewhat unsportsmanlike
proceeding.

This was spearing skate and ray.

The operation could be put in force only during spring tides,
where in certain bays and inlets the water was only from three
to five feet deep.

The weapon in use was a pole about seven feet long, fitted
with what looked like a glorified eel spear.

A zinc funnel or cylinder, about two feet in length and a
foot in diameter was used to locate the intended victim.
When this was sunk for half its length the spearsman, looking
through it, could clearly discern every object lying on the
bottom. Both skate and ray " lie low," and it is wonderful
how Nature's camouflage or protective coloration renders
them extraordinarily hard to locate, even in very shallow
water. When the recumbent skate is spotted, the spear is
passed through the cylinder and the stroke is launched. It
requires much practice and skill before really deadly accuracy
is attained. The correct spot to plant the spear head is just
behind the juncture of the head with the body of the fish, so
that the centre of the impact is on the spinal column.

Some of our catch were gigantic specimens, and when a
sting ray was impaled and being dragged over the gunwale
you had to be spry lest the brute should lash its whip- like tail
around your arm and proceed to lacerate your flesh with its
poisonous thorn.

Johnny Macdonald, our skipper and general factotum,
was careful to warn us.

" Aw ! " he said (all the Connemarians preface their remarks
thus), " an' the baste gets the tail av him round yer 'anner's
arm, faith ! ut's desthroyed entoirely yez would be ! "

" Do you mean it would be certain death ? " I asked.
' Aw ! I do not, yer 'anner ; but the pain av ut would be loike
teu droive yez crazy, an' uts sick yez wud be fer manny a week/'

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ioo A Sportsman at Large

Another and milder game in which we indulged when
spring tides were in was prawn catching. These crustaceans
were the finest in size and flavour that I have ever met with.
We used a triangular net, wading knee deep and shovelling
under the weed-grown rocks. Both in this connection and
the skate- spearing the water was beautifully translucent ;
crystal clear, with a submarine garden of infinite variety of
form and tint. I have gazed into those decorative depths
for long minutes together, marvelling at the infinite and
altogether satisfying beauty of Nature in her kindliest
mood.

There was a colony of seals in Clew Bay, but they were
very wary. I tried several stalks with my Winchester, but
met with no success. Ted, my ever-ready Fidus Achates,
was more fortunate, for one day he returned in triumph
with a couple of natives, bearing a half-grown grey seal on a
pole. We were loud in our felicitations, but, when later
my lusty cousin proceeded to skin the victim of his skill on
the lawn, just when we were thinking of our mid-day meal,
our congratulations turned to curses, loud and deer). The
aroma of that confounded creature reduced us to such a state
of nausea and olfactory repulsion that we lost all hope of
enjoying our repast Moreover, it remained in our nostrils
for an unconscionable time. But the depths of Ted's
capabilities as a parfumier were as yet by no means
sounded.

McDonald had told him that on a certain one of the 365
islands of Clew Bay — Innistorwhele to wit — there was a flock
of wild mountain goats, the " boss billy " of which carried a
fine set of butting implements and a patriarchal beard. My
life-long pal, having accounted for a seal, had now set his
gallant heart on big game shooting. No more for him the
inconspicuous grouse (which many a time and oft he missed),
the elusive snipe (which he invariably muffed), or other such
small deer. To Innistorwhele he went and we heard nothing
of him for some hours. At last the faint report of his rifle
was wafted across the waves. As the shades of evening fell
the White Wings drifted into port, and Ted and McDonald
disembarked, the latter bearing in his arms the gory head,

A Sportsman at Large 101

with honours complete, of the Monarch of the Capricornian
harem.

The big game shooter was puffed up with unpardonable
pride and had a stirring tale to tell of the stalk which had
ended in the death of the hoary billy. But some days later,
McDonald, elated by too free indulgence in illicit potheen,
gave the show away. It seems that during the previous
winter, the weather had been so unpropitious that the goats
of Innistorwhele were unable to obtain sufficient nutriment,
and were in parlous plight ; but some humanitarian (I think
it must have been Mr. Oram, the good factor of Burrishoole)
became wise to the situation and made arrangements whereby
the odoriferous animals were regularly fed from the mainland,
with the consequence that they soon grew confidential and
quite tame. It is wonderful how the cravings of hunger act
in subduing the natural timidity of Nature's wild children.
So it came to pass that the goats, being possessed of excellent
memories, and imagining that Ted's cutting-out expedition
was simply a renewal of last year's relief arrangements, came
scampering down from their hilly fastnesses led by the hirsute
and magnificent William, bent on a banquet at the hands of
the invaders. Our head man went on to say that when Ted
had his back turned to the throng, and was stooping to fasten
a boot lace, the aforesaid William so far forgot himself as
to take a running leap at my cousin, implanting a vigor-
ous if playful butt on the most prominent part of his
person.

The impact sent Ted sprawling. This unprovoked assault
raised his ire so that he there and then determined to put
" paid " to any further indecencies of the kind. But being,
all said and done, a sportsman born and bred, he gave the
offending billy what he considered sufficient law. Our faithful
bull-terrier Randy (show name, " Champion Streatham Mon-
arch II ") was loosed on the offending goat, who at first treated
the dog with contempt, attempting to administer the same
paralysing shock as he had awarded Ted ; but he did not know
Randy and his implacable methods. A very pretty scrap
ensued, witnessed in awesome silence by William's houris
and the human adventurers. The battle waged furiously,

102 A Sportsman at Large

first one and then the other appearing to hold an
advantage.

All of a sudden the goat, realizing that he was up against
a stiffer proposition than he had bargained for, threw up the
sponge, and " beat it " for all he was worth, closely pursued
by the blood-thirsty bull terrier, who, however, was sternly
called off.

After William, attended by his faithful spouses, had retreated
some five hundred yards, he mounted the pinnacle of an adjoin-
ing hillock and bleated defiance at his treacherous enemies.
It was then that Ted effected his self-belauded stalk. By a
circuitous route he managed to get within a hundred yards or
so of the braggart. (He dared not approach closer, for fear
of a repetition of the creature's vigorous offensive.) Then,
taking up a prone position, he drew a bead just behind the
ill-fated goat's shoulder and let drive. Billy leaped into the
air, and then rolling over and over, lay still at the base of the
hill.

" Sic transit gloria Capricorni."

But the spirit of him — supposing that such animals can
claim survival of soul after death — remained to afflict not
only his destroyer, but all who came in touch with the grim
trophy which Ted had had set up by Rowland Ward, who, in
returning it — most artistically mounted — politely but firmly
requested my cousin not to send any more heads of the same
species, as in such case he would be likely to lose the services
of his most skilled assistant taxidermists.

Previous to this, we of the Burrishoole contingent had pro-
tested loudly against the dreadful infliction on our olfactory
organs.

The seal had tried us severely, but its odour was as that of
attar of roses, when compared with the effluvium disseminated
by that grizzly goat's head. I have had a slight dose of chlorine
gas and survived it ; but if the Huns, during the Great War,
had been able to evolve an extract, such as that which caused
us such nasal affliction, I am convinced that the question as
to which side really won the war, would have been set at rest
once and for all — and not in our favour !

Ted tried it on his domestic circle when he reached home,

A Sportsman at Large 103

but the offensive trophy was immediately thrown into the
dust-bin. Then he bethought him of a secret enemy, to whom
he owed a long-standing and savage grudge. William's head
was carefully packed and despatched to this worthy. An
obituary notice in The Times indicated that a tragedy had
taken place ; but happily no prosecution for manslaughter
issued.

CHAPTER XI

RANDY'S wind was up, after his affair with the billy
goat of Innistorwhele. I think he had a hunch to
swim over to the island, and take it out of the surviving hill
climbers ; as he was ever gazing over the water to the distant
islet. But, apparently, thinking better of it, he eschewed
goat flesh, and chewed mutton in the shape of an innocent
lamb, which, having lost its dam, was being brought up by
hand at a local cottager's. Naturally the owner waxed
exceeding wrath, and put in an excited appearance, bearing
what remained (mostly wool and gore) of his cherished lambkin
in his arms.

" Aw, yer 'anner," gasped Terry Millighan — for such was his
name — " see phwat yez dirthy, shark- faced son av a disgraceful
mother has done teu me poor, helpless lamb — bad cess to 'im
for a mangy, squint-eyed, three-cornered cur dog — teu Hell
wid'm ! "

There was no gainsaying the transgression ; for Randy
had been caught flagrante delicto, and was rendered parti-
coloured by tell-tale crimson stains, and slavering jaws.

I was furious ! I had never known my favourite bull
terrier to be guilty of such truculent rascality before. My
first impulse was to belabour him within an inch of his life ;
but after careful consideration I fell back on what I hoped
might prove a far more efficacious punishment, and one
which I hoped would give the backslider furiously to think
before venturing on any similar atrocity. I tied what remained
of the unfortunate lambkin to his neck, gave him a sharp
reminder with an ash plant and shut him up in an outhouse.

At intervals I visited him, and each time admonished him
with tongue and stick ; with the consequence that he became

104

A Sportsman at Large 105

utterly fed up with the too intimate company of his victim's
corpse. When at last he was released from durance vile and
the adhesive incubus, he was exalted with joy and thanksgiving,
and signified the same in the usual canine manner. The
Ancient Mariner could hardly have felt more relieved when the
bindings of the defunct albatross slid from his neck.

As for Terry Millighan, he was solaced with a five pound
note (there were such pleasant pledges of the Bank of England
in those days).

' The Holy Saints bless yer 'anner ! " he exclaimed fervently.
" Faith an' ut's meself phwat whill be havin' another lamb
seun ; an' if so be, yer 'anner and yer 'anner's iligant dog
whill be wantin' moore spoort, be gob, ye're welcome — more
power teu yez both ! "

Now I did not appreciate being identified as an accomplice
of Randy's crime, either as an accessory before or after the fact ;
but what was the use of arguing the matter with an ignoramus
such as Terry. I just let it pass !

It is said that when once a dog has taken to mutton mauling
the obsession is incurable ; but I can vouch for it, that " Mr.
Champion Streatham Monarch II " never again molested a
sheep. He couldn't bear the sight of one ; nor would he
partake of the flesh thereof ; unless camouflaged by culinary
art. So that was that !

There came over to join the gay throng at Burrishoole, a
youngster of tender years (about twenty of the same) whom
we will call Dicky Garnett. At this time the Fenians were
busy, and it was reported that Connemara itself was not free
from their nefarious activities.

We had been discussing the matter after dinner on'e evening
over our pipes. Ted Jaquet, who had been gazing thought-
fully at our young guest, noting the pallor of his countenance
and the intermittent tremors which shook his elegant figure,
had a brain wave which his fertile resource converted to action,
with — I am sorry to say — our connivance.

Ted was an inveterate practical joker, and this seemed to
be a grand opportunity for the exercise of his ingenuity in this
direction.

One stormy night, when the windows rattled and the wind

106 A Sportsman at Large

moaned around the ancient homestead, Dicky Garnett and I
were sitting over the fire smoking our final pipe before turning
in. I had been regaling my young friend (destined hereafter
to become my subaltern in the Duke of Camb's Hussars)
with bloodcurdling tales of Fenian atrocities. The others had,
professedly, retired to their respective couches, pleading " dead
tiredness," following on a strenuous day on the hills, after
grouse. Dicky's back was toward the casement, on which the
rain beat persistently.

Now let him continue the story.

" I happened to look up at Cockie (that's me — I should
say ' I '), and never have I seen such a look of fixed horror as
his homely features displayed. He was looking beyond me
at the window, with it's weeping rain tears. I glanced round
quickly. My heart leaped, and then seemed to stop altogether ;
for there, gazing in on us, was a masked face ! I felt frozen
to my chair ; but the next moment, there was a thundering
at the door. Cockie sprang up. At first I thought he was
' doing a guy ' and leaving me to my fate ; but he had gone
to fetch his revolver.

" The door burst open and three men, muffled in long
jarvey coats, with typical Hibernian corbeens, and all closely
masked, rushed in.

" ' Hands up, yez divils,' shouted our host, levelling his
weapon. The raiders obeyed with alacrity ; but the window
had been noiselessly opened and a portly figure garbed and
masked like the other intruders, made a spring at Cockie
from behind to pinion him. Ere this movement on the
part of the outflanking criminal could be effectively carried
out, Cockie's revolver spoke. One of the miscreants in front
gave a loud scream, leaped into the air, and — falling forward
on his face — lay still ! The others bolted, with Cockie at
their heels. As he ran he shouted to me to fetch my gun
and follow, but I felt paralysed. However, I managed to
find the weapon, snatched up a couple of cartridges which
lay on the table handy and legged it along. I came up with
my host near the water ; we were both out of breath.

" ' It's no good Dicky/ he gasped. ' They've offed it and

A Sportsman at Large 107

got clean away. Come along, let's get back and see what's
happened to the guy I let daylight into. He looked pretty
bad anyway.'

" When we regained the house we found Robber Hinde and
Ted Jaquet, in their pyjamas, gazing in awe at the prone
and motionless figure on the floor of the smoking room.

" We were besieged with questions and Cockie had to give
a recital.

" ' And now, what are we going to do with this ? ' he said
in conclusion, at the same time administering a kick to the
poor ' corpse.'

' Aw yer 'anner, ut's meself phwats fair toired av lyin'
here wid me face on the fluer. Faith and it 's a drap av
the crathur oi'd be havin' teu revoive the sowl av me ! '

" McDonald by all that was wonderful !

" He sat up and grinned.

" Then another ' Fenian ' entered upon the scene and
removed his mask.

" Bedford ! Our host's imperturbable and impressing valet !

" Hinde and Jaquet produced masks from behind their
backs. The game was up."

This, as far as I can remember, is the account of the spoof,
as rendered over and over again by Dicky Garnett, years
afterwards. If the writing which I have set down is not
verbatim according to Dicky, it is " in words to that effect."

(No ! my esteemed collaborator Ben Trovato had nothing
to do with the compilation.)

Now I must not omit an episode which occurred the second
night after my arrival at Burrishoole. Ted and I had the
shack to ourselves and were drawing up an itinerary pro forma,
for the next day's sporting expedition.

I happened to look out of the window. It was a dark
night ; but in the distance I could see half a dozen lights
dancing like fire flies, where I judged the banks of the Glender-
hawke river to be.

Calling Ted's attention to them, I announced my intention
of investigating the phenomena.

The servants had all retired to rest, so I suggested that

108 A Sportsman at Large

my cousin should remain on sentry go, whilst I proceeded
with my reconnoitring.

I sallied forth unarmed and made my way over the rough,
until I gained my objective.

Here I found a gang of a dozen of " the bhoys " cheerfully
and diligently engaged in dragging the river.

" What the blazes are you up to ? " I yelled. " Don't
you know this is private water and that you're poaching ? "

The operators took very little notice of my complaint
but continued their nefarious occupation, so I repeated my
challenge.

One of the malefactors (head lad probably) turned his head
at last.

" Aw, shure yer 'anner, uts ourselves phwat knows uts
proivate propertee, but not proivit for the loikes av us — St.
Pathrick be praised ! Now ut's a good gossoon ye'll be, and
set yez quoiet on that shtone, an so be as ye makes no fuss
av ut, faith, we'll be fer givin' yer 'anner a foine salmon.
But anny moore av yez bleatin', an' inter the river yez goes.
Mark that now ! "

I was left guessing again !

But I am, thank goodness, blessed with a sense of humour.
How else could I have borne the slings and arrows of out-
rageous fortune which were hurled at me in after years, not
in single spies, but in battalions (rather mixed metaphor
this I fear, but it must serve).

I could not help seeing the humorous side of my own
predicament.

So I sat me down, lighted my pipe and watched the poach-
ing operations, which happily were of a somewhat primitive
nature, so that the haul was no " miraculous draught of
fishes."

But Mr. Jerry Gilhooly (the aforesaid boss) was as good as
his word, and not only presented me with a nice fresh run
ten pounder (a rarity in those parts and at that season of the
year), but even offered to carry it up to the house for me.

This gave me my cue ; so I addressed the gang in the
vernacular. (I rather pride myself on picking up and reproduc-
ing dialects. Be it said that there are as many variations

A Sportsman at Large 109

in pronunciation and cadences in Old Ireland as there are
in England, and for the matter of that, North of the
Tweed.)

" Shure," said I, " yez bhoys must be cold and whet teu
the shkin av yez. Faith ut's the frozen noses av yez that
needs be in a mug av the crathur. Come yez up teu the cabin
and Oi'll be dosin' yez wid the rale shtuff, an' divil a mite av
excoise paid upon ut ! "

My suggestion was received with acclamation. Not only
the vile alcohol, but a fistful of white bread and soapy cheese,
was doled to each of the campaigners. My health was drunk
uproariously.

" See here bhoys," I said as I wished them good-night.
" Next Sabbath as ivver is, come yez up wid the woives,
sisthers, cousins, ants and the collyeens av yez, an ut's a
foine kick up we'll be havin'. Is it game y'are ? "

The answer was in the affirmative . . . emphatically so !
The gala night arrived, and with it practically the whole
country side. The formality of invitations having been
dispensed with, the result, as far as numbers were concerned,
was most gratifying. It was a motley throng and all were
bent on enjoying themselves, making an infernal row, drink-
ing as much as they could hold, dancing themselves silly,
and ending up with a free fight. (The last item being sine
qua non.) This programme was faithfully carried out. Never
was there such a shuffling of hobnailed boots or bare feet
(according to the social quality of the terpsichoreans) on the
kitchen "flu-er." Never had the bucks of Connemara been
so well primed with mountain dew ; and consequently never
had the colleens been made love to so ardently and persistently.
Unhappily the latter pastime was somewhat discounted by
the late arrival of Father O'Reilly, who was a stickler for a
reasonable observance of the conventions.

Of course there were many cases of deadly rivalry which
promised " wigs on the green " ere the entertainment was
brought to a close. One of the worst of these green eyed
phantasies was conjured up by no less a person than my portly
and exuberant cousin Ted, who — though his wife was way
back in the land of the Saxon — posed as a widower, and in this

no A Sportsman at Large

guise made violent overtures to Nannie McGoorty, one of
the few really pretty daughters of Erin present. As Mr.
Dan Heggarty, the local blacksmith, had for years watched her
growing up, and had marked her for his own, you can imagine
that the keen eye of observation which he bent on Ted was
of the very lemon order ; so I detailed Michael Dever and
Johnny McDonald to keep a watch on the young disciple
of Vulcan, lest his Hibernian blood should reach such a caloric
and choleric height that, urged by jealousy and alcoholic
indulgence, he might proceed to the " doin' in " of his hated
rival. By the exercise of a little tact and much whisky,
we reduced Dan to the maudlin and affectionate stage of
inebriation, which of course rendered him supremely happy
and amiable — if somewhat repulsive.

I have been ever addicted to " the light fantastic " both
from an eccentric and a conventional and technical point of
view, so when Martin Doyle began scraping his fiddle strings
and Matthew O'Dowd played upon the pipes, I rushed into
the fray.

Now it happened that Johnny McDonald fancied himself
as a dancer, that could outskip and outstay any native rival
or " anny dirthy Saxon — savin' yer 'anner's pardon," — that
dare take him on.

This unseemly boasting was not to be tolerated, so I deter-
mined to see if I could not abate his conceit.

The " fluer " was cleared, and all stood around watching
the duel, and loudly applauding the efforts of the combatants.
Well, in those days, I was pretty fit and vigorous ; so at the
end of half an hour's dancing — without a moment's breather—
the skipper of the White Wings threw up the sponge, and
I was hailed the winner amid the unrestrained plaudits of
my guests.

At last the party broke up, and with bibulous expressions
of undying love and devotion, drifted off. A big contingent
had to cross a neck of the bay, in a dilapidated ferry boat,
the holding capacity of which was strictly limited. I had
said good night to the last of the bhoys and was settling down
to a contemplative pipe, when suddenly there arose above
the whining of the wind, most appalling shrieks and yells

A Sportsman at Large ill

in which the baritones and basses of men were drowned by
the lamentations, in soprano, of the women. These weird
cacophanies seemed to come from the locality of the ferry.

" Good God," thought I, " they have overcrowded the
boat and it has capsized ! " Up I jumped and ran for all I
was worth in the direction of the rumpus, but I had not gone
far, before I was stopped by Michael Dever.

" Aw, for the love av Moike," he pleaded, " ut's not safe
fer yer 'anner, shure ut's the bhoys phwat is thro win' stones."

" Throwing stones ? "

" Faith, they is that, sorr, shtones as big as the top av
Crowpatherick,* an' so be as wan was teu drap on the head
av yer 'anner, ut's desthroyed entoirely ye'd be, leastwise
unless yer ' anner 's skull is as thick as Johnny McDonald's
spach afther an illegant wake."

" But what's it all about, Michael ? "

" Aw, just nothin' at all, at all, yer 'anner ; just a bit av
pleasanthry loike. Faith ut's a custom. Phwat wud be anny
use in a grand ball loike phwat yer 'anner — more power to
yez — has give the bhoys, if so be a free foight wus not teu
end ut ? "

" But why do the women shriek like that ? "

" Aw, ut's the nature av women folk, yer 'anner. Shure
ut's givin' tongue they are, so by they may encourage the men
folk av thim teu foight ut out ! "

I had to leave it at that.

Next day, I regret to say that cousin Ted so far forgot his
marital vows, and his usually strict observance of the " safety
first " principle, as to follow up his adventure with the fair
Nannie McGoorty, whose mother's cabin was some two Irish
miles over the hills. He found the really pretty colleen all
right, and according to his own account, was most graciously
received ; his excuse for the call being a parching thirst,
which nothing could assuage short of a glass of milk straight
from the McGoorty cow (Ted really loathed milk as an un-
mixed beverage). Moreover he succeeded in getting Mrs.
McGoorty out of the way ; but just as he was about to beg

* Crowpatrick, the most conspicuous mountain of Connemara, from which
St. Patrick is said to have driven all the snakes and reptiles into the sea.

112 A Sportsman at Large

a kiss from Nannie's ruby lips, a shadow darkened the cabin
door and the burly form of Dan Heggarty was revealed.

" The top av the marnin' teu yer 'anner," said the unwel-
come intruder, doffing his corbeen and grinning sardonically.
" Ut's hopin' ut's well yez be, sor-r. Faith ut's a proud man
Oi am sor-r, teu see yez so plazed wid me colleen phwat is
teu be me woife come Christmas — the Holy Saints so willin'
ut!"

Ted bowed his acknowledgments.

" An' now, an' ut plazes yer 'anner ye'd best be skippin'
as fast as the fat legs av yez whill carry yez ; fer if so be
ye've not a move ahn afore oi've counted foive, ut's knocking
the ugly, bald patched head av yez arf entoirely Oi whill be —
wid arl respecks teu yer 'anner's person. But if so be ut's
trying a bout wid me wid the bare fists av yez, yez'd be
axin', come yez out inteu the back yard, so be Oi can chop
yez up and ate yez, yez fatheaded fule — beggin' yer 'anner's
pardon."

Ted declined the contest and turned away with as much
dignity as he could command without even a backward glance
in the direction of his erstwhile charmer. He says he heard
her sobbing ; but Dan declared, when relating the episode
to Johnny McDonald, that Nannie was " nigh teu disthruc-
tion thru' the larfin' av her 1 "

I think I have already remarked that though salmon fre-
quented the Furnace Lough in considerable quantities, they
were a dour and ascetic crowd given to lengthy fastings ;
consequently the capture of one of the clan was an event
which called for a red letter mark in our sporting calander.

Sometimes one would be tempted to look at a fly and to
make a great to do on the surface of the water ; thus filling
the angler's palpitating heart with hopes never to be realized.
This refinement of tantalization would be repeated again and
again, every time the lure passed over the particular rock or
trench where the fish was presumably lurking ; but never a
touch would be felt. At last the patience of the fisherman
would wane, and he would give it up in despair.

But on one occasion, a venturesome salmon, after playing

A Sportsman at Large 113

me this unworthy trick, became reckless and snapped my
" claret and grouse," — possibly by accident — and I held him.
I had not had him on long when I became conscious of a
peculiar double drag on my line. I had been casting the
said " claret and grouse " as a stretcher with a " fiery brown "
— a favourite with the sea trout — as a bob fly.

Presently it dawned upon me that one of the latter tribe
had seized the " bob " whilst I was playing his weightier
cousin on the tail fly ,' so that now I had two customers to
deal with. It is not often that one has the chance of playing
a salmon and a sea trout simultaneously on the same cast, is
it ? The by no means welcome " trutta " of course took the
direct control of the " solar " out of my hands and enabled
the latter to free itself. I brought the sea trout to net ; a
nice fish of one and a half pounds ; but it was not by any
means a welcome guest in the boat. In fact in delivering
the coup de grace on the boat's gunwale, I performed the act
with such spleen that I practically knocked its precious head
off. Surely, my nasty temper, was, under the circumstances,
excusable ?

But a day came when I actually did extract a salmon from
the Lough. I had been having fair sport with the sea trout,
and when drifting some forty feet from a rocky shore, I made
a long cast where the water rippled around, and lapped
upon, a semi-submerged boulder. As my fly swung round,
there was a big boil, and I found myself fast in something
which sure was not a sea trout. My supposition proved
correct. McDonald knew what was up and acted accordingly.

" Aw, praize be teu the blessed saints ! Faith ut's a salmon
yez have, yer 'anner," he shouted, and commenced to get a
good way on the boat ; so that I was able to keep a tight
line on the fish, which gave me fifteen minutes' keen excitement,
ere the net was slipped under it. It proved to be only nine
pounds, but was in excellent condition. I was highly delighted,
and " Mac " — on the strength of the adventure — indulged in
an extra glass, or two — or three — of his beloved potheen.

Now for the sequel, which exemplifies the great reach
possessed by the long arm of coincidence.

There had arrived at Burrishoole that day a new guest,

8

114 A Sportsman at Large

a club friend known as " Robber " Hinde. The rather
opprobrious pseudonym having been awarded him owing to
his uncanny habit of winning at pyramids, no matter how
severe his handicap.

He will be remembered as figuring as a " Fenian " in the
terrorizing of Dicky Garnett, as already related.

He was a dead keen fly fisher, so after dinner, I regaled
him and the rest of our bunch with a stirring recital of my
capture of the salmon, which we had just devoured with much
gusto.

The next day, he accompanied me on the Lough, and when
we were on the same drift that had produced my victim and
approaching the lucky stone, I spoke him thus :

" See that stone, Robber ? That's where I got into my
fish yesterday. I made a long cast like this (suiting action
to word) and just as my fly came round on the lee of the
rock like this — Here ! — hi ! blessed if I haven't got another ! "
And faith, so I had ! So equal in weight and alike in
appearance were these two that they might have been twins.

These two salmon were the only ones caught in the Lough
that season.

I have since noticed how very frequently salmon seem to
favour some particular " lie " behind a boulder, in a depression
or trough on the bottom, or under the ledge of an overhang-
ing bank. Pull a fish from out such a hide one day, and another
will have taken his place the next. I shall have something
more to say on the subject when I come to tackle my Nor-
wegian experiences, where this phenomenon is constantly
displaying itself.

CHAPTER XII

AT the time of my marriage, I had never been north of
the Tweed ; but three years later, after disporting
myself at Hurlingham and Ranelagh with whip and spur,
and at the former and the Gun Club with villainous saltpetre
(or its nitrate substitute) throughout the London season,
I began to cherish the idea of visiting " the land o' cakes,"
during August and September. Not that rugged scenery
appeals to me very strongly, my soul being far more deeply
stirred by pastoral beauty ; especially in the halcyon days of
Spring ; but, nevertheless, I am not prepared to go all the
way with Samuel Johnson in asserting that the only good road
in Scotland is the straightest and shortest out of it ! Moreover,
I had yet to shoot a red-grouse ; though, as herein before
chronicled, several of the black, skew-tailed variety had fallen
to my shot. And were there not on those forests and heights
noble stags to be stalked, besides roes and other small " deer,"
such as " cock," snipe, duck and what not ! Then, thought I,
if I can but find a pitch where salmon and trout lend enchant-
ment to the let, I can have a bully time !

So I sought out that rara avis, a reliable sporting agent,
and invited him to lay his wares before me.

In the end I was tickled by a partnership proposition, and
one Collinson Hall was advertising half-share in Glencalater,
by Braemar, and this bit of sporting Scotland was highly
recommended by the agent as having been " personally
inspected " and vouched for. I may here interpolate that in
later years this same Glencalater was occupied by my old
friend the late Mr. Panmure Gordon, who, I believe, enjoyed
the doubtful honour of entertaining " Kaiser Bill " at the lodge.

So the loth of August found my C. O., my first-born (Ray-
mond), my gentleman's gentleman and myself en route for

115 8*

116 A Sportsman at Large

Glencalater, packed with our impedimenta in a ramshackle
" ma-chine " drawn by a steed painfully troubled with the
slows, in one of those tedious road trails which so often tax
the patience of long-suffering Sassenachs who set foot in
" Mac-land."

The only diversion was that caused by my son and heir —
then about eighteen months of age — who would persist in
removing my cap from my head and heaving it into the
roadway. As this operation was repeated every few minutes,
our progress was materially delayed.

At last the Lodge hove in sight and at its gates we were met
by my " pard " that was to be, and his wife.

The former was a colossal figure of a man, over six feet in
height, and well endowed with solid (perhaps too solid) flesh.
He sported luxurious face-fungus, in the shape of side- whiskers
and a walrus moustache ; whilst his rubicund countenance
sent forth a genial effulgence which promised a wealth of warm
camaraderie.

His spouse was not a thing of beauty, but she had a warm
and tender heart, which immediately displayed itself by the
way in which she took our child — much to his terror and
aversion — to her ample bosom.

The nth was spent in inspecting the kennels, in which were
housed a team of three very likely-looking laverack setters,
a single liver and white pointer, and a brace of ditto spaniels
(the last-named being much of the type of the show-bench
springer of 1922).

The shooting was to be entirely over dogs, which suited my
taste down to the ground.

I inquired about the fishing, and was informed that the
river Calater and the loch of the same name were full of salmon,
but that the water was so low that any hope of capture by
legitimate means was out of the question.

However, I impressed the head ghillie, Alec Grant, into my
service, and induced him to take me on a tour of inspection.
I was not going without my rod ; but, on arrival at the
" river " (it was now only a narrow trickle meandering through
a dry, rockyjbed) I found that its hopeless state had been
no way exaggerated.

A Sportsman at Large 117

Whilst crossing from stone to stone I saw Grant stoop and
peer into a rivulet.

" Sirr," he exclaimed, " a fush lees herre ; will ye hae a
squint at him ? '

I came over, and sure enough there was a salmon of about
ten pounds " lying doggo," in a sort of trench.

" Man," said the ghillie, " pet yere rod up. I'll slip the
hook ender his jaw, and ye can hae a bit o' spoort wi' him
foreby ! "

No sooner said than I was at work. All being ready, the
wily Grant proceeded with his fell purpose, with the result
that, as I stood back, there was such a mighty rush and plunge
that the rod was nearly pulled out of my hand. I had to sprint
for all I was worth, as the now thoroughly awakened and
terrified fish threaded its way at lightning speed between
the boulders, and up the rivulets with its dorsal fin out of the
water for most of the journey.

Just as I was thinking it would out-pace me and get a
straight pull on the line, the fish obligingly saved me any
further trouble by running itself high and dry on the beach,
where it was immediately grabbed by Grant.

This was a naughty performance, but in a way, it was
decidedly humorous. Worse was to come, for on an off-
shooting day, a week or two later, my pard fitted out an
expedition to net Loch Calater. I watched the dastardly
operations interestedly, but when, at the first haul, eighteen
nice salmon, averaging about nine pounds, were pulled out,
flopping and gasping in the fatal meshes, I felt sorely grieved.
If I could have induced only one of them to accept a fly, or
even a spoon or " Devon " I should have been more than
delighted. But even in those early days, I knew enough of
salmon and their ways to recognize that no sort of legitimate
lure would, under existing conditions and circumstances,
induce a fish to even look at, much less to rise to it.

The " Glorious Twelfth " dawned bright and warm. I
was all agog for my first attack on the grouse ; but we had a
very stiff climb before reaching the shooting-ground. My
hill legs and lungs were not yet in trim, so I was fairly blown
and soaked with honest sweat by the time the first brace

118 A Sportsman at Large

of setters — Don and Dinah — were put down. It was at once
evident to me that these knew their work, and had been
most thoroughly broken, for they worked to Grant's hand
and whistle to perfection, and quartered their ground in mas-
terly fashion.

Whilst shinning up the hillside, I had become aware that the
hefty Collinson seemed to be determined that I should note the
size of his shot as inscribed on the end wads of his cartridges
as they rested in the breach of his barrels. In other words,
he persistently carried his gun at full-cock (hammerless weapons
had not been invented in those days), and carefully aligned
for my cranium ; so, on my invariable " safety-first " principle,
I sheered off and gave him a wide berth, despite his exhorta-
tions to " close up ! "

It was not long before both setters began railing to the
wind, and soon Dinah was down ; Don backing her in exem-
plary fashion.

My " pard " motioned me to go forward, which, I trow,
was very unselfish of him. I was wide on the right, and as I
was closing in on the dogs, I ran right into another brood of
seven grouse.

In my excitement I missed an easy shot with my first barrel,
but popping in my second at a late riser, I had the satisfaction
of seeing it crumple up. My first red-grouse !

Notwithstanding this rise and my two shots, Don and
Dinah had not moved a muscle, so, having reloaded, I drew
in on the right, with Hall on the left. The birds lay very
close, and the bitch had to be stroked and encouraged to creep
forward. At last a big bunch of some fourteen birds were
sprung.

This time I made no mistake, f or I " downed " a pretty right
and left, whilst my companion did ditto. That day our bag
amounted to forty-two brace ; which means a lot of shooting
for only two guns when dogs are the order of the day. I
never could have wished for a prettier or more enjoyable bit
of shooting. Despite my pard's avoirdupois he was the deuce
and all of a walker and a deadly shot.

For many days we had satisfactory bags. The third setter
Dash and the pointer Sancho proved as good and reliable

A Sportsman at Large lid

as Don and Dinah. What a pleasure it is to shoot grouse,
or, for the matter of that, any other game birds, over tho-
roughly trained and broken dogs ! To see them work, to my
mind adds a hundred per cent, to the joy and excitement
of shooting.

Of course, as time went on, birds became wilder and wilder,
and began to pack ; but for the first fortnight we averaged
quite thirty brace per day. Our heaviest (third time out)
fifty- three brace, which is the best, over dogs, I have ever
participated in, where only two guns were concerned.

The time come when stalking was the order of the day.
Collinson Hall was an old hand at the game ; whilst Alec
Grant had a great and well deserved reputation as a
stalker.

My weapon was a Winchester repeater, not perhaps an ideal
one for the job, but sufficient, given a fair chance. I was
confident of my ability to hold straight and steady, and this I
had demonstrated to Messrs. Hall and Grant — to their entire
satisfaction and approval — on the counterfeit presentment of a
stag which had been set up for shooting practice on the face
of the hill opposite the lodge.

This sport, new to me, did not materialize until the last week
of my stay.

The first day out, there was a thick mist which drove sharply
over the corries and hill tops.

It was a longish climb before we arrived at the spot where
active operations were to be put in force. An understrapper,
known as Sandy (I have not the remotest idea what his other
name might be) was told off, to take me along to Cairn Turk ;
whilst Hall and the faithful Grant, debouched to the left to
scan some corries known to them as being an almost sure
" find."

When nearing the plateau on the summit of the stately
hill in question, I became aware of certain birds, of grouse
size, which kept running over the boulders in front of us,
perching on tops thereof, craning their necks and then taking
short flights. They were in small coveys or bunches of three
to five and showing a pretty grey and white colouring. I
knew what they were — ptarmigan, of course ! Here was a

1*20 A Sportsman at Large

new species to add to my schedule of feathered victims. So
I got busy !

The birds swarmed on the heights of Cairn Turk and Sandy
had a strenuous time collecting the dead, which finally totted
up twelve-and-a-half brace. The mist had now disappeared
and the surrounding moors and tops stood out in all their
glory of form and colour. I had forgotten all about our true
and legitimate objective — stags ; but as Sandy and I made
our descent it occurred to me that we had not set out with the
intention of collecting ptarmigan, but of possessing ourselves
of a decorative head and, incidentally, of a welcome supply of
venison. This was forcibly brought home to me when we
met my lusty pard. I showed him my bag of " greys " with
much pride ; but instead of being impressed with my per-
formance, he proceeded to read me the riot act in no
measured terms. In fact, he was nearly apoplectic with hardly
suppressed wrath.

" This is a nice game you've played me, Cox," he blustered.
" What in Heaven's name induced you to open fire on those
d — d ptarmigan ? S'truth, you've sent every (adjective) stag
scampering off the forest, and just as I was nicely placed for a
safe pull, too ! Confound it, man, you might have had better
sense."

I was overwhelmed and felt utterly miserable. I cursed
myself inwardly for my lack of understanding and thought-
lessness.

But my pard was a kind-hearted soul. He recognized that
I had acted out of sheer ignorance.

" Never mind, my lad," he said, patting me paternally on
the shoulder. " It was not your fault — how could you
know ? "

Then, turning to the shamefaced Sandy, his tone again
changed and he let the vials of his wrath flow on the devoted
head of the luckless Scot, in such a torrent, that the victim was
reduced to a quivering jelly.

It has been ever a mystery to me why Sandy did not warn
me of the sporting solecism which I was committing when
indulging in a battue of ptarmigan in the middle of a deer
forest ! Perhaps he owed his master one !

A Sportsman at Large 121

My next endeavour at stag slaughter was supported by
Grant and a ghillie of the name of Anderson.

Now it happens that Glencalater marches with the royal
forest.

At the time I am dealing with, the old Queen Victoria
was on the throne and was then in residence at Balmoral
Castle.

A good story, but one which has only an indirect connection
with sport, is told touching Her Majesty's visits to an old ex-
servatrix of the Royal Household, who had been pensioned and
established in a picturesque cabin on the further shores of
Loch Calater.

It was the good Queen's custom to visit the old lady on a
Sabbath afternoon, bringing her various delicacies and taking
tea with her in homely fashion. In order to reach the cabin,
Her Majesty was wont to be rowed across the loch by " a couple
o' braw laddies." One day a distinguished traveller (possibly
none other than " Pan " Gordon himself) was talking to
Maggie Macfarlane (for such was the old crone's name) about
the Queen's informal visits.

"I'm sure, Mrs. Macfarlane," he said, " you ought to be proud
to think the Great Queen is so kind and friendly to you."

" Oo, ay," replied the old lady, " ah'm prood enow; bet
ah dinna like Her-r Meejistee a rowin' a the loch o' the Saw-
bath'.'

" Oh, come," exclaimed the visitor. " Surely there's no
great harm in that ? Why, have you forgotten that Our Lord
rowed on the Sea of Galilee on the Sabbath ? "

" Oo ay — certes oor Lor-r'd ded ; bet foreby ah n'ere thoct
the better-r-r o' Him fer doiri it I "

This by the way.

It was explained to me by Grant that one of the finest of
the Royal herds was prone to cross the boundary just before
dusk for the purpose of drinking at a small tarn, which was
Well within the limits of the Glencalater Forest.

With this fact in view, I was posted behind a convenient
boulder, about fifty yards from the water, where, crouching in
the high heather, I was well concealed.

Grant and Anderson then took cover on an adjacent hillock,

122 A Sportsman at Large

where with their spy-glasses they could observe the approach
of the deer ; when they were to signal to me to be ready.

Time passed slowly. I had a fine opportunity of admiring
the surrounding scenery and of noting the bird life, such as it
was. I spotted a pair of ravens flopping about on a distant
cliff, and then, casting my eyes skyward, fixed them on a great
bird, high up in the heavens, and poised on wide spreading
wings— a Golden Eagle ! The first I had ever seen in its
natural state.

Then a single hind and calf came down to drink; but I
rightly concluded that this had nothing to do with the bunch
which I hoped to deal with.

Whilst admiring the beauty and grace of mother and child,
I became aware that Grant was signalling violently, but I could
see nothing.

I kept my eyes steadily fixed on the sky-line of the hill in
front of me ; as I judged, about three hundred yards away.

Presently, in the fast approaching dusk, I made out shadowy
forms passing along the brow in Indian file.

Surely it was the desired herd !

To my disgust the beasts went forward and made no attempt
to approach the tarn.

Why were they not thirsty, as all good stags should be, at
the end of a perfect day ?

Matters were becoming desperate. It was a case of " now
or never!" I adjusted my sights to three hundred yards and
selecting a stag which appeared to carry a " royal " spread,
took a steady aim and pulled ; only to see my bullet plough up
the ground under his shoulder and level with his fore slots. I
had evidently miscalculated the range. D !

Away scampered the rest of the bunch. I pumped in a long
shot at the last of the fugitives without any visible effect.

At the same time, I heard a devil of a to-do and clattering of
hoofs in my immediate rear. I whipped round and what was
my amazement and horror on seeing the whole of the Royal
herd, which must have been within fifty yards of my " hide,"
but which now were scampering off pell mell. Oh, the pity of
it!

Grant and Anderson were up on their hind legs, dancing,

A Sportsman at Large 123

gesticulating and tearing their hair like a couple of maniacs.
Even at that distance I could hear their uncomplimentary
remarks. " Wee Sassenach fule " being the mildest of the
objurgations which they heaped upon my devoted head.

But how was I to distinguish between the two contingents,
or to guess that the genuine lot would approach from my rear?

Thinking it over afterwards, I came to the conclusion that
Grant was the real villain of the piece and that his own calcu-
lations had been upset, otherwise, why place me as he did ?

This proved the beginning and the end of my deer-stalking
experiences. I have yet to set foot on the prone form of the
monarch of the glen.

It strikes me that my case was almost as sad as that of the
gallant Count Fontainbleu, an enthusiastic Gallic sportsman
who was invited by the owner of a prolific deer-forest (whom
we will call Lord Gralloch) to try his hand and skill at stalking.

Overnight, the noble host, after dinner, and when the wine
was going round and cigars were aglow ; called in Ronald
Macalister, his very superior stalker, and thus addressed him :

"It is my infernal luck, Ronald, that I should sprain my
ankle, just as the Count here arrives : but you must take him
out over the best ground and see that he has a fair chance."

" Oo ay ! "

" Ah, my friend," put in the Count. " It is zure I am zat ze
good MacTaveesh "

" Ma name's no MacTavish, ye ken ! " This from the deer
stalker.

" Ah, zat vas all a right, Mac. I call you MacTaveesh
because eet zounds so — so — vat you zay ? — So Scottie ! "

Next day all was ready for a start, with Macalister garbed
and accoutred for the fray.

The genial son of La Belle France slapped him on the back,
exclaiming :

" Zy foot ees on zy native 'eath, zy name's MacTaveesh ! "

" Ma name's no MacTavish ! " reiterated the stalker.

In the evening, when the Count returned to the castle, he
was beat to a frazzle and fed up with life in general and deer
stalking in particular — devil a stag had he seen all day.

His lordship could not make it out. Day after day the same

124 A Sportsman at Large

thing occurred, until at last Count Fontainbleu was reduced
to a shadow ; the soles of his boots were worn thin as blotting-
paper, and his feet were grievously chapped and blistered.
He threw up the sponge and made tracks for the South.

Lord Gralloch was left guessing.

He called in Macalister and interrogated him sternly :

" Why — what in Heaven's name has come to the forest since
I have been laid up, Ronald ? Are there no beasts left on it ? "

" Oo ay, yere lordship. Foreby there's mony an* mony a
bonnie beastie i' the conies."

" In the name of all that's wonderful, then, how is it
that you have not even shown my esteemed friend, Count
Fontainbleu, a stag ? "

Then the murder was out.

" My name's not MacTavish ! " exclaimed Macalister tersely
— and turning on his heel he stalked majestically from the
presence of his astounded and scandalized master.

CHAPTER XIII

BIBLE history fails to relate that the late Mr. Ananias
was an angler ; but we may presume that such was the
case, and that his infantile efforts to pervert the truth led to
his being quoted as a shocking example of the unregenerate
liar. If such were indeed the case, we knights of gut and
hook have good reason to deplore a precedent which has
caused us one and all to be labelled (7 maintain libelled] as
irreclaimable manipulators of the harmless and sometimes
necessary terminological inexactitude.

As for Sapphira, she would, of course, have been acquitted
by any modern jury, on the grounds that she was under the
malign influence and coercion of her superior moiety.

But it is certain that these tarradiddles often lead to a situa-
tion which may prove most embarrassing to the backslider.
One such — a " Yank " be it said — had been wielding the
" fish-pole " (a term by which his compatriots degrade and
insult the split-cane, steel-centred fishing-rod, of superfine
quality and efficiency. He was awaiting a connection with
the Grand Trunk, at an inconspicuous wayside station, and
having deposited his angling outfit by his side, was smoking
the pipe of peace, when enter to him a stranger, who politely
raised his hat ; when the following dialogue took place :

Stranger (genially). " How'dy Bud ! I figure you've bin
fishin'. Had a lucky streak ? "

Angler (removing his pipe from his lips and blowing azure
rings of smoke into the ambient air). " I should smile !
Just back from way down yonder, at the great Omaha lake.
In four days, Boss, I laid on to four hundred and ninety-nine
striped bass."

Stranger. " Why not say five hundred whilst you're about
it, kiddo ? "

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126 A Sportsman at Large

Angler. " Sir ! I would not imperil my immortal soul,
just for one dod-rotted bass — believe me. No, siree ! "

Stranger. " But how come it, Buddy, as you was ketchin'
striped bass ? It's sure the close season fer them critturs !
I'm figuring you'se up agin a fine of a dollar a tail all round."

Angler. " Gee ! I kant help that, stranger. Them fishes
was thar an' I was thar. I sure had to pull 'em out, right
thar on the spot, close time or no close time ; but may I
ask who may I be havin' the honour of addressin' ? "

Stranger. ' Why, cer'nly ! I'm the fishiri warden. May
I inquire where you hail from and what you are ? "

Angler (in a subdued voice). " As fer where I come from,
let it pass. As to what I am ! I'm figuriri to be the biggest
liar in the whol' of the U-nited States, and I'm all fer changing
the conversation ! "

Which goes to illustrate my contention that vain boasting,
which has not even the virtue of being founded on fact, is
apt to overreach itself, and lay out its manipulator in
boomerang fashion. But it sometimes happens that a thump-
ing lie is used for the purpose of rebuking a similar lapse from
the straight and narrow paths of truth — one scarcely less
outrageous than itself. For instance, two Englishmen were
holding forth anent their wonderful and quite unbelievable
exploits in the gentle art of Walton, when an American, who
had been " listening in " most sympathetically, joined issue.

" Say, gentlemen," he began, " you guys have seemingly
had some fine adventures among the ' scaleys/ but I'm
figurin' I can tell you a story what'll whip to a frazzle any-
thing you have mentioned. It was this way : Me an' my
pard, Joe K. Slosh, is dead nuts on the sea-fishin' proposition ;
so we chartered a sloop and pegged down south-east of Blue
Point about a mile out. We was usin' a chain cable for a
line, and a two-ton anchor for a hook. When we had let
down a hundred and forty fathoms there was a bite ! Gee !
some bite I'm tellin' you. The cable was run off the capstan

with a h of a rattle. The sloop was pulled right out from

her moorin's, and we was dragged four leagues out to sea.
Then our fish began sinkin' deep, and we was in peril of bein'
drawn down to the uttermost depths. There was nothin'

A Sportsman at Large 127

for it but to cast loose the cable. Away went our fish with
the whol' outfit ! Now I'm speculatin' as to what manner
of prehistoric monster this was what put it over us thus ? "

" Oh," sneered one of the Englishmen, " I expect it was
a whale ! "

" I guess not," answered the Yank, reflectively. " See
here now. We was baitin' with whales ! Get me ? "

Then there is the vainglorious lie told for the sake of the
telling.

A case in point.

" Fishin' in British Columbia ? " said Ten. B. Pincus,
in answer to my query. " I should just say ! Why, when
I got right up to the big Fish Lake the whol' surface was a
dimple with risin' beauties. I soon fixed up my pole and
line, and began castin' full of hope ; but nary a touch did I
get at my ' butchers ' and ' silver doctors.' I soon became
wise to the fact that these fish was blowin' themselves out
with the jumpin' grass-bugs, what kept droppin' on the
water. So I got hold of one and fixed it on a Number Eight
hook ; but when I went to cast, the durned thing came unstuck
and landed clear, where it was golloped up by a big fish right
there, under my very nose, as it were.

" I was just figurin' out what my next procedure would be,
when I cast my eye behind me and fixed it on one of them
Cree Indians, smiling quite pleasant like. He snapped up a
bug from the grass, and signed to me to sling him the hook.
This I did ; whereupon that redskin pulled a long hair from
his flowin' locks and fixed up the bug to the hook, so I could
cast without its becomin' detached. This worked the oracle
all right, all right. I sure had a four-pounder first go. Havin'
unfixed it, I flicked my line behind me again, and when the
Indian whistled, cast forward, and immediately had another
big fish a fightin' me ! This went on until I was knee-deep in
shimmerin' squirmin' steelheads. All of a sudden somethin'
happened. Three times I cast without any reply, when I
noticed there was no bug on the hook. I spun round sharp.
Sir, that Redskin was bald as a coot I "

Yet another lie is when an angler is bent on pulling the
leg of some unsophisticated mug.

128 A Sportsman at Large

I was once an honoured guest at the annual dinner of a
certain illustrious angling society.

The president, in reply to the speech in which he had been
toasted, told the following yarn :

" Strange things happen to anglers," he said. ' There
was the case of the enthusiast who, fishing below Marlow
Lock, hooked a ten-pound pike. It happened that at the
moment he was holding in his fist a golden sovereign (it was
in those good old days when such pleasant coins of the realm
were in free circulation), which he had been about to transfer
to the horny hand of the fisherman, for the purpose of obtain-
ing liquid refreshment from ' The Com pleat Angler/ when
the run in question occurred. In his excitement he dropped
the glittering coin which, rebounding from the gunwale, fell
into the water and went shimmering and glinting into the
depths just as Mr. Esox Lucius, with a shake of his ponderous
jaws, snapped himself free and disappeared. So the angler
lost both his fish and his ' quid.'

" Now, mark you, he had been fishing below the lock on
that occasion, but a few days later he decided to try his luck
above it — hard by the weir.

" He had not been fishing long before he had a lovely run,
and on striking, found himself fast in a good fish, which, on
being landed, proved to be a pike of ten and a quarter
pounds, in excellent condition.

" It was, in due course, handed to his cook for culinary
purposes ; when, on being gutted, what think you was found
in its maw ? "

" Why, the sovereign which your friend had lost below
Marlow Lock, of course." This from a chorus of voices.

" Not on your life," corrected the speaker. " No ! There
was a half sovereign, nine shillings and sixpence in silver,
two pence in bronze and A LOCK TICKET ! "

There was a hearty guffaw from the guests assembled.

The president assumed a pained and reproachful ex-
pression.

" Perhaps you don't believe me ? " he murmured sadly.

I rose to my feet.

" Indeed, sir, I do ! " I exclaimed seriously. / can vouch

A Sportsman at Large 129

for the truth of your story, for / happen to be that same

angler ! "
He lies best who lies last !

But, alas, occasionally there are told by certain anglers,
wicked and deliberate lies, for the base purpose of obtaining a
material advantage.

One such may discover some wonderfully prolific swim or
pool inhabited by a multitude of fishes that have a healthy
and accommodating appetite. In case this unlawfully com-
mandeered preserve of his should be encroached upon by
some other casual brother of the rod, who has obtained leave
for " a day's fishing," but who is ignorant of the " lie " of
the water, he goes out of his way to inform the luckless
wight that that particular swim or pool is an altogether
hopeless proposition.

Another, having extracted a grudging leave from a riparian
owner, has a fine time, and lands a score of good trout ; but
only two moderate ones appear in his creel !

When the water bailiff comes up and asks him civilly if he
has had any sport, he replies nonchalantly :

" Oh ! not much I'm afraid. The wind is against it, and
the water too thick. Now, if Lord Knowshoo would be kind
enough to let me have another day, I might do better. Here's
a dollar for you ! "

' Thank 'ee kindly, sir," says the warden. " When I sees
his Lordship I will tell him, and p'raps he will give 'ee another
chance."

Now confession is said to be good for the soul, so I will
unburden my mind of a very similar piece of iniquity, in which
I was concerned, together with my old friend " Teddy "
Maurice, excellent character-actor and first-rate all round
sportsman. We were reclining one sultry afternoon in the
highland heather, lazily puffing our " bruyeres," and
listening to the dulcet warbling of our mutual friend Durward
Lely, of D'Oyley Carte and Gilbert and Sullivan fame, who
was our companion for the nonce. Having finished his vocal
recital he — who was, like ourselves, an enthusiastic fisherman —
confided to us particulars of a wonderful day he had enjoyed

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130 A Sportsman at Large

on a certain lakelet which was situate on the demesne of one
Andrew MacMush of Tinspoon (this was not the real name of
the laird in question. For obvious reasons I have substituted
a fictitious one) .

"Do you think he would give us leave ? " asked Teddy
anxiously.

Lely shook his head.

" I doubt it," he said. " Andrew MacMush of Tinspoon
is a dour old churl, and has an antipathy to strangers."

" There is no harm in trying," I put in. " I will write him
a very polite note, and base my application on the strength
of my position as vice-chairman of The Field."

Teddy agreed, and the dulcet Durward, wishing us luck,
wended his way to his domestic hearth, whilst Teddy and I
returned to Glenshee.

Next day, with the diplomatic note in my pocket, and our
rods and other paraphernalia in the " Ma-chine," we jogged
over to Tinspoon, and sent the missive in to the Laird, by the
hand of his austere-looking butler.

Anon, that worthy returned with the pleasing information
that " Tinspoon " himself would be graciously pleased to
allow us to cast a fly on his water that very evening.

It was now late, and the shadows were lengthening, but a
fish on the land is worth two in the water, so we hurried off
to the lakelet, which lay about five hundred yards from the
Manse. It was an irregular piece, with an islet in the middle,
and was infested by a large concourse of domestic ducks and
geese ; consequently, the clarity of the water was not what
we could have desired but we could see fish — and good ones,
too — rising all among the feathered flocks, so we set to work,
Teddy taking the south and I the north side. I affixed a
medium sized " Wickham " as a dropper, with a fat " Coach-
man " as a stretcher. At once I espied a trout feeding freely
on the lee of the islet. No sooner was I over him than he took
boldly, and proved to be a nice fish of about a pound.

Whilst dealing with this customer, I saw that Teddy was
busy with one, on the other side.

It was not long before I had a beauty of nearly two pounds,
when Teddy came running round.

A Sportsman at Large 131

" Here, I say, Cockle," he exclaimed as he came up, " this
will never do ! We've struck El Dorado evidently. Let's
knock off here and now. We will take a brace of fish " (he
also had accounted for two nice ones,) " up to old MacMush,
tell him we have had less than an hour's fishing and would
be most grateful if he would allow us to come to-morrow
and enjoy a whole day ?

This seemed reasonable, so I agreed.

These tactics panned out all right, and the next day found
us shoulder to shoulder descending the incline which led to
this delightfully productive lakelet.

At first we strolled, then, as I increased my pace, my com-
panion followed suit. At last our progression ended in a break-
neck sprint between us for the best section of the water.

I won by the length of my rod !

It would serve no purpose to enter into details of that day's
sport. It was wonderful ! We were catching these vora-
cious farios off and on all day. My biggest was a beauty of
three-and-a-quarter pounds, and I had many over two pounds.
Teddy's tally was almost the equal of mine.

But oh ! he led me into a most disreputable course of action.
He insisted on my laying out one miserable trout of about
half-a-pound on my side of the lake, whilst he ostentatiously
displayed a brace of unconsidered trifles whose combined
weight was certainly short of twenty ounces, on his.

All the rest of our opulent spoils were carefully camouflaged
in an adjoining ditch.

When the ghillie came on the scene Teddy showed him our
" exhibits," with a sad shake of the head.

" Not much sport, MacNair," he said. " I suppose there
are some decent fish here ! "

" Oo aye ! an' mony o' them ! Man, I hae' seen fush o'
foor, aye, an' five poun taken fra heer ! "

" Do you think the Laird would give us another day ? "

" Na, ma Mannie, Tinspoon wud'na ; he himself is mighty
par-teecular. Onny way, ye can speer, but Ah'm thenkin' it's
na guid. Sae, I'll be speerin' ye guid nicht the noo, and
thank ye kindly." (This last as I handed him half a sovereign.)
And away he stalked.

9*

132 A Sportsman at Large

Well, we had a fine catch to display at Glenshee that night.
When laid out on a spacious tea-tray these bonny fishes were
a sight for the gods. Greatly did they delight the eyes of
our respective C.O.'s, whose minds were set on rations, for
hitherto our provisions had proved somewhat monotonous,
since " the Glorious Twelfth " was still a week ahead.

' Teddy," said I, that evening, as we sat over our pipes in
my study, " that was a dirty trick we played on old Mac-
Mush ! "

" Not a bit of it, Cockie," replied my sportive pal indignantly.
' The old blighter does not fish himself. Those trout are no
use to him. Lely and ourselves are the only ones he has ever
permitted to cast a line on his muddy pond."

" All the more reason we should have shown our gratitude,
instead of surreptitiously decimating his stock."

" Oh rats ! He ought to be grateful ! The water is over-
stocked ; besides, the trout devour the food which should
go to fatten his ducks and geese. His economical heart should
greatly rejoice that we have saved the waste ! "

I had to be content. It was no good crying over spilt milk.

My conscience tells me that I erred sadly.

But oh ! what a day ! And, certes, those stolen trout
did taste sweet ! in spite of the murky consistency of the Tin-
spoon water.

Nevertheless, I firmly refused to make further application
to the despoiled Laird for the fishing of his astounding lakelet.

But Teddy, nothing daunted, added insult to injury, for he
had the effrontery to ride over to Tinspoon on his bicycle
in the hope of wangling yet another day out of the dour Scot ;
but all to no purpose. Whether the good MacNair had be-
come wise to our deceit, and in spite of my douceur had " blown
the gaff," or whether " Tinspoon " himself was just fed up
with our importunities, who shall say ! Anyway, Master Teddy
met with a flat and uncompromising refusal, and returned to
Glenshee a sadder, if not wiser, man.

When I asked him how he had fared, he replied laconically,
with an expression common to those of his cult :

" I got the bird, old chap ! "

CHAPTER XIV

1NOW approach one phase of my varied experiences,
which may cause the cold eye of condemnation to be
bent upon me ; to wit, that which found me rather ardently
occupied in the much discussed pastime of trap-shooting.
I say advisedly " pastime," since its most enthusiastic sup-
porters never for a moment looked upon it as a sport.

It was simply and solely a competition requiring hands,
nerve and eye. One which is the finest training in the world
for almost any kind of game shooting.

Those who profess to look upon this exercise as requiring a
mere knack or trickiness to ensure success, and who affect
to believe that the most distinguished of pigeon shots could
never hold their own against the accepted cracks at the butts
or the covert rises are, to use a vulgarism, " talking through
their hats."

It has been my lot to mark all manner of gunning and I
can assert, with assurance, that I have never yet come across
a first-rate pigeon shot, who was not a deadly performer
with the gun at any and every form of small game shooting.

Per contra, I have frequently seen men with great repu-
tations as " field " shots, who proved veritable " wash-outs "
when their alleged skill was put to the test at the traps.

My pen has, times out of number, protested against the
distinction drawn between the sport of " free shooting " and
the pastime of pigeon competitions. When and where the
question of cruelty arises such distinction is invidious and
illogical in the extreme. I have pointed out that the
ordinary pheasant battue (where a holocaust of feather is
systematically arranged for ; where the birds are methodi-
cally shepherded to fixed rises, and where a certain percentage
escape sorely wounded) compares very unfavourably with

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134 A Sportsman at Large

a pigeon-shooting event. That is to say, on the score of
humanity or the lack of it. A sounder argument in disfavour
of pigeon shooting is that which deprecates the slaughter
of living creatures as pawns in a game, which undoubtedly
was carried on, in part, as a means of gambling.

The same objection might be, indeed has been, raised to
coursing, as indulged in from its earliest days. The pigeon-
shooter takes no delight in the slaughter of pigeons, but is keen
on " flooring " the one particular pigeon which enables 'him
to score a notch towards ultimately winning the pool or the
cup — as the case may be — for which he is competing, or be-
cause its slaughter enables him to land the odds he has laid
on himself. He simply regards the unfortunate bird as a
means to an end — a selfish one, no doubt. " Tant pis pour le
pigeon I "

So it is with coursing.

The greyhound owner takes no delight in the death of a
gallant hare as such, but he is desperately keen on seeing
the quarry receive its quietus when his own dog obviously
holds a winning balance.

The only difference is that the coursing man wagers on the
efficiency of his greyhound, whereas the pigeon-shooter backs
his own skill.

For the most part the antagonists of pigeon-shooting and
coursing, on the grounds of their cruelty, are those who,
being degenerates and quite unversed in all manly exercises
and adventures, are keen on driving a wedge into the vitals of
our national sports. Naturally enough, they attack the most
vulnerable front, but hope to widen the rift by noisy and
continuous ranting. They have succeeded in putting an end
to the shooting of live birds from traps, and also have per-
suaded authority to ban the use of live bait to the angler
(who, by the way, generally treats this puerile law with the
contempt which it deserves). If minnows and other small
fry are to be saved from the hook, what price the poor but
somewhat offensive worm ? " What is sauce for the
goose ..." you know ! I have heard women — with the
inconsistency so conspicuous as regards their sex — inveigh
against " the horrible cruelty " of pigeon shooting.

A Sportsman at Large 185

I heard one who rated herself a first-rate, all-round sports-
woman, skilled with both gun and rod, and who vaunted her
exploits in the hunting field vaingloriously, giving a lurid
description of the " blood-curdling and revolting " cruelty, as
viewed from the terrace at Monte Carlo, what time the
pigeon-shooting contests were in progress. Her diatribes
might have borne some weight had she not, almost in the
same breath, " given the show away " when, in relating her
prowess in " the great run " with a certain Leicestershire pack,
she boasted of how she had ridden two horses to death on that
occasion. Is not a game and gallant horse of more value
than a whole loft of pigeons ?

Having indulged in these cursory remarks I must pass on
to actualities ; since these rambling reminiscences would be
incomplete were I not to chronicle my experiences at the traps ;
for at one time I was bang in the thick of the game, and now
and then contrived to distinguish myself to some extent.

Shortly after we had lost our beloved and blameless Dads,
I was stricken with diphtheria. Luckily it was not a very
virulent attack, so I was soon convalescent. This was in
February, when the weather, as is often the case, in that in-
clement month, was simply appalling.

So taking the ever-ready Ted Jaquet with me, we set out
for the Riviera. This was my first experience of " The Sunny
South." I shall never forget my feelings of rapture when
awakening after a night spent in the bunk of a wagon-lit,
I drew up the blind.

We had left Old Blighty wrapped in a snowy shroud, with a
keen north-east wind, making us shiver and wilt as it pene-
trated our thick fur coats, and found its way to our livers and
our very marrow. Now, the train was at rest at a small sta-
tion between Toulon and Cannes, prettily named " La Pauline."
The little station bell was tinkling musically and continually,
the sky was cloudless, the air balmy and the sunlight golden.
Flowering geraniums climbed all over the palings, wrhilst the
carefully laid-out beds displayed anemones, stocks, cyclamen
and primula all florescent. In the background was an orange
and lemon grove, the trees of which displayed their resplendent
fruits in abundance. (N.B. — The blending gave me my idea for

136 A Sportsman at Large

the first colours which I adopted (viz., orange ; lemon sleeves
and cap), when I became the proud possessor of a racehorse
— of sorts. (Excuse this banal " aside/') Oh, what a trans-
formation ! What a tonic for a poor invalid (alleged) !

After spending a few days at Cannes and Nice, Ted and I
drifted on to "Monte," as was only natural, considering that,
at that time, I was but twenty-three years of age and Ted
my junior by thirty-three months !

Nor is it strange that, having secured our billets at the
Hotel Beau Rivage and enjoyed an excellent table d'hote,
we should decide to make our way to the celebrated Casino.
Having procured our " cartes a" entree " — with some difficulty,
be it said, seeing that M. le Commissaire en chef wanted a lot
of persuading that my age really did exceed sixteen ! (I was
very small and youthful-looking in those days) — we passed
through the sacred portals, over which should be inscribed :
" Abandon hope all ye who enter here/' and found ourselves
in " the jaws of Hell ! " We eagerly watched the game of
roulette and soon " became wise to its intricacies."

After a careful investigation Ted drew me aside :

" This is a simple proposition, Oh, my Cockie ! " he whis-
pered. " I suppose it is all straight going. If so, one has
only to wait for three ' rouges ' or three * noirs ' to turn up,
and then begin backing the other colour, doubling after
each loss. The Zero is a negligible quantity." (" Is it ? "
Author.)

" Why, yes, Bullpig " (Ted's pet name) " that seems reason-
able. Suppose we have a dart."

And we did.

Moreover, would you believe it, good people ? we won
six hundred francs that sitting, and for four days following,
playing continually, we added to our store, until we had
banked over one hundred pounds with a five- franc unit, and a
hundred pound capital !

It is almost incredible that, during the time we were amassing
this desirable dross, not once did a run of more than eight
on one colour occur, but such is a fact. " Novices luck " I
suppose !

We became puffed up and so convinced that we. had solved

A Sportsman at Large 187

the problem of constant and certain gain on the tables, that
we decided to throw our winnings into capital and recommence
with a louis unit.

Fancy (poor innocent and ignorant lads that we were)
our thinking to " break the Bank " by means of " The Devil's
Martingale ! " the most dangerous and hopeless of all the
fatuous systems that ever have been exploited at Monte Carlo
or any other gambling establishment. Well, we were soon
undeceived.

" The third night came a frost — a killing frost,
And when we thought — good easy lads,
Our riches were up-mounting — nipped our hopes
And then we fell like others. We had ventured
To trust a system which proved but a bladder,
Till far beyond our depths, our high-blown pride
At length broke under us, and thus it left us
Weary and broke to worlds that would not hold us,
Vain pomp and glory of the Rooms we hate ye ! "

(With apologies to one William Shakespeare.)

A run of ten particularly sombre blacks put " paid " to our
account and we left the precincts with our figurative tails
between our legs, and harbouring thoughts of suicide — or the
viatique.

But we had had a very fair run, and lots of excitement, for
our money.

At any rate, we received better value for our outlay than
had two young guardsmen whom I marked some years later.
They were complete novices, and apparently wanted to cut
a dash on the occasion of their first visit to " The Rooms."
To this end they contrived a sort of confidence trick.

Said one to the other :

" I say, Algy, old sport. Let's surprise the natives ! Run
along and put a ' mille ' note on black the other side of the
cylinder, and I will plank a like bit of dough on red, on this
section. It will give the jolly old croupiers confidence that
we are men of substance."
Algy did as bidden.

Unfortunately for the youthful chasers of the bubble-
reputation, Zero turned up, so that they lost fifty per cent,
of their stake, and slunk off poorer, if wiser, lads !

Since my first visit to " Monte," I have haunted that

138 A Sportsman at Large

demoralizing but fascinating spot on nineteen occasions.
I have played almost every conceivable system on the tables
with good, bad and indifferent results. Believe me, good
my lords and ladies, there is nothing to it. There is no
system which can be relied on to " break the bank " — even
temporarily. On the other hand, there are methods of play—
as distinguished from hard and fast systems — which offer
the player a very good chance of a reasonable percentage of
profit on capital risked.

After years of study, I evolved one such, which, for three
seasons in succession, enabled me to spend a delightful winter
on the Riviera, living like a fighting cock and thoroughly
enjoying myself at the expense of the administration ! —
my capital being £300, and my average weekly profit £20.
Then came the War !

It must be remembered that the Bank always holds one
chance in its favour, and the longer the odds, the harder does
that " commission " press !

But the punter has one invaluable asset :

He can leave off or commence playing at will ; whereas the
Bank is there to be shot at — any old time ! Come profit or
loss to the administration, the ball of Fate must spin !

I could fill a volume with my experiences at " The Tables,"
and the strange freaks of chance, both at roulette and trente
et quarante, which have come under my observation from
time to time ; but I must take a pull, for, in fancy, I can hear
some luckless wight, who has persevered with my rambling
reminiscences up to this point, mumbling to himself :

" Hold hard, good Master Cockie ! Here you are again,
right off the line ! You set your pen to work on trap-shooting,
and now you have left pigeons in favour of punters. Get
a move on ! "

Patience, dear sir (or madam), I make' reply. It was
impossible to arrive at the subject in hand, and my initial
connection therewith, without recalling this particular visit
to " Monte " ; for it was during the occasion in question
that I had my first glimpse of " Le Tir aux pigeons." And
surely I could not let it pass without touching lightly on
the temple of " The Goddess of Chance ! "

A Sportsman at Large 189

But now — je reviens a mes moutons. The day before
Ted and I arrived at the sacred (the word " sacred " may
mean " sacrosanct," or it may signify " accursed " — take
your choice !) spot, the Grand Prix du Casino, which ranks
with trap-shooters as the Derby does with racing men —
what one may term the blue ribbon of the blue rocks — had
been brought to a successful conclusion with the victory of
Harry Roberts, an Englishman born and bred.

We were glad to hear this, and when the successful shooter
was pointed out to us in the rooms, we indulged in silent
hero-worship.

It was not long before we were introduced to the victor,
whose name had been already engraved on the marble slabs,
among that of other " immortals " of many nations.

This same Harry Roberts was a " personality " ! Rugged
of feature and careless in attire, he was full of bonhomie,
and had evidently drunk deep of the milk of human kindness
from his earliest infancy. He was a persistent and enthusiastic
pigeon shot, always steady and reliable and sometimes bril-
liant. He was a confirmed gambler, but having an intimate
knowledge of every move in connection with the pastime,
he was able to more than pay his way. In fact, it was sup-
posed that he made a very fair living by his skill as a shot
and his acumen as a speculator. Despite the fact of his
having the blood of thousands of innocent pigeons on his
hands, he was a tender-hearted lover of all birds, beasts and
fishes. He had studied their manners and customs meticu-
lously, and had thus stored up a fund of knowledge and
information which was unique. This love of the creatures
of the wild would seem to provide a paradox ; but all good
sportsmen will understand it as I did, for was I not tarred
with the same brush ?

The artist who might be asked to draw a fancy portrait of
a pigeon-shooter would probably depict him as a sort of
monster, with the face of a Trotsky and a cloven hoof ; his
long, cruel claws dripping with the blood of his victims ;
but I can assure you that such a picture would be a gross
libel on the cult, which, jointly and severally, was in the
old days represented by some of the kindliest, gentlest and

140 A Sportsman at Large

most courteous of cosmopolitan sportsmen. In fact, I,
whose activities have been exploited in so many connections,
if asked to name the group that most appealed to me as the
ideal of what sportsmen and gentlemen should be, would,
without hesitation, name my pigeon-shooting associates ; and
if further interrogated as to the pleasantest and least unbend-
ing of the foreign contingents, would bracket the Austrians
and the Russians of the now almost exterminated aristocracy
of their respective countries ; but such a selection would be
invidious, when, as was the case, I rubbed such amicable
shoulders with the French, the Italians, the Belgians, the
Dutch, the Spaniards and the Americans. This was before
the cataclysm of 1914, and even then, with one or two excep-
tions, I did not tackle to the Germans !

But here I am, anticipating again ! I apologize !

At the time when I first met Harry Roberts, I had recently
taken up my duties as trustee and vice-chairman of the boards
of management of The Field, and other journals and publica-
tions of our family group, as established by The Dads. My
new friend had read some of my descriptive articles in " The
Sportsman's Bible " (as The Field was regarded at that time)
and had gathered that I was a keen and fairly efficient shot.
So he urged me to try my hand at his favourite game.

Always ready for any fresh experience of the kind, and
having an abnormal bump of combativeness — otherwise being
possessed of the competitive spirit in excelsis — I readily fell
in with his suggestion, though I declined his offer to, then
and there, introduce me as a competitor to the Monte Carlo
" Tir aux pigeons," being far too modest to make an exhibi-
tion of myself in front of the world's leading " cracks."
On our return to our native shores, Ted and I, for the nonce,
became too intent on marriage and giving in marriage
to trouble ourselves about sports and pastimes ; but having
effected unions with two charming sisters (respectively),
became so uxorious, for a space, that neither of us pursued
our former bents until a long honeymoon had reduced us to
our normal temperatures and temperaments, when happily
our sporting aspirations and activities were reborn.

Just a year after our first appearance at "The Mount of

A Sportsman at Large 141

Charles," we again found ourselves on " The Beauty Spot of
the Riviera," this time accompanied by our wives and a
mutual brother-in-law. Then it was that I ventured to
make a start to try my luck at " The Traps."

At that time there was a small pigeon ground outside
Monaco, at Cap D'Ail, near the station of La Turbie. This
was used chiefly for practising purposes and for private matches,
though on Monte Carlo off days a programme was sometimes
drawn up, and some modest but tasteful ofyet d'art offered for
competition in the principal event on the card.

The inducements were not sufficient to attract " the knuts,"
but some of the less conspicuous shooters would avail them-
selves of the chance of picking up a prize in less exalted
company.

Roberts took me here to see how I would shape. I had
come provided with a twelve-bore pigeon gun, specially built
for me by W. W. Greener. This was the first hammerless
gun I had ever shot with.

The birds provided were not of first-class quality — in fact
they were a decidedly " mixed lot " — but still an opportunity
was afforded me to make myself familiar with the amenities
and conventions of the game.

We arrived an hour before the time set down for the com-
mencement of the official programme, as Roberts was anxious
that I should have a dozen birds all to myself, just for prac-
tice. Well, I downed my first bird (a precious slow one,
be it said) out of a trap, and only used one barrel in the doing.
Going on, I grassed nine out of the twelve. Not so bad,
considering that here and there quite a decent pigeon was
released. When the small company had assembled, the
order of the day was proceeded with. The first item was a
" pool "—one louis, one bird (meaning, first miss out).

I killed five straight and divided with a Russian Grand
Duke. So — as in the case of my racing under Rules — I scored
at the first attempt, but it was a very modest achievement,
and after all, only " a dead heat."

Now came the contest for the objet d'art. This was a
very pretty silver epergne, which I longed to annex, that I
might lay it at the feet of my " C.O." ; but it was not to be !

142 A Sportsman at Large

Out of fifteen shooters, and when seven rounds had been ac-
complished, there were only three left standing and I was one
of them.

The others were my friend Roberts (standing at the limit
distance, thirty metres) and Prince Victor Dhuleep Singh, at
twenty-two metres. My form being unknown, I had been
placed on the regulation twenty-seven mark. The eighth
round was commenced by Roberts. He refused to back
himself.

Now I have always looked upon this good friend of mine as
absolutely beyond reproach and above suspicion , and yet, how
came it that he missed a comparatively easy bird with both
barrels ?

I am sorry it was so, and yet I could not help a kindly
emotion, as I took up my position and called, " Are you
ready ? " followed by, " Pull ! " I hit my bird — a rather
sharp one — with both barrels, but it struggled on and topped
the boundary. Victor got " an owl," and dashing it down
within a yard of the trap, was declared the winner.

" Why did you miss that bird ? " I asked of Roberts.

" Because, Cockie, I couldn't hit it ! " was his cryptic answer,
with which I had to rest content ; but I felt convinced that a
win by his pupil would have pleased him enormously !

After this, I made my debut at the Great Tir itself and con-
tinued to shoot regularly. I divided a pool or two, but never
touched one of the big prizes that season. Certainly, I did
not disgrace myself, for my shooting was consistent and my
average rather more than respectable.

For the first time, I shot in the Grand Prix du Casino.
There was a very large entry and a thoroughly cosmopolitan
one. Only two rounds were got through the fiist day. I
managed to survive these, and started with two more kills
on the second, but then I let a fast bird go ; killed the next
and muffling my seventh, which placed me hors de tir ; so I
retired gracefully and looked on.

I may here state that from first to last I competed nine
times in this world-famous annual affair, and only once was
within measurable distance of winning. On that occasion, I
had killed ten birds straight and went up for my penultimate

A Sportsman at Large 143

turn, full of hope and no little confidence ; as the pigeons
then being trapped were of inferior quality and offered an
easy mark for any average shot who had his nerves well under
control as I had.

Always, it has been a peculiarity of my disposition, that
whilst awaiting any contest in which I have been engaged, I
have felt ^n a highly nervous condition and have suffered the
prick of " the needle " most disturbingly ; but once the game
is started, these tremors have evaporated and I have found
myself as calm and steady as a rock. I have been in a state
of abject funk, when awaiting in the paddock two words,
" Mount, please ! " : but as soon as I have been swung into
the saddle, I have cantered my gee to the post as care-free and
jolly as a sand-boy ; only to suffer a relapse when lining up.
Then once more, when the flag fell and " off " was signalled, I
was myself again, desperately intent on my chance of being
first past the post !

The same thing has happened in athletic contests, where my
own two legs had to do duty for a race-horse's four.

When fretting my hour as a mummer, and listening at the
wings for my cue, I have experienced ultra-rapid palpitations,
but once I had the footlights in front of me, I was chock-full of
ease and confidence.

So it was, when awaiting my turn to face the traps. As
soon as ever my foot was on the mark, I was utterly im-
perturbable.

On the momentous occasion with which I am now dealing :
I had that cock-sure feeling which generally presages success ;
but as it so happened, my calculations were upset by the
very conditions which, with better luck, should have made my
eleventh bird a certainty.

When I cried " Pull " the centre trap (No. 3) came over
and the pigeon sat. For the benefit of the uninitiated, I may
explain that, in such case, the shooter has the option of having
the " sitter " flushed by one of the " tireurs " who lobs a
wooden ball at it for the purpose ; or he (the shooter) can
call " No bird! " and have another. The latter course is, of
course, the more sporting one, but I must frankly confess
that though it was my invariable custom to call " No bird "

144 A Sportsman at Large

when a confiding " rock " sat somnolently on the trap-plate,
it was chiefly for reasons far apart from sportsmanship. I
had learnt that — although one had the advantage of knowing
the exact location of one's objective — if the " tireur " bowled
pretty straight, the startled " pige " would often rise
hurriedly and in its efforts to avoid the missile, twist like a
particularly lively snipe, and cause one to mistime one's shot.
So in this instance, as usual, after calling " No bird ! " I
returned to my mark and again inquiring " Are you ready ? "
gave the direction " Pull ! "

This time No. 5 trap came over and again a confiding
" sitter " bau'ked me.

A third time there was a repetition of this exasperating in-
terlude— No. 2 trap ! Thus there remained traps i and 4.
which might, or might not, contain a similar sample. I had
seen the secretary go over to Roberts (not Harry), the pigeon
purveyor in charge, and give a direction which I might well
guess at. I had no doubt it was an order to trap a better class
of bird !

Next time my " Pull ! " was followed by the collapse of No.
4 trap, and from this emerged one of the fastest rocks I have
ever seen. It was like a streak of lightning, and flew as straight
as a die the shortest way to the boundary. I was never
quicker or more accurate. The centre of the charge of my
first barrel caught the bird and crumpled it up like a ball ;
but alas, the impetus of its flight took it over the low boundary
and into the sea, as dead as a door-nail. I had not the
remotest chance of using my second, and even it I had, it could
have been of no avail. Had I winged the bird only, it must
have fallen in bounds ; but, as it was, the very accuracy of my
shot defeated itself !

Perhaps with this pigeon to my credit I might have managed
another, and so tied with an Italian and a Belgian, who could
boast of a clean score ; and as these, in shooting off, were so
nervous that each missed two birds following, I might con-
ceivably have triumphed ! As it was, the representative
of Bella Italia just scraped one down, whilst the Flamand (or
perhaps he was a Walloon) again let his bird escape unscathed.
There were seven shooters besides myself, who, at the end of

A Sportsman at Large 145

the eleventh round, had only one " zero " to their respective
discredits. We agreed to save stakes, and then to shoot
off for third prize. As regards myself, reaction had set in.
The demonstrative condolences of my friends of all nations
had left me unstrung, so it is hardly to be wondered at that
I failed to stop my fiist bird in the ties, and so found myself
no nearer to the top of the list than equal fifth with three otheis.

This is the nearest I ever went to winning " The Grand
Prize " and having my name immortalized on a marble tablet
in the historic enclosure.

But the next season I had a very cheery consolation, which
bucked me up considerably.

Next to " Le Grand Prix " itself, ranked, in those days, Le
Grand Prix de Cloture, which wound up the shooting concourse
for the season.

This also was a two day shoot, and a level distance affair.
Most of the " Cracks " stayed on to compete, and though the
rank and file had drifted away to some extent, the " field "
was generally a big one.

The distance was twenty-nine metres, one which I did not
fancy myself at ; especially when pitted against such an array
of international talent ; but I had been shooting in very fair
form, so ventured to take three hundred-and-thirty louis to
ten about my chance.

One of my compatriots, and a particular pal, was Jack
Hayley (a fellow clubman of the now defunct but much
regretted Raleigh), " a priceless old sport," as our modern
youth would term him. He fancied himself not a little for this
event, as he had been showing brilliant form all the season and,
among other triumphs, had annexed the valuable " Prix de
Monte Carlo."

He and I had a side bet of one hundred francs on the positions
we should respectively hold at the finish. Much to my surprise
and Jack's chagrin he missed his first pigeon.

Five birds were to be shot at on the first day and seven the
second; two misses out. I " downed " my preliminary four
all right, so sought repose, well satisfied ; for the birds had been
real " snipe " and had had a stiff " mistral " blowing from left
to right to help them. There had been a surprising number of

10

146 A Sportsman at Large

misses and some of the most fancied competitors were already
" horsdetir."

Matters went very well with jne the next day ; so by the
time the eleventh round was concluded I was the only one of the
distinguished field that had killed all; whilst only one (Jack
Hayley, if you please !) had but a single zero posted to his
debit.

Therefore, when my turn came in the final round I had
only to kill to win ! ' '

Only ! But it was a big "if" with such birds and so much
depending on the issue !

I forced my nerves into subjection, and as soon as I was on
the mark I was the personification of steady determination.

Never before, or since, have I been so highly tried at a
crisis. A perfect demon of a bird — released from the right-
hand trap — was caught by the wind, and whirled off with
meteoric speed. My first touched, but failed even to modify
the pigeon's flight. My second followed instantaneously, and
the " rock " was down, with his wing " gone " ! Glory be !

But so near a thing was it, that, in falling, the luckless bird
struck the wire barrier only a foot from the top. So I must
account myself a very lucky guy to have annexed this
important stake, together with the valuable and tasteful
objet d'art that went with it, to say nothing of the useful bet
which had clicked.

Jack Hayley had killed his twelfth, so was proxime accessit.
I have hardly ever met him since, but he has wailed about
that unfortunate first bird, which he suffered to start on
what looked like a swift journey to Corsica.

" Look here, old Cockie," he is wont to say, " if I had
not muffed Number One, I should have beaten your head
off 1 "

Truly, there is much virtue in an "If"!

Every three years " Le Championnat Triennal " is held on the
Monte Carlo ground, the conditions being twenty-five birds
at twenty-nine metres, five birds out ; entree, cinq cent francs.
I have tried my luck in this competition on two occasions.
In the first, five " zeros " in fifteen rounds put an end to my
chance ; but the second endeavour saw me well in the running

A Sportsman at Large 147

until the eighteenth. Then I struck a bad patch and went
all to pieces. I missed three birds out of four ; but, even
so, came out seventh in the list.

" Le Grand Prix de Cloture " was the only really important
win that I registered at " Monte," though I had a look in at
a number of minor events and pools, whilst picking up some
tasty trifles at Cannes, Mont Boron (Nice) and Cap D'Ail
(La Turbie). It was at the first-named of these venues that
I had a pleasant and interesting social experience. A good
programme had been drawn up, but for some reason or other
it failed to attract shooters from Nice and " Monte." When
the hour arrived, only three others besides my brother-in-
law, Ronald Barlow, and myself, assembled to " carry on."
One was a tall, handsome and aristocratic Frenchman, the
beau-ideal of the ancient regime; the others being his two sons,
mere striplings then, but each possessing a marked personality
of his own.

And who think you were the units of this trio ? No others
than Le Comte de Paris, the Due d' Orleans and Prince Henri
of the Bourbon ilk.

Ronald and I were formally introduced and most cour-
teously met. A handicap was drawn up, and the " royalties "
given every chance. I was " back marker " ; but Ronald won
the little event, standing at twenty-four metres, on the same
mark as the Duke of Orleans.

Then we had a series of friendly matches, which resulted in
honours being almost equally divided.

A propos royal blood, my pigeon-shooting ventures brought
me into contact with several of the elect. I remember a visit
paid to " Monte " by the late King Nicholas of Montenegro,
a cheery and urbane soul, with whom I had many interesting
chats, for he took great interest in the Tir aux pigeons
amenities. He had not, at that time, attained the kingly
rank, which was subsequently conferred upon him. He invited
me to visit him at Cettinje, but I did not avail myself of his
gracious offer of hospitality, though one who did so was that
priceless prince of wit and humour, the late W. S. Gilbert,
who gave me a most illuminating description of his visit
to the comic-opera state of Montenegro. Poor, gallant

10*

148 A Sportsman at Large

Montenegrins, they were continually fighting other people's
battles as well as their own. If successful, they were in-
variably robbed of the fruits of victory, and when overwhelmed
by the Austrian hordes, sank into nothingness, without
eliciting a sign of gratitude from those whose cause they had
so bravely and so long upheld !

Another notable royalty whom I chanced across was the
gallant gentleman who afterwards became King Peter of
Serbia. Before he was called to the throne of that .long-
suffering and distressful state he was living quietly in Paris,
where at " Le Cercle des Patineurs " he used to amuse himself
at the traps and indulge in a mild flutter on the chances.
Here I often met him in friendly rivalry, and on one occasion
had a match with him at twelve pigeons, of which he
accounted for seven, whilst I (owing three metres) managed
to grass ten, and so pocketed the future king's five hundred
francs !

During my frequent visits to " Monte " and its Tir aux
pigeons, I had a great penchant for arranging matches with
those shooters whose form approximated to my own, or with
lesser lights to whom I had to concede a metre or two. I
think I was much more convincing as a match shooter than as
a competitor in official events. In fact, I can only recall one
instance in which I was beaten. But the first time I essayed
this form of contest I was in deadly peril of defeat through
an unlooked-for cause. If I remember rightly, my opponent
was Welbore Ellis, a very consistent Gun Club exponent of
the art. You will remember that when I made my debut
at " Monte," I had brought with me a twelve-bore Greener
hammerless (then something of a novelty).

When the match (twenty-five pigeons at twenty-seven
metres) began, I was the first to shoot.

To my surprise and annoyance, both barrels went off at
once ; and though my pigeon was pulverized, the umpire, very
properly, called " No bird ! " So I had another go, and the
same thing occurred. A third essay was no more satisfactory.

This was distressing alike to my nerve, my head and my
shoulder. Obviously something had gone wrong with the
works !

A Sportsman at Large 149

A friend lent me his hammer gun, and as its bend did not
suit me in the least, and as it was decidedly too long in the
stock for my very short arms, I promptly missed two birds
in succession ; meanwhile my opponent had scored two kills.

Then I resumed my own weapon and tried firing the left
barrel first, with the satisfactory result that its discharges
were normal. To cut a long story short, I got up, as it were,
on the post, to win by one bird ! A narrow squeak, indeed !

Ever since then I have invariably shot with the left barrel
first, whether at pigeons or game !

But in the following summer, when shooting at the Gun
Club, an incident happened which induced me to abandon the
" hammerless " for good and all, and to return to the more
primitive type of weapon. I had to kill to win an important
prize, and waltzed up to the mark quite gaily. When I
called " Pull ! " a very moderate specimen of the blue rock
gave me an easy chance ; but my pressure on the trigger
failed to meet with the ensuing explosion !

/ had forgotten to pull back the safety bolt / I was defeated !

As regards unlucky incidents, I had a most exasperating
experience at that same Gun Club.

As in the former instance, it devolved upon me to " kill
to win " a very handsome cup and substantial stakes.

I had an easy bird, timed it beautifully, and, as I thought,
dropped it stone dead within three yards of the trap. I was
turning round to re-seek the pavilion in triumph, when a
friend who had backed me for the event and who stood to
win " a packet," shouted out : " Go on, Cockie ; give him
another to make sure! — Assurez la masse!'' There lay
my bird, motionless, with its wings outstretched on either
side of it. Taking the hint, I plugged in my right.

Now this bird must have been " playing possum," for
instead of my shot causing it to be " still dead," it acted as a
corpse reviver, since the wretched pigeon pulled itself together,
rose gracefully from the ground, and sailed away over the
boundary — though lost to sight, to memory accursed ! Again
I met with defeat, for I was ignominiously knocked out in the
" ties."

Hark back to Monte Carlo.

150 A Sportsman at Large

During two seasons I had the honour to represent The
British Empire on " The International Committee," my col-
league on the first occasion being the Earl of Carnarvon.
As far as I can remember, our duties were not particularly
onerous, though the said committee met once a week and
indulged in a babel of polyglot tongues ; but there was a
roster from which the umpires were drawn in rotation. It
happened that my turn came during the competition for
Le Grand Prix. At that time there was a novice competing
whose form was consistent, if not brilliant. He had been
very lightly handicapped in preceding events and had shown
a very steady average. For some reason or other, I had a
strong idea that he would have something to do with the
finish of the great event — and so it turned out. Luckily for
him, he never had a really top-notch bird to try him out,
but he " downed " his quota in masterly style — cleanly and
accurately.

This was Jesse Curling, a cheery and modest sportsman,
with whom I struck up a close friendship which has survived
the passage of many years, though nowadays it is only occa-
sionally that I run across him and his charming wife. At
the time, his victory in Le Grand Prix was looked upon as
something of a fluke ; but subsequently, at various English
and Continental gatherings, Jesse proved that such was by
no manner of means the case, for he carried off some of the
choicest plums of the pigeon-shooting world.

My attendance at the Gun Club — then located near Worm-
wood Scrubs (" You ought to have been in another establish-
ment close by," I can hear the self-styled humanitarians ex-
claim)— was pretty regular during summer time (in the autumn
and winter months I was, during those years, too busy with
my hounds and my racehorses to find time for pigeons and
prizes). I had been elected to the club, and also to Hurlingham,
on returning from my second visit to the Riviera. At the
former resort I was placed on the twenty-seven yards mark ;
this being a distance that suited me to a nicety, I scooped
in one or two desirable " cup events " and had a fair share
of pool divisions.

At Hurlingham, I began at twenty-five yards, and although

A Sportsman at Large 151

I held my own pretty well, I was not so successful as at the
more open and business-like Gun Club.

It was also my wont to repair to the grounds of the Welsh
Harp, Hendon, there to shoot for the valuable prize annually
offered (under the auspices of Mr. H. Holt) by " The Gun
and Polo Club." This trophy was named " The Grand
Aristocratic Cup/' valued at fifty-two guineas, added to a
sweepstake of five pounds each. Fifteen birds ; handicap
distances.

I had the luck to win this desirable prize two years running,
and, curiously enough, under exactly similar circumstances.
On the first occasion, I was handicapped at twenty-six yards.
I killed all seven birds on the first day ; missed my first on
the second, and yet had only to kill to win at the finish.
The next year I was put back to twenty-eight yards. Other-
wise the course of events was identical !

Later on, another valuable competition — The Portland
Cup— was offered by Mr. Holt at Hendon. H. T. Bentley,
who had been closely associated with me in pony racing,* and
who was an associate of mine at Hurlingham, tied with me at
the finish. I was at twenty-nine, and he at thirty yards' rise.
This was the first time I had shot with Ballastite powder.
Not being used to such a quick explosive I began to suffer
from gun-headache by the time we had reached the ninth
round. This infliction increased in severity every time I
faced the traps.

Bentley and I were the only ones left standing when we
had eleven pigeons " straight " credited to our respective
names. Then we killed bird for bird up to seventeen.

Long ere this, I was in agony and almost on the point
of collapse. I did not care if I missed ! I only longed to be
quit of the distressing business. But, somehow or other, I
kept scraping down my birds with my " second."

At last, after the nineteenth kill by Bentley, I did manage
to let one go, and was unfeignedly thankful ; though the cup
was a very handsome one. We had agreed to divide stakes
when the tie was declared, and had then shot out for the trophy.

I was now really ill and in dreadful pain and distress. My

* See " Chasing and Racing."

152 A Sportsman at Large

friend, General Willoughby, took me home in his dog-cart,
and had to hold me in with one arm, whilst he drove his smart
cob with the other. On arriving at my home in South Audley
Street, my C.O. put me to bed and sent for the doctor, who
gave me an effectual emetic, which worked wonders.

In a couple of days I was myself again, but no more
Ballastite for your Uncle Cockie, thank you !

I reached the zenith of my triumphs, such as they were, in
the International Concourse at the Gun Club and Hurlingham
in the summer of 1883.

This annual gala was divided between the two clubs;
shooting taking place at each enclosure on alternate days
throughout the week ; the whole programme culminating on
the Saturday with the contest for " The Grand International
Cup," value two hundred and fifty pounds, added to a sweep-
stake of five pounds each.

This was a handicap. At that time my official distance
was twenty-five yards. I would not take advantage of this
leniency, but elected to toe the twenty-seven mark.

" What gross conceit ! " you will say.

Not at all ! The fact is that, for some occult reason, my
average at any distance nearer than twenty-six yards was
deplorable, whilst at twenty-nine or over I was uncertain and
inaccurate ; but at twenty-seven and twenty-eight yards
I was at my best — such as that best was.

I suppose that the latter distances suited my eye and
" timing," whilst longer or shorter ones found me guessing,
and either " snapping " or " poking," as the case might be.
This was not as it should be with one who held some sort of
reputation as a game shot — but so it was !

Incidentally, I may mention that one season at Hurlingham
I had been shooting so moderately that Aubrey " Jack "
Coventry handicapped me at twenty-three yards, at which
there was a general outcry among the other shooters ; but
though I provided myself with a pair of cylinder barrels and
used No. 7 shot, I conspicuously failed to make even a
respectable showing. So I voluntarily receded to twenty-
seven yards and signalized my retreat by winning or dividing
every event on the day's card, and not missing a single bird

A Sportsman at Large 155

from start to finish ; wherein I established a personal record
— thirty-seven pigeons straight; my next best being twenty-
nine at Mont Boron (Nice).

To return to the International week, 1883. I had been
in excellent form of late and made a good start on the Monday
(Gun Club) by winning Third Prize in " The Paris Cup."

The next day, at Hurlingham, I was well in the running
for the principal event, but just failed to gain a place.

On the Wednesday (Gun Club again) I divided the pre-
liminary pool (even thirty yards), and scored nine birds in
the Cup.

I continued to keep up an excellent average all the week,
so when it came to the great contest on the Saturday I was
quietly fancied by some of the most astute backers, and
substantially supported at 30 to I — long odds from a horse-
racing point of view, but not so in a contest of the kind toward.

I myself secured £300 to £10, and arranged with a friend
to lay £30 to £10 on me every time I went to the mark.

There were seventy-four shooters, including most of the
Continental and American " cracks." The Cup was a most
beautiful specimen of the silversmith's art, and on it I cast
longing eyes. Whilst doing so, an Anglo-Cuban friend of
mine, Alfonzo Jiminez (afterwards Marquis di Granja), one
of the roundest, rosiest and j oiliest little sports as ever was,
handed me a sealed envelope, saying :

" Here, Cockie, open this when the contest is over. It is
my prophecy of the result."

I put it in my pocket and forgot all about it for the nonce.

Then the first man on the list was called up by good Mr.
Turner, the scorer, whilst Arthur Badcock, our secretary,
took up his position as umpire.

There was a sharp wind blowing right across the traps,
from right to left. This was just what I wanted. It suited
my swing and time to a tick ; for I had always put in my
best performances under such conditions, whereas the " left
to right " swing had invariably found me wanting.

Whilst awaiting my turn, Tom Gambier, an old club friend
and highly astute sportsman, who had gathered unto himself
all there is to know about pigeon-shooting, drew me aside.

154 A Sportsman at Large

" Who is handing you your cartridges, Cockie ? " he inquired.

I told him.

" Ask no questions," he continued. " Take these " (handing
me twenty-five " shells ") " and put them in your pocket.
I have backed you to win me a good stake."

" My dear chap, whatever for ? My chance is a remote one,
and, pray, what is the magic effect of these cartridges you
have given me ? "

" I told you not to ask questions." And Gambier turned
on his heel, leaving me guessing.

I examined the wonderful " shells." They were exactly
like those which I had handed to the attendant to serve out
to me, two at a time, as I went to my mark.

E.G. powder ; 7 and 5/6 shot.

Now I knew Gambier well, and had the greatest faith
in his acumen ; so I made no further ado, but, acting on his
instructions, took the cartridges handed me by the attendant,
slipped them into my trousers pocket, and substituted for
them two of those provided by my friend.

The birds, which proved of the finest quality, had been
coming out at express speed, and, being caught by the wind,
were swept at an amazing rate of speed right across the ground.
I was a trifle behind my initial pigeon (a snorter from the left
corner trap) with my first barrel, but, swinging well forward,
dropped it dead, almost on top of the trap on the extreme right.

Well, once more to cut a long story short, I kept up my
form, and though I had to use my second rather frequently,
I never looked like letting a bird go.

The conditions were " one bird." That is to say, each
shooter, as he missed, was automatically knocked out ; so
the contest resolved itself into a demonstration of " the
survival of the fittest."

The extraordinary flight of the birds was playing havoc
with " the talent." The fielders were having the time of
their lives and picking up a small fortune ; but there was
another shooter who seemed to be well favoured by the
peculiar conditions.

This was Captain Shelley, an old and tried hand at the game ;
for he kept grassing his birds in fine style.

A Sportsman at Large 155

At the end of the twelfth round, there were only two others,
besides Shelley and myself left in. One of these was " Papa "
Journu, the great French shot, the hero of countless classical
contests (including the winning of the Grand Prix du Casino,
Monte Carlo). I forget who the fourth was, but have an idea
it was Captain " Bummer " Leighton, another old hand, and
a very tough opponent at any time and under any conditions.

If it was, indeed, that same " Bummer," he let his thirteenth
bird slip, whilst the great Journu was defeated by his fifteenth.

Thus the contest resolved itself into a tie between Shelley
and myself. Excitement rose to fever heat !

My turn came before that of my opponent (a great advantage
in a tie) . I dropped my bird all right, and Shelley did likewise.
I had a meteoric " rock " for my next — missed clean with my
left, but nailed the " rock " promptly with my right, swinging
a good seven yards in front of it.

The gallant captain was served with a similar pigeon, which
he peppered slightly with both barrels ; but it was a strong
and game bird. With the wind to help it, it topped the wall!
Glory be !

There was a yell of pent-up excitement as the tension was
relaxed. I was seized and carried back to the Pavilion shoulder-
high !

Corks began to pop and wine to fizz and sparkle, whilst my
right hand was nearly reduced to a pulp !

When the excitement had cooled down a bit Jiminez came
up to me.

" Well, what did I tell you ? " he beamed.

" As how, Jimmie ? " I asked.
' Why, haven't you opened the envelope I gave you ? "

" Lord, no ; I forgot all about it ! "

So saying I produced the document and tore open the cover.
Within was a half-sheet of Club paper, on which was written
in bold characters :

RESULT OF INTERNATIONAL CUP

HARDING COX i
Journu 2

Turner-Turner 3

156 A Sportsman at Large

So my Cuban friend had spotted two out oj the three placed
in a field of seventy-four shooters !

" Marvellous ! " I exclaimed. " Are you a clairvoyant,
Jimmie ? What on earth made you select me as the probable
winner ? "

" Because, my Cockie," he replied, " I have carefully
noted your form, and how a wind such as we have to-day
suits your style. Journu is always there or thereabouts, and
Turner-Turner does not give the birds time to benefit' by
the breeze. See ! "

Reasonable enough ; but, faith, it was good picking
sure-ly !

So here was I overtaking ambition at a bound ; for next
to the Monte Carlo " Blue Ribbon/' " The International
Cup " was supreme El Dorado of the pigeon- shooter who
places glory before pelf ; though, for the matter of that, there
was considerable dross involved in the winning of the latter.

On this occasion I increased my bank balance by close on
a " monkey," as well as becoming the proud possessor of the
most highly and artistically wrought piece of plate that had
ever been offered for the event in question. Of course I had
a go at the even distance (thirty yards) affair which followed,
and actually succeeded in accounting for four birds before,
at last, my sequence of kills was broken, and then there were
only five others left in !

I have been always very proud of this win. I think I have
a right to be ; but, as a matter of fact, my victory in " Le
Grand Prix de Cloture " at Monte Carlo was a far greater
tribute to my skill ; for in the latter event I was competing
on even terms with some of the world's greatest shots, whereas
the " International " was a handicap, and some of the " cracks "
were conceding me from five to eight yards on the official list,
and from three to six as regards the actual mark from which
I chose to shoot !

CHAPTER XV

MEANWHILE I had been shooting steadily at Hurling-
ham on the alternate days. In one of the " star "
events I annexed third prize with nine kills straight, and
divided one of the even distance pools.

It was at the Raleigh Club the next day that I ran across
my friend Gambier.

" Now," said I, " what's all this mystery about my car-
tridges ? Yours certainly did the trick all right, and I am
profoundly grateful — but what about it ? "

" I would not give the show away before," said my friend,
" for fear you might get the wind up ; but I have been watch-
ing your shooting for some time past, and I always back you,
because you account for a nice average of good birds, and
never miss an easy one. You have been at the top of your
form all this week. I am not the only one who has spotted the
fact, for I could name a dozen of the cleverest backers who,
like myself, bet on your every shot.

" Now the day before the International I tumbled to some
very dirty work that was going on in the professional ring.
The pencillers asked for 7 to 2 and 4 to I on your first two
shots (you might have missed, of course). When it came to
the third round they began shouting that they would take the
same odds, and ended by accepting 5/04.' / You were shooting
steadily enough, and had killed your birds cleanly. Why,
then, should ' the Ring ' accept absurd odds under the cir-
cumstances ? Wait ! Your third bird was an easy one,
and you seemed to pepper it with both barrels ; but to every-
one's surprise, including, I expect, your own, the pigeon
passed the boundary but little the worse. Mark you, Cockie,
I had seen this thing happen before when you were shooting
in ordinary contests. Now do you see why I acted as I did ? "

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158 A Sportsman at Large

" You mean ? "

" Yes ! That the attendant had been bribed by the bookies
to hand you dud cartridges — probably loaded with steel
filings; since clouds of feathers were chipped out of your
pigeon without the stuff penetrating."

This gave me furiously to think.

I offered Gambier my grateful thanks, and henceforth was
on the qui vive !

" All's well that ends well/' is a comforting proverb ; .but
my friend's revelation caused me much uneasiness. The
fact is, that the Gun Club and some others made a fatal
mistake in admitting professional bookmakers to their
enclosures. Some of these pencillers w-ere as honest as the
day, and quite above suspicion ; but — there were others !
Verb. sap. !

Far better had the committees of these clubs followed the
example of aristocratic and exclusive Hurlingham, and shut
the door against professional bookies. There were plenty of
members of these other clubs who were ever ready to take
odds, instead of laying them, or to " hedge and ditch ! "

It was such shady practices as revealed by Gambier that
afforded a handle by which the spoil-sports might twist their
arguments against the pastime of pigeon shooting !

When the scores were totted up at the end of the Inter-
national week, to my surprise and delight I found myself
the winner of the Cup presented by the Gun Club for the
best average of the whole series ; whilst at Hurlingham I was
proxime accessit to my old friend Day, who shot under the
nom de tir of " Mr. Grace."

The following were my averages :

Gun Club 7.75

Hurlingham 7.25

At the two Clubs combined. . . 7.50

A great, little friend of mine, Alan Robinson, whom I had
met when on his honeymoon at " Monte," had taken up
pigeon shooting because, like myself, he had something of
a private reputation as a game shot. He soon made good,
and began raking in the plums. His success was all the more

A Sportsman at Large 159

to his credit seeing that he had but one eye, having lost the
left optic \vhen a lad of nine years. It seems he was watching
some workmen as they were chipping iron railings. A splinter
of the metal penetrated, as it was thought, the lid only. The
poor little lad suffered hardly any pain or inconvenience at
the time, but a few weeks later he began to experience dreadful
tortures. He was taken to a celebrated Parisian oculist,
who found that the iron splinter had, in fact, penetrated the
ball of the eye, and lodged at its base, and that, as acute
inflammation had supervened, there was nothing for it but
the removal of the eye itself, and the insertion of a glass
substitute.

When I first met " Bizzy " — as we were wont to call him —
he was about twenty-four years of age, and had just come
into a nice little inheritance, represented by a capital sum
in spot cash. So he and his charming wife were intent on
getting all they could of enjoyment out of life, on the carpe
diem principle — one which I myself have followed religiously,
and which legend I adopted as my personal motto in place
of the ancestral one : " Onward, upward! " After all, when
you come to think of it, the second is — or should be — the
corollary to the first. And so it was that he and I, and his
and mine, formed a hegemony of friendship which lasted
many years, and brought much joy to the partie carre !

This was long after my triumph in the International week
of 1883.

I had dropped pigeon shooting for a very long interval,
but took it up again when my hunting days were over. I
found that my form, such as it was, had not fatally
deteriorated, whilst " Bizzy " was making a steady mark
as a " classy " shot.

Just for sport, he and I issued a challenge to pit ourselves
in a " foursome " against any two shooters from any country,
whether of the same or of mixed nationalities — a piece of
colossal cheek, which should have brought a well-merited
snub on our devoted heads.

But, strange to say, none seemed to care to take up the
gauntlet in a hurry. At last two foreigners did so. These
were the Spanish Count O'Brien (sounds more like a " Paddy/'

160 A Sportsman at Large

doesn't it ?), who afterwards won the Grand Prix de Casino,
and thus became an " Immortal," and " Bobby " Boreel, a
genuine and hearty Dutchman, who, as a sportsman, out-
Britoned the most enthusiastic Britisher !

It was arranged to shoot at a hundred birds (twenty-five
each corner) at twenty-eight metres. I agreed to this readily
enough, as my long-distance shooting had by this time greatly
improved.

The match was decided at " Le Cercle des Patineurs.," in
the Bois de Boulogne, Paris. It was a close struggle, and
although the birds had been specially selected, and were
therefore of Ai quality, precious few lived to coo the tale in
the pigeon loft.

This was the result :

Capt. Harding Cox (Great Britain) 23 out of 25 \ , ,

E. Alan Robinson „ 21 ,, ,, J

Count O'Brien (Spain) 22 1 ,

Jonkeer R. Boreel (Holland) 21 „ „ ) «3 O1

The closeness of the contest encouraged our opponents
to challenge us to a return match. It came off a few days
later, and this is how it panned out :

E. Alan Robinson (Great Britain) 22 out of 25 1 , _,

Capt. Harding Cox „ 21 „ „ } 43 out of 5°

Count O'Brien (Spain) 21 |

Jonkeer R. Boreel (Holland) 20 „ „ / 41 out of 5<>

So, on the second occasion, Bizzy and I slightly increased
our lead.

Our challenge remained open, but there was no further
response.

This has always puzzled me, since I am confident that
any country could have found a brace of pigeon shots who
would have simply " knocked spots out of us ; " whilst
dozens of mixed combinations could have beaten us to a
frazzle, and so lowered our inordinate vanity and conceit.
A propos Bizzy Robinson and his one and only effective eye,
an incident occurred which was grimly humorous, though it
may appear rather banal in the telling.

It was our custom each morning, whilst the Robinsons were

A Sportsman at Large 161

guests of mine at "La Villa Leontine," Monte Carlo, for
Bizzy and I to repair to La Salle des Bains, at the Condamine,
there to indulge in a plunge in the salt-water swimming bath,
which though of very limited surface area, was quite twelve
feet deep.

On one occasion my auburn-haired friend was the first
to indulge in his " header." As he regained the steps he
scrambled out hurriedly with his hand clapped closely to the
spot usually occupied by the counterfeit presentment of the
human optic.

" Cockie ! Cockie ! " he wailed miserably. " I've lost my
eye ! "

" All right, Biz. Keep your hair on. I'll soon retrieve it."
So saying, I approached the bath and looked down into
its crystal- clear depths. There lay the derelict eye on the
tiled bottom, staring up at me with such a comical expression
that I burst out laughing, and called its owner to share my
merriment. He had been quite disgruntled, but the humour
of the situation proving irresistible, he joined heartily in my
mirth.

" Go on, Cockie ; get it quick, there's a good chap ! "
Down, down, I went, and soon had that dreadful staring
eye safely clutched. When I returned it to its owner, he
popped it into the vacant socket with incredible rapidity.
Evidently practice had made perfect.

It was during one of my later visits to the Riviera that
friend Day introduced me to one Baron Brebner, an Austrian
Minister of rank, who had been deputed by his chief, the
distinguished and highly intellectual diplomat, M. Ch. de
Kalay (at that time Governor of Bosnia- Herzgovina and
Minister of the Interior at Vienna), to make the acquaintance
of the leading lights of the shooting world, and to invite
them, in the name of the Austrian Government, to a great
International concourse which was to be held the following
autumn at Ilidji, near Sarajevo (where you will remember
in July, 1914, the first spark was laid to the fuse which was
to ignite the fires of Armageddon) . The Baron was a charming

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162 A Sportsman at Large

fellow and possessed of a beautiful and equally charming
wife. Both of them spoke English perfectly.

The former drew me into conversation, and then unburdened
his soul of a proposition which was of wider import than
the then popular pastime of trap-shooting.

" Captain Cox," he began, " your reputation as an ichthyo-
logist and pisciculturalist, as well as that of a practical angler,
has long been recognized in my country. M. de Kalay is
anxious to exploit the sporting possibilities of Bosnia.. We
have established fish-hatcheries at the source of the Bosna
river, and have already started operations which we hope
will lead to the stocking of that and other rivers of the pro-
vince with various species of trout. I am deputed to invite
you, not only to take part in our pigeon-shooting contests,
but also to inspect and report on our piscatorial ventures.
Every facility will be afforded you, and I think we can promise
you ' a good time/ as you say."

Of course I expressed my appreciation of this offer. I told
him that I felt highly flattered thereby, and that, all being
well, he might count on me when the time arrived. All
was well, so that the autumn found me with my dear pal,
Ted Jaquet — who accompanied me as travelling companion —
to the sulphur springs of Ilidji.

I had been looking forward to meeting the distinguished
De Kalay, but unfortunately he had been recalled to Vienna
on urgent business of the State, and though he hoped to get
back to Bosnia during the sporting gala, he was not — as it
turned out — able to do so ; therefore he had to leave all
arrangements in the hands of his aide-de-camp, Baron Brebner,
as charge d'affaires, and right well did the latter carry out his
duties ; moreover, Mme. de Kalay and her two charming
daughters remained at Ilidji to entertain all and sundry
who had been bidden to the concourse.

With Colonel Boswell-Preston as my colleague, I was
elected to represent Great Britain on the International
Committee.

I may at once admit that I by no means distinguished
myself at the traps. In fact, the best I could do was to
divide second and third prizes in the Consolation Stakes

A Sportsman at Large 163

which wound up the meeting ! I am unable to account for
my wretched display, unless it was because my thoughts
were so concentrated on trout, that pigeons and their slaughter
became quite a secondary consideration. None can hope for
success in any sport or pastime unless his whole attention is
set on accomplishment.

This, too, was about the last time I faced the traps intent
on a pastime which at one time had held a strange fascination
for me. It was an ignoble finish to a career in that particular
line which, on occasion, had been illuminated by many
important triumphs.

But here let me point out to you that I have dealt only
with those contests in which I distinguished myself, or
was within an ace of so doing. I have made no mention of
the hundreds of competitions wherein I cut an altogether
inconspicuous figure.

You might imagine, from what I have set down, that I
was a sort of super-shot in a class by myself.

Such was assuredly not the case, as proved by the fact
that my most severe handicap during the years I was com-
peting was twenty-eight yards in England, and twenty-seven
metres abroad !

Had I shot sufficiently well to justify the handicappers in
placing me at thirty-two yards and twenty-nine metres respec-
tively I trow I should have cut a sorry figure indeed at those
distances.

The fact is, I was essentially " a middle-distance man " only,
and at that I think I may fairly claim to have made good ;
but I certainly could not be classed with the real flyers at the
game — either native or foreign.

People may say what they like about pigeon-shooting and
its alleged cruelty and degrading associations, but I could
supply a list containing the names of some of the most kindly,
courteous and humane men of the world — gentlemen and
sportsmen in the best sense of the word, born and bred, who
were, during my time, enthusiastic supporters of the game.
Perhaps the gambling that went on among a certain section
was to be deprecated, but the spirit of speculation is inherent,
and one could not help regarding with wonderment and awe

n*

164 A Sportsman at Large

the nerve of some of those who would wager a year's army
pay on a single shot. I remember one occasion at Monte
Carlo, when Sir John (" Johnny ") Willoughby took it into
his head to " slam " the takers of odds. He was a smallish,
slim young man at the time, with an utterly imperturbable
disposition.

He was a good, but by no means brilliant shot. As he
strolled up to his mark with a big cigar between his lips
during an ordinary pool, one of the leviathans of the Ring —
Besnard by name — called out :

" Want to back yourself, Sir John ? "

" Yes ! What'll you take ? "

" Take you £70 to £40, Sir John."

" Yes ! Twice, if you like ! "

"You're on!" (A pause.) "Look here, Sir John,"
challenged the bookie, probably out of bravado. ' Tell you
what I'll do with you. I'll take you £600 to £400, */ you don't
put your cigar down ! ' '

Johnny's face was impassive ; not a muscle moved.

" Right ! " he said quietly. " And as much again, if you
like."

The bookie was " snail-shy," and drew in his horns.

"No. thank you, Sir John," he muttered. "I'm full
up ! "

The shooter raised his gun and drawled out :

" Are you ready ? " followed by the orthodox " Pull ! "
Over came Number 3 trap and down came the bird, to the
young baronet's first, as dead as a stone. He turned quietly
on his heel, produced a match and applied it to his cigar,
remarking to the now thoroughly disgruntled taker of odds :
" You didn't make any stipulation as to my keeping my weed
alight, did you, Besnard ? "

If Johnny Willoughby had kept such a cool head when,
with " Dr. Jim " and others, he was planning a coup d'etat
at the expense of " Oom Paul," the course of history might
have been considerably deflected.

Incidentally, I might mention that on one of my salmon-
fishing excursions to Norway, on the good old Wilson liner
Salmo, this same "Dr. Jim " and his " chief of staff," Major

A Sportsman at Large 165

White, were fellow passengers. This was just after they
had been released from durance vile, which they had incurred
owing to their part in that abortive raid. I think that the
figuring out of such enterprises was a fad of Willoughby's,
for I remember sitting out on the terrace with him and Lord
de Clifford (affectionately known as " Ned," who ended his
days at Monte, struck down by pneumonia), when, " pour
passer le temps /'we discussed the possibility of a cutting-out ex-
pedition, directed against the Casino and the vast riches which
it contained. We drew up quite a reasonable plan of cam-
paign, but I am inclined to think that any bandits who might
decide to adopt our scheme would find that the Administration
had some card up its sleeve which we had not foreseen and
so had not provided against.

Stands Monte where it did ? Aye, verily !

During my protracted patronage of the pigeon grounds,
I came across all sorts and conditions of men, some distin-
guished, some notorious ; among the latter Arthur Orton,
the Tichborne claimant (quite a good shot), the hard-
swearing but kind-hearted Marquess of Ailesbury, and others,
whilst among the aristocracy, besides their Majesties of
Serbia and Montenegro, were :

A brother of the ineffable King Bomba of Naples (the proto-
type of Bombastes Furioso), who had adopted the nom de tir,
" Conte de Montecupo," a quiet and courtly gentleman, the
antithesis of his notorious relative. Also the Grand Duke
Peter of Russia, calling himself " Mr. Strelock," the why and
wherefore of which pseudonym I was never able to discover.

Prince " Mickie " Bariatinski was quite beau gar f on, very
fair, handsome and debonair. At that time he was the
bon ami of the adorable Lena Cavaliari, who, then at the
zenith of her beauty, was quite the loveliest woman I ever
remember to have seen — and that is saying something !

Another with whom I struck up a very pleasant camaraderie
was Prince Scherinski Shihmatoff, who was at that time the
director of sport in the entourage of the ill-fated Tsar.

The Prince gave me some very vivid descriptions of big
game (chiefly bear) shooting, and wolf-coursing with borzois,
as conducted in his native land.

166 A Sportsman at Large

He invited me to visit him at Moscow, promising me un-
limited sport, to which would be added that spice of danger
which is said to lend enchantment to the chase. He was
intensely interested in various explosives and bullets which
he had devised for the prompt and effectual subjection of
Bruin.

I had thoughts of taking advantage of his generous offer
of hospitality, but I have had, all my life, a hatred of snow,
under any and every circumstance ; so I never found my way
to the vast domains of " The Little Father."

But sometime later Prince Scherinski sent me a book he had
written on the laika (barking) dogs of Russia ; for, like myseli ,
he was an enthusiastic cynophilist. This monograph was
exhaustively dealt with and profusely illustrated. A few
years after the Great War, I met the Princess Bariatinski
(aunt of my friend " Mickie," who, I was grieved to hear,
had passed away some time since) .

On inquiring about Prince Scherinski, the Princess informed
me that since the revolution she had lost sight of him, and
feared that he had fallen a victim to the Red Terror, she
herself having escaped the same fate by miraculous good
fortune only.

Here I may as well set forth the sport of wolf-coursing
as described to me by my lost friend.

The wolves are kept in a huge enclosure, some miles in cir-
cumference, and are driven out, one by one, on to a vast
and bare plain.

It seems that three borzois are slipped at the fugitive.

The wolf is possessed of extraordinary speed, but the
borzoi is even faster. (A good borzoi can lead a first-class
greyhound to a hare many lengths, but almost invariably
swings out yards at the turn, and is quite unable to run the
quarry c'osely, or to score any telling points in the eyes of an
efficient judge of coursing.) Now when the borzois reach the
wolf, instead of going straight for him, they act in concert.

Two of them range up, one on each side of the unfortunate
lupus, and keep barging into him alternately, until they have
him sprawling and quite unbalanced. Presently he loses his
foothold, and then borzoi number three, who has been follow-

A Sportsman at Large 167

ing close to the victim's tail (I don't think the wolf's caudal
appendage can be dignified with the term " brush "), pins
him, and then the other two dogs join in and help to hold him
down.

The mounted chasseur, who has been following as closely
as may be, now rides up, dismounts, and produces a round
wooden staff about a foot in length, to each end of which
is attached a leather thong. This instrument is thrust
between Mr. Wolf's jaws, and the thongs tightly fastened
around his head and neck. His feet are shackled, and then
he is tossed into a cart, taken back to the enclosure from
whence he came, and released, to fight it out another day.
Of course, both borzois and chasseur are occasionally awarded
very nasty slashes from the sabre-like teeth of the wolf ;
but, so the Prince told me, the dogs and man are so clever
and adroit that they generally come through unscathed.

A very remarkable " personality " whom I came across
at the Monte Carlo Tir, and subsequently at other shooting
enclosures, was Baron Henri de Rothschild, of colossal build,
hirsute and dark.

Not only was he a great sportsman and at times an extra-
ordinarily fine shot, but he was also a man of marked versa-
tility, a scientist, a litterateur and a playwright.

At the time of writing, my friend Arthur Bourchier has
just produced a drama of the Baron's at the Strand Theatre,
London, which has caused a considerable sensation, especially
among the Harley Street " faculty," for the said play is
frankly aimed at the misdeeds of those black sheep which are
said to dwell in every fold — yea, even in that which encloses
so many devoted philanthropists of the medical profession.

When I first met the Baron at " Monte," we indulged in
a friendly little shooting match, in which I was allowed
several metres handicap, which, well as my opponent per-
formed, just enabled me to hold a winning hand.

It was at the same entrancing spot that I met with " The
Hon. Lionel," of the same ilk, who, like myself, is a devout
lover of the children of the wild. As I knew " Mr. Leo "
on the Turf; "Mr. Jimmy" was a fellow clubman; as
I bumped up against " Baron Edouard " at " The Tables,"

168 A Sportsman at Large

and as Lord Rothschild was on my committee when I was
master of the O.B.H., I may be said to have been constantly
in touch at one time or another with many members of a
family group renowned as the world's most honoured and dis-
tinguished financiers.

CHAPTER XVI

THOUGH the oldest of our field sports, coursing is a rather
difficult one to understand ; but it is said that if one
of its votaries — through misfortune or circumstance — has
had to abandon it pro tern., he or she, as the case may be, is
sure to return at the very first opportunity that presents
itself.

Some 120 years B.C. Arrian wrote of coursing, and it is
evident that he pursued his recreation in the spirit of true
sportsmanship as understood to-day. He slipped only a
brace of greyhounds to the hare, gave her plenty of " law,"
and very often called his dogs off when a gallant quarry had
given them a hard and exciting course !

It is not my intention to enter upon a treatise on coursing
and greyhounds. Those who seek information on the subject
will find it meticulously dealt with in my " Coursing " volume
of " The Badminton Library,"* and also in that part of
" Dogs "f which relates to greyhounds. I simply wish to
chronicle my own reminiscences of the sport as they affected
me personally.

My aim in writing this book and its predecessor J is to deal
with my experiences in various field sports, not chronologi-
cally, but, as it were, in sections ; since my enjoyment of them
constantly overlapped. For instance, my early endeavours
as a follower of The Leash synchronized with my mastership
of the O.B.H. and part of my race-riding days, to say nothing
of intervening shooting and angling exploits.

At my first venture I had the luck to purchase at auction

* The Badminton Library : " Coursing," by Harding Cox, and " Falconry,"
by the Hon. Gerald Lascelles.

| " Dogs," Edited by Harding Cox (Fawcett, McQuire & Co.).
J " Chasing and Racing " (John Lane).

169

170 A Sportsman at Large

a very useful sapling out of a litter bred by that well-known
courser, Mr. Miller ; I named this one, who was a black,
Habeas Corpus. (It is the custom of coursing men to per-
petuate their own initials in the names of their greyhounds.)
Each one of the litter (which was by Misteston, winner of The
Waterloo Cup, out of Glenmahra, a noted matron) distinguished
itself eventually ; but the pick of the basket as far as " big
wins " was concerned, was another black, retained by Mr.
Miller and named Mullingar. He won the Champion Stakes
at Kempton, among other trophies, and was possessed of
extraordinary speed, though he was deficient in stamina.
In this respect he was the antithesis of his brother, my Habeas
Corpus, who had not first-class speed, but was a rare sticker,
and could stay for a month of Sundays.

A propos the Kempton Champion Stakes, a good story is
told of the late Dick Dunn, the vociferous and forceful, but
kind-hearted and reliable bookie. He attended the meeting
with an eye to business and opened his book quite correctly
as regards the " long odds " ; but when it came to the individual
courses he got into a hopeless tangle. When Huic Holloa
and Royal Stag (I think these were the two) went to the slips,
Dick opened out with :

" 'Ere ! seven to four, 'Uic 'Oiler, 'oo'll 'ave it ? "

He was immediately snapped for £70 to £40 and various
smaller bets. This put the wind up him, and he started to
" come round on the book/'

" Seven to four Royal Stag ! Seven to four Royal Stag ! "
he shouted. A brother of the pencil, who was no neophyte,
yelled out :

" What the 'ell are you up to, Dick ? Blyme ! you're
lay in' odds agin both the blinkiri dogs ! "

" Well, wot of it ? " roared Dunn. " Ain't the pore Uinkin'
'are got a chance then ? "

To return to Habeas Corpus ; he won me some nice little
stakes in the open country (true sport), but was not fast enough
for what were known in those days as " The Enclosures."
His best performance was winning the South of England
Challenge Cup. As a new dog of mine, called Handley Cross,
did the trick the following year, and as the South of England

A Sportsman at Large 171

Club broke up at the end of the season,* I became the proud
possessor of the handsome trophy.

At the time of my entry to this engrossing sport, my guide,
philosopher and friend in the venture was " Willie," of the
ancient and sporting family of Hope Johnstone. It was by
acting on his advice that I picked up some very useful grey-
hounds, most of which won in their turn. One of the best
was Have a Care, a bk. and w. b. by Macpherson — Rota,
and hence own sister (same litter) to a little wonder called
Happy Rondelle, who made a great name for herself.

Have a Care represented me in The Waterloo Cup. She
was just outpointed in her first course, but made a brave
show in " The Purse." She went on to Southport, where she
ran through The Bainesse Stakes in gallant style.

When her running days were over, I mated her with Green-
tick, one of the greatest of the Greyhound Stud-book pillars.
She had a beautiful litter, but, strange to say, only one showed
anything approaching winning form. But this one exception,
a big black puppy, weighing all seventy pounds, was a veritable
smasher ! His first trial with Handley Cross — a very fast
dog indeed — was, I thought, too good to be true. The
youngster led him two-and-a-half lengths and made rings
round him, running his hare truly and punishingly in a long
course.

I sent Handley Cross on " a voyage of discovery " in an
eight-dog stake, just to see if he was in form. In the first
round he slammed a fast old dog, who was a great winner, and
then I drew him.

Now comes the tragedy ! I was determined to see what
sort of a greyhound I had in Heavy Cavalry, for that was the
name of my big and beautiful puppy. Alas ! I made the
fatal mistake of slipping him with Handley Cross in an open
country. This time the young 'un led a good three lengths,
and again refused to give his opponent a look in, finishing
with a brilliant kill. Before we could pick him up, he sighted
a fresh hare, and was soon tacked on to her ; she made for
a stiff " stake and bound " fence and slipped through a
run therein. Heavy Cavalry, instead of flying the obstruction,

* It was afterwards resuscitated and held annual meetings at Southminster.

172 A Sportsman at Large

rushed the opening, struck a stake and rolled over with a
sharp cry. His shoulder was broken / Was there ever such
cruel luck ? As a rule it is only once in a lifetime that a
coursing man owns a puppy of this class, and I had bred such
an one myself at the first time of asking ! Of course he was
patched up, but was more or less of a cripple, unfit for coursing
competitions. I had visions of breeding a Waterloo Cup
winner by him, but he succumbed to distemper six months
after his accident.

The mention of trials between an old dog and a puppy
brings me to a story which is not over delicate in flavour,
but it has the saving grace of humour, I think.

As in horse-racing, there are " sharps " and " flats " in
the coursing field, though, happily, the former, who batten on
the latter, are not overpoweringly in evidence. But there
was a so-called sporting farmer who was fond of the sport
and not above engineering a crooked job when opportunity
might afford. He was seized or possessed of a third season
greyhound called Old Tuppenny, which had been a small
gold-mine to him ; for this veteran could give any local dog
the go-by and make rings round it. He became a sort of
public idol, and his victory, bar accidents, was taken as a
matter of course (excuse the play on the word) whenever he
was sent to the slips, so that very soon his owner, farmer
Owen Thomas, found it impossible to back him. This did
not suit His Nibs at all, and he was in despair, until one fine
day a neighbouring butcher, David Morgan by name, having
attended a sale at The Barbican, brought home a puppy
which he registered as Dazzling Magic. In order to test
the quality of his purchase, he fixed up with Thomas for a
secret trial with Old Tuppenny. This came off all right, and
" Jack was (found to be) as good as his master " — if not a
bit better. Whereupon the two worthy owners put their
heads together and mapped out a very pretty ramp to spring
upon the innocent pencillers and guileless public at a handy
meeting that was on the tapis. To reach this there was a
short railway journey, and when " The Day " arrived the two
dogs were placed in the van, in charge of the guard, one Sid
Richards, who, unbeknown to the confederates, had more

A Sportsman at Large 173

than a little knowledge of the ancient sport of coursing. Just
before the train started Messrs. Thomas and Morgan entered
the van and produced a sumptuous repast of liver and suet
pudding for the " benefit " of the old dog, who, having been
kept on short commons for twenty-four hours, " wolfed " the
lot voraciously, whilst young Dazzling Magic looked on,
slavering at the lips and licking his chops enviously ! Then
the two cronies left their precious ones with the guard and
retreated to their " third smoker."

All went well until the card was called over for " long odds "
on the Cup. As usual the public froze on to their undefeated
favourite, Old Tuppenny, but only in silver and an occasional
sovereign. Messrs. Thomas and Morgan sat tight, and when
the name of Dazzling Magic was called they made no sign.
He was on offer at 30 to i. There were no takers ! Suddenly
the guard of the train (who had an afternoon off) butted in
and offered fifty sovereigns to one against the puppy. The
confederates stared at him in undisguised surprise, but
snapped up the bet. Immediately the price shortened again
to 30 to i. A certain commissioner then got busy and took
£300 to £10, followed by £250 to £10 ; whereupon " the book "
dried up, and 5 to i was the best offer. Morgan, just for
appearances' sake, took five fivers Dazzling Magic. If subse-
quently Messrs. Thomas and Morgan could have been seen
totting up with their agent, the public might have been
enlightened, but the checking of bets was carried out in strict
seclusion, and there was still plenty of the public's money for
its old favourite.

Now as luck would have it, Old Tuppenny and Dazzling
Magic were drawn together. They were slipped to a stout
hare ; but to the dismay of their owners — jointly and severally
—the first-named stretched out with a good lead and reached
his hare quite three lengths in front. Coming well round with
" puss," he ran his course in his very best form, and ended it
with a smart kill. The puppy never had a look in, and pulled
up in a state of dire distress.

Messrs. Thomas and Morgan were thunderstruck and hope-
lessly disgruntled. What on earth had happened to upset
their nefarious plans ? They chanced across Sid Richards.

174 A Sportsman at Large

" Look you, Richards," said Thomas. " Whatfor inteed
tid you lay against Morgan's puppy whateffer ? "

r< Well, you see, it was this way, Mr. Thomas. After you
had fed the old 'un and left the van, seemin'ly the motion of
the train made him kind o' sea-sick, in a way o' speakin'.
Anyway, he vomited somethin' crool, and the young 'un,
after the manner o' dawgs, ate it up ! "

" Inteed and to Hell with you ! " shouted the enraged
Thomas. " Surely to gootness you should have told us, and
why for not, look you ? "

" Well, I thought as how you'd get the wind up and likely
give me a thick ear ! Besides, I'd made up my mind to back
Old Tuppenny, and thought you might be moved to give him
his tea ! seein' as how his dinner had disagreed with him ! "

Thus were the rampers ramped ! The names I have used,
including those of the greyhounds are, of course, fictitious,
but the facts are on record.

I think that the fastest greyhound (with the exception of
the ill-fated puppy Heavy Cavalry) I ever owned, but not
the best, was the bk. and w. d. Handley Cross, whom I
mentioned as having won me my second South of England
Challenge Cup. He filled my nomination in the Gosforth
Gold Cup, and was very unlucky not to have lifted it. He
survived until the semi-finals, when he fell foul of Young
Fuller ton, an own brother (but of a later litter) to the
wonderful quadruple Waterloo hero.* This Young Fullerton,
like his celebrated brother, was a big brindle, and had great
speed.

It was a stirring race to the hare between him and my
representative ; the latter seemed to get the all-important
turn on a strong outside. He was on the white collar, and
after a closely-contested course, everyone expected the
colourless signal to go up, but, much to general surprise, the
red flag was hoisted.

It is quite true to say that the judge is the only one so
placed as to be able to give a correct verdict in a give-and-
take spin between greyhounds. At any rate, his opinion is
the only one worth a tinker's curse when it comes to settling !

* Col. North's bd. d. Fullerton.

A Sportsman at Large 175

On this occasion the man in scarlet, no doubt, saw things
which were not obvious to hoi polloi.

But the most brilliant greyhound that I was responsible
for was Dark Crystal, a bd. b. p. by Father Flint (winner
of the Waterloo Cup), out of my own distinguished bitch
True Token. She was a big and very handsome speci-
men of a " longtail," favouring her dam very markedly in
looks. True Token herself had twice won for me the All-
aged Stakes at the Newmarket Champion Meeting, and had
also carried off the Peterborough Cup. She had an enormous
stride, and in deep going she would lead anything ; more-
over, she could stay for ever ; but she had one fatal fault
which prevented her attaining the highest honours of the
Leash — she was the worst killer I ever remember to have
seen. In fact, as far as my own knowledge goes, she never
effected a kill. The consequence was that, when pitted
against a greyhound of speed, she was subjected to very
punishing courses, and if the hare stood up long enough
before making her escape, True Token would be run to a
standstill and would thus be rendered incapable of raising
a gallop next round.

Not only was she a power to be reckoned with in the field,
but she was nigh perfection as regards show points. Practi-
cally she was never beaten on the bench, and soon became
entitled to a Kennel Club Championship ; though on one
occasion (at Cruft's) she was placed second to a bitch which
just previously had been sold to the exhibitor by the judge !
De mortuis nil nisi bonum ; but the deduction or the faultiness
of the judgment was obvious to the cognoscenti (blessed
word !).

Jenny, for that was True Token's kennel name, was an
amiable creature enough, except as regards the feline per-
suasion. She was death on cats, and if she was a failure
at picking up a hare, the same complaint could not be levelled
against her where grimalkin was concerned. When she
got out of hand and gave chase, she would sweep poor pussy
up and perform a sort of pyrotechnic catherine-wheel with
her, so that by the time you reached the scene of tragedy
there would be nothing but fur, blood and bones to be col-

176 A Sportsman at Large

lected. I am fond of cats, as of nearly all animals; conse-
quently I did all I could to cure Jenny of this murderous
habit, but whenever opportunity arose she would defy and
outwit me.

To return to her daughter Dark Crystal. Her brief but
brilliant career commenced during what I may call the third
era of my coursing enterprises. This was some time after
my days as M.F.H. I was then a dweller in London, and
had to be content to make sundry sporting excursions, taking,
on short leases, furnished houses with shootings and fishings
attached, as the seasons came round. My greyhounds were
trained at that period by Harry Hoad, at Southminster.
There I secured a pretty little cottage, where I and my family
could spend a pleasant week-end and enjoy training operations.
Harry Hoad, a master of his craft, had been private trainer
to my friend the late Mr. H. T. Michels, by whose courtesy
my string was added to the establishment.

My eldest son, Raymond (who came to a tragic end), and
my youngest, Lionel (who was at Salonika, in the M.G.C.,
during the war), were not greatly interested in coursing;
but the middle one, Denis (late R.A.F.), whom novel readers
may know under pseudonym D. H. Denis, was as keen as
mustard at the fascinating sport. He was, at the time, a
mere lad at an engineering college. Dark Crystal was regis-
tered in his name and ran as his property.

Her first appearance as a puppy was at Peterborough,
where she won two courses in such brilliant fashion that I
withdrew her with a view to the forthcoming Newmarket
Champion Puppy Stakes, wherein — after slamming her first
two opponents — she came across a greatly fancied candidate
belonging to the Earl of Sefton. I was given to understand
that his lordship had backed this one very heavily. Dark
Crystal certainly led to the hare, and then, after an exchange
or two, in which her opponent had rather the best of it, the
hare took them out of sight of the crowd ; but to my delight
the flag steward came back with the red signal fluttering. Dark
Crystal was on the red ! Lord Sefton seemed much upset, but
Mr. Brice, the judge, explained that, in the latter phases of
the course, our bitch had outstayed and out-pointed her rival.

A Sportsman at Large 177

If I was a bugbear to my afterwards friend, Sir James
(" Jimmy ") Duke on the racecourse, I certainly occupied
that unenviable position in the eyes of the overlord of the
Altcar Flats ;* for this was not the first time his lordship's
cherished apple-cart had been upset by one of my " uncon-
sidered trifles " in the way of greyhounds.

Thereby hangs a tale which I have anticipated, but to
which I will refer in detail later on.

Dark Crystal won her next course very easily (and thus
was left in the last four) ; but to my horror, before she could
be picked up, she got on to a fresh hare and went out of sight !
Harry was hot on her trail, but when at last he returned with
the bitch, he had a very long face, which was only too readily
accounted for when he told me the tragic fact that, though
Dark Crystal had killed the fresh hare, she was on to a third
before he could lay hands on her, and that this one had run
her to a complete standstill. I had hopes that a night's
rest and Harry's unremitting ministrations would enable our
puppy to go to the slips next morning in tolerable shape;
but when I met the trainer on the ground he shook his
head sadly.

" I am afraid the bitch cannot run, sir ; she could not get
off her bench this morning. Shocking bad luck ! "

" What is to be done ? " I asked miserably.

" Well, sir, if I were you I'd see the others and try to arrange
a division among four. They know what happened last night
and will require ' sweetening/ '

Now the rules of coursing permit of an owner, whose
nomination has been placed hors de combat, giving a monetary
advantage to the more fortunate owners of the other sur-
vivors, in order to bring about a division of stakes and bets.
So I did not hesitate to set about the task. Mr. (afterwards
Sir) John Humphrey readily agreed to a division should
he win (as he was practically certain to do) his semi-final.
Dark Crystal was due to meet a puppy of Sir R. W. B.
Jardine's. I discovered that the baronet had gone home,
leaving his trainer, Beattie, with carte blanche and jull
authority to settle. I asked the latter if he would divide,

* The Earl of Sefton.

13

178 A Sportsman at Large

frankly telling him that Dark Crystal was not fit to run ;
but that-, being anxious that my son should have the honour
and glory of owning a divider of such an important event as
the Champion Puppy Stakes, I should welcome an " arrange-
ment." But the cannie Scot was dead against sacrificing
such an obvious advantage as he held. I then offered him,
as accredited agent oj his master (and not as a personal bribe,
as he subsequently declared), twenty-five pounds to agree to
a division among three, if Humphrey's dog won his course.
He said he could not agree without communicating with Sir
Robert, which of course was an impossibility. Well, there
was nothing to be done but to withdraw our bitch from the
Stake, and this was reluctantly effected.

Shortly afterwards I received a notice from the National
Coursing Committee to attend a meeting at Liverpool, on the
day of the draw for the Waterloo Cup, to explain my
manoeuvres. At first this did not disturb my equanimity
in the least. I was perfectly clear in my own conscience, and
felt adequately protected by the N.C.C. rules ; but I was
warned that certain members of the committee were dead
keen on " putting it across," and " outing " me ; that the
complainant was none other than the Earl of Sefton, and that
there were others (on whose questionable operations I had
commented — on a certain occasion during a competition
for the Blue Ribbon) who were on the war path. My friends
— and I am glad to say I had many among the noble army
of coursers — set about a counter-attack (of which I knew
nothing) with such good results that in addition to its British
contingent, a powerful bunch of sportsmen representing
Irish Clubs crossed the Channel for the purpose of seeing
justice and right triumph.

Now, as the issue was one of vital importance to me, and
as I had been warned, as stated, of the cabal that was being
engineered for my undoing, I determined to take no risks ;
so I induced my good friend " Willie " (afterwards Sir Charles)
Mathews — who later became Director of Public Prosecutions
— to accompany me to Liverpool, with a view to the protection
of my name and interests as a sportsman and a gentleman.
The meeting of the N.C.C. Committee was held at the Ex-

A Sportsman at Large 179

change Hotel, the Duke of Leeds being in the Chair. There
were present all the leading lights of the coursing world,
with the exception, strange to say, of Lord Sefton, who, so
I was given to understand, was the attacker of my honour.

It was decided that Mathews could not be admitted, either
in a legal or a lay capacity ; so I had to conduct my own
defence. The noble chairman was courtesy itself, and
motioned me to a chair on his left hand. I was prepared for
Beattie giving a garbled account of the transaction, and I
was not disappointed. Lord Sefton's trainer, too, made
himself objectionable, though he owed me a small debt of
gratitude.* Sir Robert Jardine himself was non-committal,
but Humphrey, Hoad and others cleared the atmosphere,
whilst the Hibernian contingent was alert for " wigs on the
green." I was asked to withdraw, but was not kept long in
suspense.

On my return His Grace of Leeds announced that the
finding of the Committee was, that I had had no intention of
contravening the rules of coursing, or of acting in any way
dishonourably ; but that I had been very indiscreet.

Now this decision has caused me ceaseless annoyance ;
because I fail to see where the " indiscretion " comes in ;
for I was only pursuing a very ordinary practice, and one
entirely in conformity with the rules of the N.C.C. Had the
Committee decided that I had, in fact, offered Beattie a
personal bribe, behind his employer's back, it would have
been a different pair of shoes altogether, and I should have
richly deserved " warning off ; " but evidently they jetti-
soned any such idea, which left me with a perfectly clean
sheet. Then why " very indiscreet ? "

' Willie " Mathew's journey to Liverpool was abortive,
but methinks his presence outside the door wras of decided
moral value to my cause.

So the storm in a teacup subsided, and I went to the draw
in fairly good heart. By the time the calling of the card was
commenced, the hearty congratulations of my numerous
friends and an excellent banquet quite restored me to my
normal humour.

* See p. 184.

12*

180 A Sportsman at Large

During the time Harry Hoad was training my greyhounds
at Southminster, Michels had a very useful string ; among
them the little bk. b. p. Minchmuir, whose kennel name was
Juliet. We two owners had no kennel secrets between us, and
acted as if all the inmates of the establishment were common
to us both. Another very fast puppy was Dark Cloth (Weasel) ,
registered (like the ill-fated Dark Crystal) in the name of
my son Denis ; but this one, a w. and bd. d. p., was not pos-
sessed of great stamina, and was more adapted to "The
Enclosures " than to legitimate coursing. Minchmuir won a
splendid Waterloo trial, and we all had great faith in her
ability to make a show in the great event, in which she filled
her owner's nomination. When the card was called over, she
was on offer at 40 to i, at which price we backed her to win
some six thousand pounds, and split the bets pro rata. And a
right royal run we had for our money too ! She worked her
way into the semi-finals in faultless fashion, then to our great
delight she led and well beat her next opponent ; but alas,
that bugbear of coursing owners and trainers, a fresh hare, in-
tervened, and away went Juliet, right up The Withens and
over the bank on to a stiff plough. By the time she was
picked up, she was baked to a frazzle, and only twenty minutes
to go before she was due in the slips to contest the final ! What
cruel, what exasperating luck again !

Everything that expert knowledge, skill and experience
were able to do was put into practice, and all we could hope for
was a deus e% machina — a miracle of luck to discount the
crushing handicap ! The other finalist was Mr. Herbert's*
f. d. p. Homfray, no doubt a useful, but by no means a
brilliant customer, and an uncommonly lucky one to get
where he was.

As might be expected, Minchmuir came stiffly from the
slips ; but the fawn only led a length at the turn, and not
coming round particularly smoothly, led up our little bitch,
who nicked in and drove her hare for a meritorious turn,
wrenched twice, and then made a desperate effort to kill.
Had she done so, her name would have been added to the list
of Waterloo Cup Champions. As it was, she " flecked " her

* Nom de chasse.

A Sportsman at Large 181

hare, but could not pick it up ! This caused a serious stumble,
which gave Homfray (who had got off very lightly in all his
courses) a chance of which he promptly took advantage.
Poor Juliet's bolt was shot ! Exhausted nature gave out ; she
did not score another point !

When the fiasco in the semi-final occurred, we were wise
enough to hedge, and were able to do so by laying off at 2 to i,
since Homfray was not considered of much account. Indeed,
it is probable that he was the worst dog that ever won the
Blue Ribbon of the Leash. It was most distressing to all of us
to be so near to, and yet so far from, gaining the coveted prize.

But if Homfray was the worst dog that ever annexed the
Cup, he was not the worst that ever ran in it, believe me ! No !
That distinction rests with a creature of my own.

This was at a much earlier date, viz., in my salad days as a
courser. I was at that time busy hunting my fox-hounds, but
I did not like the idea of returning my nomination. There
was a sale of greyhounds at The Barbican a few weeks before
the Cup ; so seeing in the catalogue a bk. d. (own brother,
same litter, to Fullerton) I sent a commission to buy him,
thinking that any greyhound by Greentick — Bit of Fashion,
if fit and sound, must be capable of giving a good account of
itself. As it happened, I had nothing capable of trying my
new purchase, so he ran " dark." I forget what his original
name was, but I re-registered him Hi Cockalorum. I
am glad to say I was not at the meeting, for the brute was
led a dozen lengths in the first round of the Cup and never
scored a point or indeed got anywhere near the hare. The
same fate awaited him in " The Purse." I had to submit to
any amount of chaff ; whilst the Sporting Press " told me off "
for insulting the sport of coursing by entering such a beast in
the Dog Derby !

Well, I think it served me right. I ought to have made
myself acquainted with Hi Cockalorum's real quality (or
rather, want of it) before sending him to Altcar.

As long as Hoad was at Southminster, he and friend Michels
were the victims of tantalizing luck. The year following the
Minchmuir tragedy, the latter's brother in blood, the bk. d. p.
Mandini, ran into the last four, and on the next occasion

182 A Sportsman at Large

the bk. b. p. Mirko, another of the family, occupied a like
position. But after the untimely death of poor Harry Michels,
Hoad became private trainer to Mr. (afterwards Sir) Edward
Hulton, and signalized his appointment by winning the Blue
Ribbon with Hallow Eve.

When Dark Cloth first ran in the Waterloo Cup, he was just
beaten in the first round (on The Withens) , but put up a good
show in" The Purse " on The Lydiate, only to succumb in the
semi-finals on the first-named flat. This performance he
exactly repeated the following year.

Thus his Waterloo score stood :

Withens : 2 defeats — no wins.

Lydiate : 4 wins — no defeats.

Talk about " Horses for courses," I think " Greyhounds for
Grounds " is an equally apposite saying ! I have noted many
such coincidences.

Again I have defied chronology and have anticipated.
I must now go back to my " second era " as a courser.

I had been out of the hunt for several years, but had a
yearning to come back. I was at that time established at
Cassio Bridge, near Watford, where I had a large assortment of
dogs, but nothing in the hound line except an aged bloodhound
called Prim, whose office it was to mount sentry over the lares
et penates at night ; for which duty she exacted pay in the
shape of raw hens' and ducks' eggs which she abstracted from
the nests and devoured wholesale.

I had there a dozen of my noted flat-coated retrievers, a
grand team of cocker spaniels (mostly black) and an equally
beautiful bunch of clumbers, plus various terriers, a bulldog
(alleged), a pug or two and other odds and ends.

CHAPTER XVII

I HAPPENED to run across a great coursing character, one
Sam Deacon, whose personal appearance was ponderous
and impressive ; for he presented a fine understudy of the
Tichborne Claimant, Arthur Orton. Now Sam was an ex-
cellent judge of a greyhound, and when he told me that Mr.
Dunmore was selling his string, and that a litter of first season
runners was to be had, such as would surely produce several
high- class winners, I began to sit up, and finally commissioned
him to buy for me. He secured two bitches, Dear Ada and
Dear Lucy. The latter was useful ; but it was the former
who turned out one of the very best of her age and size. I
re-registered her Handy Cat — a very appropriate name.
She was only a little bit of a thing, about forty-two pounds
weight, but she had fair speed, and once on the scut her nose
remained there (let puss twist and turn and jerk as she would)
until she could use her teeth, in which important particular
she was most proficient.

Sometimes she would be led in the early stages of a stake ;
but let her opponent make the slightest mistake, and she had
him beat in a twinkling. As a contest progressed, and when
the surviving dogs began to lose some of their speed, Handy
Cat retained hers ; so would, in the final stages, both lead and
outwork the other greyhounds.

This happened in The Barbican Cup. I had backed her at
£200 to £6, but gave nearly all my bets away to relations and
friends. The dog left in for the final with my representative
was the speedy Mister O'Shea, belonging to Lord Sefton,
who, however, wras not present. Unfortunately, in the semi-
finals, this dog was so hard run that he collapsed. The Earl's
trainer (known as " Weasel ") could not get him round to go

184 A Sportsman at Large

to slips ; so he came to me asking for a division — I to take the
Cup. Now, although I was keen on winning this handsome
trophy outright, I would have agreed to this, in a spirit of
sportsmanship and sympathy ; but a friend, who had half my
bet, and had taken another £200 to £6 " on his own," inter-
vened and implored me to claim stakes, as he had, he said,
hedged, and if a division were agreed on, he not only would
have lost a certain three hundred pounds, but his hedging money
would have equalled the sum due to him on the " dead heat."
What could I do but refuse the division officially ; so that
Handy Cat might be declared the absolute winner, and thus land
the money of her backers ; for there were many others besides
the friend mentioned who had supported her on my recom-
mendation ? There was no other course open to me ; but I
wrote to Lord Sefton explaining the circumstances and asking
him if he would allow me to present his trainer with a
solatium ?

The answer was in the affirmative, and " Weasel " called
on me at my London flat to receive the douceur ; but it would
appear that the outcome of the affair rankled in the minds of
both master and man.*

I forgot to mention that during this era of my coursing
career my string was trained by Alf Reynolds, of Pewsey, on
the Wiltshire downs. Reynolds was a right down good fellow
and a clever and painstaking trainer. My " kennel com-
panion " was in this instance Squire Alexander, a great sports-
man, and, like myself, keen on anything to do with horses,
hounds and dogs. He it was who so unexpectedly won the
Ascot Cup in 1904 with Throwaway. He was also the hero of
an amusing match at the Bibury Cup Meeting between one of
his own gees and one of " The Mate's " (Sir John Astley)f —
Owners Up ! As the weight of the two sportsmen, in the
aggregate, was about equal to two sacks of flour and a cartload
of bricks, sympathy for their unfortunate mounts was acute ;
but there was much hilarity over the set-to. I forget which
of the two was — second !

* See account of N.C.C. inquiry, pp. 178 and 179.

t By an unfortunate slip, alluded to in " Chasing and Racing " as Sir George
Astley.

A Sportsman at Large 185

When another hiatus in the continuity of my coursing
occurred I sold Handy Cat to Squire Alexander, and it was
whilst representing him in the Eversleigh Cup that she met
with a tragic but painless end. I was not present, but Alf
Reynolds gave me the details. It seems that the little red
bitch had won her first two courses in her own inimitable style,
and in the semi-finals had monopolized the hare until puss got
on to, and ran up, a rough cart track intersected by deep ruts.
Handy Cat made a determined stroke to kill, and in so doing
her jaws caught in one of these ruts. The impetus and impact
being so dynamic that she turned head over heels and lay dead
with a broken neck ! A strange and most unfortunate ac-
cident.* She was to have filled her owner's nomination in The
Waterloo Cup, where, had she had the luck to escape the
" swallow catchers " in the early rounds, she might well have
triumphed, as have Coomassie and other little ones of her
calibre ; but it was not to be. Blue Ribbon apart, her value
as a brood bitch would assuredly have been inestimable.

It was some time later, when after an interval I had returned
to the sport, that Sam Deacon told me of some very useful
greyhounds in Lincolnshire, bred by one Tom Creasey. It was
near the time for the Newmarket Champion Puppy Stakes,
and I had a mind to cut in and chance my luck ; so trusting to
big Sam's acumen, I told him to come to Creasey's terms and
to leave the puppies in that worthy's hands to be prepared, as
I was assured that his training methods had always met with
extraordinary success.

For some reason or other, I was unable to be present on the
first day ; but on arriving at the " Rutland Arms " in the
evening I was met by Sam with the encouraging news that
each of my puppies had won their respective spins and that
True Token had been equally successful in the All Aged Stakes.
I was curious to see my new purchases, both w. and bd. b's.,
who were by Corby Castle (a local celebrity) ex Climbing Nell,
who came of a hardy Lincolnshire strain.

My eyes rested on two very fine specimens, possessed of
size, bone and substance, and showing really remarkable

* Recently Sir George Noble, in writing to me, mentioned a similar fatal
accident to a valuable greyhound of his.

186 A Sportsman at Large

muscular development. I suppose I acted as a Hoo-doo to
my own luck, for both were beaten next time they went to
slips, though they were by no means disgraced ; in fact, the
bigger one, whom I had registered as High Crawler (as
indicating her dam), was very unluckily knocked out. The
other High Creeper, unfortunately lamed herself badly. As
a measure of compensation, True Token performed brilliantly
and divided the All Aged Stakes.

High Crawler did not run again until The Waterloo Gup,
wherein she represented me. In the first ties on the Hill
House flat she easily beat a dog which I knew to be a very
smart one and which was considered by its connections to be
trained to the minute and absolutely fit.

My bitch had been quoted at the long odds of 1,000 to 3,
which I took twice, but her first course had not been carefully
studied ; consequently when she went to the slips on The
Withens for her second trial 7 to 2 was betted against her.
A sudden inspiration to plunge seized me, and I snapped up
£70 to £20 several times and then £300 to £100 ; operations
altogether on a far bigger scale than it was my custom to
exploit. Consequently I suffered the pangs of " the needle "
whilst the slipper awaited a favourable opportunity to run
out.

But I was soon on good terms with myself, for High Crawler
led well, and spun round her opponent, who had no chance
with a short running hare. My puppy ended an exceedingly
smart course with a clever kill.

This left her in the last sixteen. The next day she went
to slips with China Craze, a very remarkable second season
bitch, who, if not actually unbeaten when she came to Altcar,
at any rate had run up an extraordinary sequence of courses
won. At that time there was a nasty " grip," or filled-in ditch,
in the middle of The Lydiate, just where the greyhounds were
likely to reach the hare. Loud and deep had been the com-
plaints of owners and trainers, but it was not until some
years later that the trouble was effectually dealt with. On the
present occasion it proved the undoing of High Crawler. It
was a grand race to the hare. The bitches were almost neck
and neck, but, nearing the fatal grip, mine was showing her

A Sportsman at Large 187

head in front ; she literally " put her foot in it," and pitched
slightly. This enabled China Craze to score the turn (by the
narrowest of margins), and the next. Then High Crawler
dashed in and killed to lose !

This law is one which sorely puzzles the neophyte or " the
layman." " How," say they, " can a greyhound kill to
lose ? Is it not his (or her) business to kill at the first op-
portunity ? "

Undoubtedly it is, and this is the one foul blot on the fair
sport of coursing. Unfortunately there is no remedy ! All
sorts of suggestions have been made, but not one that is
practicable. There it is ! You cannot tell your " longtail "
to abstain from bowling over his hare until he holds a winning
balance ! On the other hand, suppose a dog leads his op-
ponent two or three lengths, scores again, and then turns puss
into the jaws of the other. It would be cruel luck on the
vastly superior dog if the spin were accounted an " undecided " !
No ! the issue must remain an example of the fortune of war
and a matter of luck ! They say that all sports are rendered
more piquant by the condiment of chance.

As China Craze was beaten next round by one of the cracks,
I have no reason to suppose that I should have lifted The
Cup, even if High Crawler had met with better luck than that
which befell her in the third round.

A Waterloo Cup winner in which I was greatly interested
from a personal, as well as a financial, point of view was
Pistol II., who triumphed in 1905. I and my son Denis were
hobnobbing with the owner (" Billy " Pawson), at The Banquet,
and when the card was called over we had been so impressed
with the dog's chance, as disclosed by Billy, that we backed
Pistol II. heartily, both at long odds (40 to I if I remember
rightly) and for the first ties. How he ran through the
stake is a matter of history.

One of my earliest nominations in the Waterloo Cup was a
bd. d. p. called Cagliostro, whom I owned in partnership
with my friend, Sir William Ingram, of Illustrated London News
fame, whose brother \Valter had been my subaltern in the
Duke of Cambridge's Hussars. This was the best bred grey-
hound " as ever was," being by Greentick— Miss Glendyne

188 A Sportsman at Large

(the dual winner of " The Blue Ribbon "), who was herself own
sister to Bit of Fashion,* the dam of the mighty Fullerton.
But Cagliostro, though a likely-looking dog, and one that could
go a bit, was not up to Waterloo form. He was beaten in the
first ties and only survived one round in " The Purse."

I forget what became of him, but had he been afforded a
chance at the stud his wonderful breeding, size and good looks
must have told, and yet his name does not appear in any
tabulated pedigree that I have scanned.

My last appearance (having a candidate in my charge)
at Altcar was in 1914, when The Cup was won by Dilwyn,
a little fawn bitch of the Handy Cat type, belonging to my
good friends, the brothers Dennis. As my own son Denis and
I were partakers of their lavish and much appreciated hospi-
tality throughout the meeting, we could almost claim a
personal interest in the triumph of the bonnie and clever
little bitch.

Our own runner on that occasion was the bd. d. p. Dark
Cavalier, a handsome youngster who had distinguished
himself at Southminster. We had some hopes that he would
make a really good show ; and though he went down in the
first ties of The Cup and also of " The Purse," he was by no
means disgraced, for in each case he was beaten by a narrow
margin only.

When discussing, and when asked what, in my opinion,
was the best horse I had ever seen run, I have hesitated as
between St. Simon and Ormonde.

There are still living those who, when it comes to greyhounds,
are in equal doubt as between the great little Master McGrath
and the mighty Fullerton. I am not one of these ; for the
amply sufficient reason that I never had the good fortune to
set eyes on Lord Lurgan's wonder. But I was a witness of all
Fullerton's Waterloo triumphs, and have no hesitation in
placing him in the top notch. With Colonel North out of the
way, I should have been his happy owner. Before he ever
ran, he was submitted to auction under good Mr. Stollery's

* Bit of Fashion divided The Waterloo Cup with Miss Glendyne in 1887.
I had the honour of running her in my nomination when she made a good
show in " The Plate."

A Sportsman at Large 189

hammer at The Barbican. Something more than a rumour
had reached my ears as to the puppy's superlative merit ;
but having bid up to " a monkey " (five hundred pounds), and
seeing that the bluff but hearty Colonel was set on having
Fullerton at any price, I cried a go !

Edward Dent, who knew more about greyhounds and
coursing than anyone of his time, and who had the training
of the big brindle, told me some tall stories of trials in which
the youngster had taken part ; though there was an occasion
when, so he said, Fullerton had been fairly and squarely beaten
by his " aunt," the incomparable Miss Glendyne. This was
coincidental with the tale of John Porter regarding the defeat
of Ormonde by Kendal in a trial, just before the former won
the Dewhurst Plate.

The history of Fullerton has been told over and over again ;
but as a friend and guest of North's, I took the dog to my heart
fiom the first, supported him religiously, and associated
myself as keenly with his exploits almost as if he had been my
own property. What a nerve I

So I will jot down a few facts from my own point of view.

In 1889 Fullerton, as a puppy, divided The Cup with his
kennel companion Troughend. Had the final been run off,
it would have been all Lombard Street to a Seville orange
on the brindle.

In 1890 he won outright.

In 1891 ditto.

In 1892 ditto.

Then, in 1893, the stupid mistake was made of running him
as a fifth season dog, with a result fully foreseen and expected
by all knowledgeable coursing men ! Poor Fullerton !

Strange to say, this mighty champion was incapable of
propagating his race ; but his brothers, Young Fullerton,
and Simonian " carried on " with fairly satisfactory results.

Curiously enough, it was the latter, a black dog with a
fine turn of speed and no " slouch " at the game, who was
within an ace of bringing about the downfall of Fullerton,
on the occasion of the latter's third essay for Cup honours.
The two came against one another during the contest, and
were slipped to an indifferent hare. Simonian had the inside.

190 A Sportsman at Large

I was well placed to see the run up and can vouch for it that
" the black " just got the turn by favour. Then Fullerton
was in for a couple, and turned the hare to his brother, who
wrenched, but, by a supreme effort, Fullerton took puss
away and put in one, two, three, before placing the hare for
Simonian* to score a kill of no merit.

It was only the brindle's brilliant cleverness that averted
defeat. A turn of luck the wrong way and it would have
been " all U.P." with the favourite !

Every other course I saw Fullerton run he won with con-
summate ease. He had such a stride that he could lead from
the slips, or give the " go-by " to any living longtail and
paralyse the stoutest of hares. He seemed to tower over them,
and, as it were, peg them down, so that he completely dominated
their movements, and thus rendered their wiliest tactics abor-
tive. This style of running does not make killing a matter
of course, or, for the matter of that, by any means an easy job.
In his earlier days, Colonel North's paragon was not over
brilliant or successful in bringing his teeth into play ; though
latterly he showed great improvement in this respect. Any-
way, it made no difference, for he never gave his opponent the
opportunity to butt in and take advantage of the weak-
ness.

After Fullerton had retired from active service, he was kept
on show at Colonel North's mansion. One day he disappeared
and nothing was heard of him for some weeks. Large rewards
were offered, and at last the poor old fellow was recovered ;
but he was all to pieces and a mere shade of his once beautiful
self. He never quite recovered and soon passed in his checks.
His remains were sent to the taxidermist, and, when the effigy
was complete, it was set up in the Natural History Museum
at South Kensington, where it may be seen any day. But, oh !
what a caricature it presents of one of the handsomest, and
assuredly the best greyhound that ever went to slips — in my
day.

The office of the coursing judge is by no means a sinecure.

For the purpose, a man need be equipped, not only with
an intimate and exact knowledge of the rules which govern the

* Simonian had some consolation in the winning of the Waterloo Plate.

A Sportsman at Large 101

sport from a running point of view, but he must also possess an
eye which takes in every detail of a course and instantaneously
conveys its message to the brain, which, in turn, must be so
alert that it can appraise the points which are being scored
and tot them up with such exactitude that, at any given
moment, the judge can at once determine which of the com-
petitors is entitled to the raising of the flag in its favour.

The critical faculty must be in excelsis, and its arithmetical
calculation absolutely accurate. Our judge must have the
courage of his convictions. Once his decision is given he must
abide by it, though he should be ever ready to explain the
why and wherefore thereof. He must be virile, alert, and a
good horseman, with untiring physical and moral energy.

It is not often that a judge is called upon to deal with
his own greyhounds when pitted against those of other owners.
And yet such was the anomalous and rather embarrassing
position which was, on one occasion, forced upon me.

Not infrequently I have acted in the judicial capacity
during my coursing days ; but never before or since under
such curious circumstances.

It was at Wye, in the bad old days of enclosed coursing.
There were several " sapling " stakes in addition to the usual
" all aged " and " puppy " affairs.

Being desirous of obtaining a fair trial for my youngsters
and of accustoming them to the amenities of a public meeting,
I had entered a greyhound in every event. The late Mr.
Brice — at that time facile princeps among coursing judges of
his day, and a universally and deservedly popular one — was
scheduled to officiate ; but, as bad luck would have it, for some
reason or other, he failed to put in an appearance.

What was to be done ?

The committee had a brain-wave.

The writer was approached and asked to take up the onerous
and responsible duty.

" But," said I, " I have a dog in every stake — I am particu-
larly anxious to run them ! "

" And why not ? " asked the spokesman of the deputation
innocently.

" Why not ? " repeated I. " Surely to goodness you don't

192 A Sportsman at Large

expect me to run my dogs and to act as judge as well ? Good
Lord, what next ? "

A chorus broke out.

' That'll be all right, Captain — we all know you and trust
you ! "

" Carry on, sir. If you can't judge your own dogs, whose
can you judge ? "

And so on and so forth.

Well, I did actually judge, and not one of my decisions
was called into question ; but I did not feel at all happy.

As it happened, in every case my own representatives either
won easily and obviously, or were easily and obviously beaten.

Had it been otherwise, and had the issue in any particular
case been a near thing, I should have been tempted to give the
other fellow's dog the verdict, even if I had had it in the back
of my head that my own greyhound had a point or two to the
good.

A sign and token of want of moral courage no doubt, and
one which might have inflicted a distinct injustice upon all and
sundry (if any) who had backed my representative ; but
such is my nature, which is essentially of the human
quality.

Anyhow, everyone seemed quite pleased and content with
the show, so why trouble about " what might have been " ?

At a small meeting where I donned the pink, two black
dogs went to the slips for the principal event. Of course, one
wore a white colour and the other a red. The latter led three
lengths and gave his opponent no quarter, winning with an
overwhelming balance in hand.

I pulled the red handkerchief out of my pocket and signalled
to the flag steward, who immediately raised the corresponding
bunting.

A hefty and explosive personality, who seemed on the verge
of apoplexy, induced by boiling and uncontrollable wrath,
rushed up and thus addressed me :

" Look here, you blankety-blank crook, call yourself a
judge. You're either a dead wrong 'un, or a live fool ; perhaps
you are both, you ! "

I was amazed !

A Sportsman at Large 193

" For the love of Mike, old sport, what have I done ? " I
asked meekly.

" What have you done, why you've given the course to

a dog what never scored a point in the whole

course ! "

(My irate friend used an identical adjective in each case.
The blanks can be filled in to taste.)

" On the contrary, the red did everything including the
kill. If your dog was on the white collar, my friend, he never
had a look in from first to last."

" The red," he shrieked. " The red. Why damn it all,
they told me you had given it to the white ! "

It seems that in his hurry and excitement, he had missed
the flag steward's signal, and then some wags had pulled
his leg and sent him hot foot to tell me his honest opinion
of my efforts in the judicial seat.

Of course his apologies were profuse and quite heart-rending.

" Parturiunt monies nascetur ridiculus mus I "

Already I have alluded to the enthusiasm for their favourite
sport which burns in the heart of practically every man or
woman, boy or girl, when once they have become conversant
with the intricacies of the great game. This is well illustrated
by the story of a certain field officer of high rank whose
command was on the French front during the Great War.
This gallant gentleman was an out-and-out lover of the leash,
and when he " became wise to " the fact that hares abounded
in his sector, his thoughts spanned the Channel and rested on
his kennels in Old Blighty. He began to yearn for a sight
of his well- trained and beloved " speed machines." He
visualized them pressing puss, of the Gallic variety ; but how
was it to be contrived ? The question of importing a couple
of brace of his longtails offered no difficulty to a man
of his resource and forceful authority ; but how was he to
get his favourites back to their native land when they had
served their purpose ? Quarantine ! Ah, there was the
rub!

Anyhow, he would chance it, even if he had to submit to
their becoming permanently nationalized to Fair France,
or if, unhappily, they should fall into the hands of the

13

194 A Sportsman at Large

Bosche, and be utilized for some synthetic production or
Ersatz comestible.

In due course the greyhounds arrived, all safe and sound,
and were soon busy delighting the hearts of a gay and en-
thusiastic throng of sporting warriors by their speed and
cleverness, and incidentally providing a welcome addition
to the menu of the Mess.

Came a time when the far spreading pinions of " Peace "
(What a sorry " Peace " it has proved !) intervened between
the devastating horrors of War and the fury of the outraged
gods.

Our sporting officer was for England, home and beauty.
No, he would not abandon his canine team. It had served
its purpose well, and each unit was doubly endeared to its
proud owner.

What was to be done ?

A brain-wave, worthy of the great strategist and tactician
that he was, saved the situation. His batman — who was
also a skilled kennelman, and who acted as slipper in con-
nection with the coursing enterprise toward (and some
slipper too !) — was the only living soul that was taken into the
confidence of his master. His name was Tim Mahoney (let
us say), from whence his nationality may be easily surmised.

The transport was at the quay side, and the happy lads were
embarking in hilarious mood.

Tim could be seen traversing the gangway " humping "
a plethoric kit-bag. Having deposited this in his master's
state room, he returned to terra fir ma, and retrieved a similar
burden, then a third, and finally a fourth.

Let us span time and drop in on our sportsman's spacious
and sumptuous kennels, the locality of which it would not be
discreet to indicate.

Lo and behold ! Here were the two couples of expeditionary
longtails, safe back in their own cushy quarters, and apparently
in the best of health and spirits. Not being Mahatmas, how
on earth were their corporeal beings transported from " over-
seas " without the intervention of a vigilant Customs service ?
It is no easy job to reduce four No. i full- sized and lively grey-
hounds to " nothingness ! "

A Sportsman at Large 195

But it was done ! And in this wise.

The dogs had been taken to a military shed near the port
of embarkation, where the conspirators proceeded to chloro-
form them. Each inanimate corpus was thrust into a specially
constructed kit-bag and taken aboard by Tim. They were
all revived in the officer's cabin, and when the chalk hills of
Old Blighty were near at hand, the anaesthetic was again
administered and the dogs were landed in the same fashion
as they had been embarked ; arrangements having been care-
fully made for their revival when they had been " cleared."
This was a clever bit of work ; but it was risky and hardly
moral. Risky, because dogs of all breeds are peculiarly
susceptible to chloroform and its kindred vapours. A large
percentage succumb, even when administration is by an
expert anaesthetist. Immoral, because the quarantine of
imported dogs is essential to the prevention of that most
terrible disease — rabies. There is little doubt but that the
outbreak which occurred in 1916, and which was not entirely
exorcised until 1922, was due to the wickedly selfish conduct
of certain air pilots, who evaded quarantine by using their
planes to bring into this country dogs collected in foreign
districts where rabies was at that time rampant.

13*

CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER effecting the capture of various inconsiderable
specimens of the Salar ilk in the United Kingdom and
Ireland, my soul was stirred by descriptions, verbal and
journalistic, of what was to be done in the Land of the Mid-
night Sun ; so I took the earliest opportunity available for a
personal and intimate investigation.

I fastened on one particular bit of fishing in Messrs. Lumley's
list as being quite to my taste, provided it came anywhere
near the description provided. This was Colonel Whitmore's
stretch of the Surendal river, yclept Harang, where the
fly, and the fly only, was de rigueur. I was placed in com-
munication with the gallant owner, and after a courteous and
pleasant correspondence, the lease of the water for June and
July was signed, sealed and delivered.

In due course I found myself with the C.O. and her brother,
my valet Bedford and his wife Flora (our cook), enjoying
the hospitality of the little Wilson liner Juno, en route for
Christiansund. I shall never forget my first sight of Aalsund,
and the inhalation of the indescribably delicious air of Norway.
From Christiansund we proceeded to our destination in a
launch, laden with stores provided at reasonable tariffs by
my agents, Messrs. Dahl Brothers.

After landing, we had a seven-mile journey in carioles and
stolkjerries, through a truly lovely country, until we arrived
at our Harang quarters — a charming lodge, replete with all
reasonable comforts. We were cordially welcomed by Peter
Olam, the water bailiff, and an amiable old Laverack setter
bitch called Belle. I forgot to mention that my C.O. had
insisted on bringing her (alleged) fox-terrier Billy along with
us. His presence she declared to be sine qua non. In order

196

A Sportsman at Large 197

to comply with the order, I had to submit to a most drastic
form of investigation and endless passport amenities, in
which the Norwegian Minister of the Interior, various veteri-
nary examiners, the British Consul, the officers of the Excise
and many others were involved ; for the Norwegian Govern-
ment, very wisely, takes every possible precaution to avoid
the possibility of that awful disease rabies establishing itself
in the country.

This Billy was the prototype of my lamented Cockie.
He had the same sultry and sulphuric temperament when
crossed or thwarted by anyone but his mistress or myself.
Whilst, like my never-to-be-forgotten favourite, he feared
nothing that sported fur, feather or fin ; for as regards the
last, he was apt to violently attack a struggling salmon
when it was being brought to the gaff.

This was embarrassing to all concerned, except himself ; so
after one such experience, Master Billy was " fired " from
further participation in the sport of angling, and had to con-
tent himself with the harrying of such vermin as he could
rout out, or unearth.

During our stay at Harang, I had a hunch to obtain a
clutch of " hoodie " crow nestlings for petting purposes ; so
I offered a reward of five kroners to any of the native youth
who would bring me the callow birds.

This resulted in a score of the little rascals, in various
stages of development, being, figuratively speaking, laid at
my feet.

Of course, it was out of the question that I should adopt
the whole consignment, so I selected a likely brace, paid the
venturesome lad who brought them, the agreed pieces of silver,
and dismissed the rest with a kroner each, as a sort of con-
solation prize.

I do not know what the ultimate fate of the eighteen
rejected fledglings was. It does not bear thinking about !

The chosen twain, however, waxed strong and vigorous ;
becoming so tame and amenable to human society that they
would follow me wherever I went, and by their amusing
antics and cute intelligence, soon endeared themselves to my
heart.

198 A Sportsman at Large

Now it is notorious that dogs share with mankind (which, of
course, includes womankind) the attacks of " the green-eyed
monster " in acute form.

From the first, Billy bitterly resented my attention to, and
affection for, these intrusive bantlings. On one occasion
he made a violent assault on them, and I was only just in time
to avert a sad tragedy. Of course, Billy was "for it," and
correction was administered to him — hard and good ! This
hearty castigation gave him cause for serious reflection, so,
for the time being, he regarded the interlopers with dignified
toleration ; though he refused anything like a response to
the friendly overtures which Lars and Ole (as the young
" hoodies " were called) persisted in making.

But all the time he was — as it turned out — harbouring
black thoughts in his canine brain, and thinking out a terrible
and satisfying revenge.

When I was busy with my flies on the river, my C.O. or
her brother were generally on sentry go over our lares and
penates ; but there came a fatal day when the homestead
was left temporarily untenanted ; for Bedford and Flora, his
wife, had sallied forth to obtain rations (other than salmon),
whilst the C.O. and her brother had strolled down to the
river, intent on witnessing my operations and joining me in
a picnic luncheon.

As they came up, I noticed that, for once in a way, the
terrier was not in attendance.

' Why, Where's Billy ? " I asked.

" Oh," replied she of my heart. " I thought he would be
in the way and interfere with your sport, Cockie dear."

" What did you do with him then ? "

" I just locked him up in the loft."

This from Marcus (the brother).

" Not with Lars and Ole, I hope ! " I inquired breath-
lessly.

" Oh, they're all right, Cockie, I fastened them up in
their cage — snug and safe."

Thus assured, I let the matter drop ; but I was haunted
by a persistent presentiment, all the time I was fishing ; so
after our frugal meal, I accompanied the others to the hits

A Sportsman at Large 199

and immediately hurried to the loft. Alas ! my fears were only
too well founded.

A dreadful sight met my eyes when I opened the door.
The whole place was a shambles — blood, bones, intestines and
feathers covered the floor ; whilst the cage that had held my
pets lay on one side, all bent, misshapen and properly " busted."
And there was the murderer — crouched in the corner, deep
dyed with the evidence of his crime : red of eyes and slavering
of lips, from which depended particles of crimson-besmirched
plumage !

Marcus, who had been following close behind, now joined
me.

" Look at that now ! " he exclaimed. ' There's a little
devil for you ! What are you going to do with him, Cockie ? "

" I can't think of anything bad enough," I replied.

A brain-wave struck me.

" I have it : we'll put him in the cage, tie a rope to it, and
roll it down the slope into the river. Then when the little
brute has had a good ducking, we will pull him out. If that
does not cure him of his murderous ways, I don't know
what will ! "

No sooner thought of than done.

Billy cringed and dragged himself along the floor of the
loft on his " tummy," with deprecating squirms; but I was
adamant, and Marcus soon had him incarcerated.

" Better not let her know," he said, inclining his head towards
the hits !

Marcus held his fair sister in wholesome respect.

Well, we carried out the edict thoroughly and sufficiently.
By the time we had finished with him, it was a very subdued
and shivering little terrier that followed us home with his
stump of a tail well tucked between his thighs.

Even so, my wrath had not entirely evaporated. I
reported the crime to my C.O., and told her that I was deter-
mined to put her favourite in Coventry for at least a week.

With all his faults, Billy loved me — as I think dogs only
can love ! He knew he had offended me grievously, and when
he found that I made no sort of response to his affectionate
overtures, and that I simply ignored him, he took it sorely

200 A Sportsman at Large

to heart, refused his food, and fell into a state of obvious
despondency.

At the end of the fifth day, when we were sitting down to
dinner, I felt one trembling paw on my knee. There was the
wretched Billy, with such a look of abject misery on his
upturned face that I began to relent.

' Cockie, dear," said the C.O. pleadingly, " do forgive
Billy, he has been punished enough. Ever since you gave
him the lemon eye, he has been eating his poor little heart
out. Look at him now ! Can you resist him ? "

I could not !

When I spoke to him and stroked his head, the unbounded
joy of that terrier was a treat to behold, and an object lesson
in canine psychology !

I started out on this section of my experiences with a view
to describing the sport which I enjoyed with the salmo genus
on the occasion of my first visit to Norway ; but I have
wandered, all too far, into a dissertation wherein dogs and
crows have usurped the space which should have been devoted
to fish and fishing.

So let us hark back to the evening when our cavalcade and
impedimenta arrived at Harang.

Leaving the rest of my entourage to unpack and put things
straight — a job which I simply loathe — I drew the cheery Peter
into conversation on the all-absorbing topic of sport. I
found that he was quite conversant with the English tongue ;
though he voiced it in a decidedly quaint way. He told me
that the river was now in excellent ply, and that there was a
good show of running fish.

It was then about n p.m. (not " summer time "), but still
quite light. I asked Peter if there was a pool handy where,
if I got a move on, I might have a chance to celebrate my
arrival in the land of his forefathers by the capture of a salmon.

" Oo, yez," he said enthusiastically. " There'm Solem pol.
You'm catch'm — stor fisk ther, yeu tink."

Which being translated reads :

" Oh, yes. There is Solem pool. You would get a big fish
there, I think ! "

Now this Solem pool was doubtless the best in the whole

A Sportsman at Large 201

stretch, and when conditions were right, as they were on the
occasion toward, it was odds on rising a fish, even if one
failed to pull him out.

Happily my rods, etc., were handy ; so in less than no
time I was with Peter in the boat, and all eagerness to com-
mence action. My fly was a medium size " black dog "
which my boatman had selected as a likely lure.

We had drifted some fifty yards when Peter spoke.

" Now we'm comin' teu gued leukly steun.* Fisk dere, yeu
tink ! "

Sure enough, at my third cast, there was a great boil, and I
struck vigorously ; so vigorously indeed that something gave,
and my line came back without the cast.

I am afraid I assaulted Peter's ears with strange and
uncouth oaths. Let us hope that his knowledge of the English
vernacular was not sufficient to bear home to him the true
significance of the blasphemy.

Nothing further occurred in the way of salmon. It was now
as dark as it ever is in those parts, the visibility being about
the same as that of an English gloaming on a June evening
at nine o'clock p.m. (genuine time).

As we rowed back, I became aware of a great chattering and
protesting by the feathered inhabitants of the felds. Pre-
sently a great red dog-fox, emerged from the undergrowth
which fringed the edge of the river, and passing over the stony
strand, settled himself for a steady drink. All the time he
was thus engaged he was persistently mobbed by a mixed
concourse of wagtails and fieldfares ; but he took not the
slightest notice of their vociferous and ill-mannered execrations.

" If I have gun I sheut'm, yeu tink."

I did not know whether Peter meant the fox or his perse-
cutors. Anyway, it was lucky for either, or both, that no
lethal weapon was handy to my boatman's grip.

I may as well, here and now, set forth the sequel to the loss
of what was undoubtedly a good fish on this my first essay on
Norwegian waters.

To this day I cannot account for the untoward accident
which left me empty and bitterly lamenting. As a rule I am
* A stone of good luck.

202 A Sportsman at Large

not careless in bending on casts or flies. I can only imagine
that my excitement and the fading light had caused me to
miss an essential twist in the connecting loop.

But I got that cast back — also the fly — also the fish, a nineteen
pounder !

" Oh, come ! " you will exclaim. " Take a pull, Cockie ! "

I did take " a pull " (and a very hefty one, to wit), two days
later, in a small pool, some three-quarters of a mile above Solem.
When this fish came to the gaff, there was my " black dog" in
his upper jaw and the whole length oj my cast intact !

And yet they say that a salmon hooked, or even pricked,
will not take again for at least three weeks. Perhaps my
joker was that brilliant exception which, so it is said, con-
veniently lends itself to the demonstration of the rule.

Meanwhile, a day's sport had intervened such as I shall ever
remember, so thoroughly sporting and altogether satisfying
was it.

The Surendal and its sister river the Sundal, like many other
of the comparatively short rivers in Norway, are dependent
for their supply of water on the melting snows and glaciers
from their common water-shed in the adjacent mountains.

For some time preceding our arrival the skies had been
clear and a fierce sun had been ablaze ; so that we now found
the Surendal in excellent ply.

Needless to say that, on the morning following my disaster
in the Solem pol, I was up betimes and ready to accompany
the trusty Peter, whose plan of operations was to proceed to
the furthest limit of our stretch and fish the whole of it from
end to end. There was a fairly heavy fall some twelve yards
below where we were to commence operations. My boatman
informed me that when the river was at the height which it
now presented, the running fish were apt to take rest in a
deepish trench or pocket just above the run. He prophesied
that if one or more were there this morning they would be
almost sure to respond to my call.

And so it proved, for my very first cast was followed by a
lusty boil, but the fish came short ; I was not in the humour to
allow the traditional ten minutes law ; so immediately cast
again. No mistake this time. Sure enough, I was fast, and

A Sportsman at Large 208

having hauled my captive up-stream, so as to avoid disturbing
the rest of the little pool, I managed to bring him well within
reach of Peter's deadly steel and soon had the satisfaction of
gazing rapturously upon my first Norwegian salmon gasping
on the grass, a fresh run fifteen pounder. The hardy Norse-
man handed me a heavy stone, saying :

" Yeure firs fisk, Meester. Hit him on head yeum-selb,
fur gued leuklie ! "

I delivered the coup de grace, and then noticed a ponderous
fish bulging on the very edge of the run on its far side. I
was fishing with a Durham Ranger of large pattern, and
this I managed to drop neatly at exactly the right angle.
As it swept round and came into position, the salmon took
with a mighty swirl, and again I felt the ecstasy of a tight line !

" Huld 'im, Meester ! Huld 'im ! If he goo deun the fall,
yeu'm leuse 'im ! Stor fisk ! (big fish), yeu tink ! "

Easier said than done ! I tried my utmost, but it was no
good : the salmon — a whopper — turned tail and was down the
shoot like a streak of lightning. My reel screeched and the
line ran out yard after yard. I put on the maximum strain
my rod would bear, and then held fast. Snap ! bang ! The
top straightened and the line slackened. When I wound in,
I found that, luckily, my loss was confined to the Durham
Ranger.

After indulging in the usual anathemas, I was about to bend
on a fly of similar pattern, when Peter intervened :

" I no like that flu," he said. " There's teu many leave on
der watter. That dam flu, leuk teu mooch like leaf, yeu
tink."

So I altered to a local fly which Colonel Whitmore had
particularly recommended ; very like a Silver Doctor, but
having a sort of corrugated silver body.

Then we went half-way down the run, where the water was
leaping and boiling over the semi-submerged rocks.

' We'm fisk har," said my boatman laconically.

" Oh, hang it all, Peter," I expostulated, " surely you don't
expect me to cast over this, with bushes and trees pressing on
my back ? "

" No, Meester, you'm goo in bo-at ! "

204 A Sportsman at Large

" Oh, no, you don't ! " I exclaimed indignantly. ' You
don't catch me out in a boat in that torrent. Not on your life ! "

" It all a-right, Meester. I let yeu'm deun wit' rupe (rope) ! "

Even this suggestion failed to appeal to me.

" But my good Peter, do you suppose you can hold me in a
boat against such a rush of water ? "

" Ai put'm rupe reund tree, and let bo-at deun gentlee."

Well, I was for it now, so I swallowed my qualms and went
aboard.

I had to hold on now and then when the old scow bumped
a rock ; but certainly Peter was an adept at the game, and I
soon felt fairly at ease. By this means, I was able to approach
several good casts, where the water ran deep and comparatively
smooth.

Here I got hold of two nice, fresh run ten pounders. As I
became fast in each, Peter pulled in the boat, and I played
them from the bank.

The next customer was exceedingly lively and game, though
evidently of a lighter weight ; but it took a deal of persuasion
before it threw up the sponge.

I guessed a grilse, but guessed wrong ! It was a fine sea-
trout of four and a half pounds.

This was excellent and exciting fishing ; but I was not alto-
gether sorry when that roaring, rushing drift was done with ;
for every now and then the thought would obtrude itself :
" Supposing the rope were to break, or Peter was to have a stroke !
Ah ! what then ! "

There was a wide and open pool below, which looked un-
commonly attractive, but the hardy Norseman averred that
there was only one cast worth trying. " You'm cast joost
above — gued leuklie steun oot thar ; p'raps fisk thar — p'raps
not."

The fish was there. It made a good showing, but failed
to attach itself. I cast again without any result, so deter-
mined to let the joker rest a few minutes. Next time he
came again, and again missed. Then I changed my fly. All
to no purpose ! But the fish was there, and kept making
futile demonstrations.

It "got my goat! "

A Sportsman at Large 205

" Peter," said I, " I mean to have that fish ! As long as
he keeps rising I shall persist, even if I have to stay here all
day and all night."

I tried half a dozen orthodox flies, a black doctor, a Wil-
kinson, a dusty miller, a thunder and lightning, and a silver
doctor. Even the ubiquitous and much belauded Jock Scot
failed to tempt him, though he had a good look at it, and at
most of the others. I had begun with " Whitmore's Fancy,"
so I returned to it ; but " Mr. Sulky " was not having any.

In despair I bent on a big Irish fly, the name of which
was quite unknown to me. It had a brown and yellow wing
and a body of some woolly texture, dyed claret colour.

I banged it down with a flop in the right spot, exclaiming :

' There ! take that, you obstinate blighter ! " And he
did ! hard and good !

He proved to be a seventeen-pounder, but judging from his
colouring he had been some time in the river, and perhaps had
had reason to be suspicious of well-known salmon flies.

I brought the stone in contact with the back of his head
heartily !

Then we had to drift in the boat some way before reaching
Sun pol, which Peter assured me was one of the best in the
whole river.

It had to be fished from the boat. I returned to " Whit-
more's Fancy." We drifted some way before Peter " gave
me the office."

" Gued leuklie steun — two casts in front. Yeu'm rise
fisk, yeu tink I " (Please note that my excellent boatman
persisted in saying " Yeu tink " (you think) instead of " Ai
tink " (/ think). " Next cast he'm cum."

Sure enough he did.

The water was extraordinarily pellucid, and of a delicate
green tint. I distinctly saw the fish (he seemed to me a verit-
able leviathan) shoot up from behind a big submerged boulder,
and boil right over my fly with a perfect head and tail rise.
The next instant he turned and my line tightened.

" Stor fisk, yeu tink ? "

" A thirty-pounder, I believe ! " I shouted exultantly.
" Row away quick ; he's coming towards us up-stream ! "

206 A Sportsman at Large

Peter acted promptly. By his clever manoeuvring of the
scow, I soon had the fish under reasonable control, so that
my boatman was able to pull in to the bank, where I landed
and continued the battle, which was a dour and grim one.
I had to shin it over the rocky strand for over two hundred
yards and back again several times before Peter waded in
and deftly struck with the gaff.

It was a beautiful fish, absolutely fresh run, with the sea-
lice still adhering to its silvery sides.

But it turned out to be of less avoirdupois than I had guessed
when it took. In fact it was just twenty-six pounds, but up
to then by far the biggest salmon I had ever accounted for.
I was in a seventh heaven of joy !

I touched another salmon in the same pool and caught a
very handsome fish, which Peter said was a trout which had
dropped down-stream from the lake above, during the flood.

Never before or since have I seen a fario of its like. It was
three pounds in weight, and a lovely specimen — a bright
yellow, the tone of golden sand, with vivid red spots along its
flanks, and having rich brown fins and tail !

No, it was not a char !

Peter said there were plenty like it in the lake from which
the river emerged.

I made a mental reservation to visit that lake, but somehow
or other I never found the opportunity. Sport continued too
good in the river to admit of problematical excursions.

We now passed a most likely-looking pool. I expected
Peter to give me the word to recommence, but to my surprise
he kept pushing the scow down- stream.

" Don 1 1 fish here ? " I asked.

" No gued, Meester ; no fisk never caught har."

I said nothing, but wondered why.

Further down, I had another sea-trout, a beauty of seven
pounds, and a grilse of five pounds (an early arrival) ; but no
more salmon until we were over the " gued leuklie steun " of
Solem pol. Here I was fast in a hefty twenty-pounder,
which gave me a real tough battle. I landed on the right
bank ; whereupon he ran right over to the opposite one, where
he kept coasting up and down utterly refusing to come over

A Sportsman at Large 207

into mid-stream. It had all my line and half the " backing "
out. When at last it showed signs of fatigue, it kept rolling
over and over, and thus managed to wrap the whole of the
cast around its gills and body. So I had to lug it (or rather
her — for it proved to be a hen-fish) by main force across the
broad stretch of river before she was safely impaled. This
also was a perfectly fresh run fish.

Thus ended our day. I think you will agree that it was
a thoroughly sporting one, and such as offered a happy augury
for the rest of our stay.

On Sunday, Peter was not available ; whether it was on
account of religious scruples, or because he had celebrated
our sport of the previous day not wisely but too well, I
am unable to say with exactitude.

Not having such scruples, or such leaden-headed oppression
(as the case might be), myself, I was keen on exploiting the
Sabbath on " the better the day the better the deed " prin-
ciple. I had carefully noted several very likely-looking
nooks and corners in the river, which Peter had passed by
contemptuously as being " No gued, yeu tink." These could
be easily fished from the bank, so I was determined to explore
them.

As previously mentioned, I was greatly enamoured of one
particular pool which my trusty Norseman had condemned
as " no earthly." On the far side of this the banks were high
and overhanging. What looked to me like a most inviting
" lie " for fish was thus overshadowed — the stream running
deep and dark. On the hils side there was a shelving beach
with a sprit of sand running out almost to mid-stream ; so
that by taking my stand thereon I was able to cover the
whole of the pool. Whilst fixing up, I was overjoyed to see
an undoubted salmon bulge under the opposite bank.

To enter into minute details of how I struck, played and
landed my catch in this despised pool would only weary you ;
suffice it to say that, without moving from one spot, I gaffed
two salmon (fifteen pounds and eleven pounds), three grilse
(averaging four and a half pounds), and a nice sea-trout (two
and a half pounds), the last named being the first victim to
succumb. Another salmon I held only momentarily, and I

208 A Sportsman at Large

lost a three-pound sea-trout when trying to hand-haul him
to the beach. So much for Peter's condemnation of this
excellent little pitch 1

I have come to the conclusion that such pools are condemned
by natives because years ago they had proved uriprolific.
Then certain floods in after times had probably so altered the
flow of the stream and the conformation of its sides and bottom
as to provide enticing resting-holes and trenches for the fish.
But not having had the hardihood to further test pools which
had been all along regarded as " wash-outs/' the said natives
had continued to harbour the same archaic prejudice, greatly
to their loss.

Peter was dumb with amazement when he beheld what I
had pulled out of his pet aversion.

Whilst awarding one of the salmon " the royal order of
the knock " a blue scarab tie-pin — a genuine antique — pre-
sented to me with great ceremony by an illustrious Egypto-
logist as a sure amulet against ill-luck and a marvellous
mascot for the successful wooing of the fickle goddess For-
tune, came loose, and lost itself in the flotsam and jetsam
which strewed the beach. Search as I would, I could find no
trace of it. At last I gave it up as a bad job.

I am not a superstitious person, but somehow the loss of
this pin greatly perturbed me.

The very next day, when fishing Solem pdl, Ole Larsen,
our boy of all work, brought me a telegram. As I tore open
the envelope I presaged trouble. It was from a sister-in-
law in Hampshire, who was looking after my youngest son
Lionel — then but three years of age — announcing that my
child had contracted diphtheria and was in parlous state !

Thus was I at a moment's notice plunged from the genial
glow of sporting enthusiasm into a state of agonized misery
and suspense. Of course my first thought was how to get
back to the little one ; but there was no boat for five days !
Well, I knew the deadly swiftness of the horrible disease.
I had lost one little sister (Alicia) by its lethal attack ; another
sister (Ada) had only just pulled through ; whilst I myself
had had a severe dose of the distemper. What was I to do ?
I sent Bedford, hot foot, to telegraph to my sister-in-law,

A Sportsman at Large 209

begging her to keep me posted by wire until I could cross the
North Sea.

Then came two days of excruciating suspense. Hoping
for the best and dreading the worst, I tried to divert my
mind by fishing in a desultory fashion : but there was no heart
—no smallest thrill of excitement in my endeavour. The
third day another telegram arrived. I — I held my breath,
and my heart beat heavily as I opened it.

God be praised ! This is how it ran :

" Lionel out of danger — doing well. Stay where you are.
Make mind easy. Will report. — NONNA."

You may well imagine my relief and fervent thank-
fulness.

I set to work with renewed energy and enthusiasm.

One day I had twenty fish — a mixed take of seven
salmon (one twenty-one pounds, the others averaging fourteen
pounds), six grilse, five sea-trout and a couple of two-pound
" brownies/'

But sport was not always up to this standard. In fact,
by about the middle of July the snows in the water-shed were
exhausted, and the Surendal began to run low, so that, apart
from Solem pol, there were very few pools fishable with any
hope of success.

I kept picking up salmon, grilse and sea- trout here and
there sporadically ; nevertheless, by the end of the month,
when my tenancy came to an end, my tally of fish of all
denominations was only just short of a hundred — nothing
marvellous, but a real good time for one rod, under such
thoroughly sporting circumstances and glorious surroundings.

One word more about " Billy."

Shortly after his dastardly murder of the perky Lars and
(Me, and the summary punishment which then overtook
him, he was accompanying me in a stroll on the felds, when
he suddenly wilted and rushed into a thicket of wild rasp-
berries.

I could not imagine what was to do with the little rascal,
until, hearing a raucous croak, I looked up and beheld a

M

210 A Sportsman at Large

" hoodie " crow sitting on the top of an adjacent fir ! Then I
understood. Billy had no use whatever for " hoodies " or
any other member of the Corvidce — no, sir — not on your
life!

Even when the hoodoo bird of ill-omen had departed with
a derisive croak, Billy refused to budge; so I had to crawl
into his lair and lift him bodily from it.

CHAPTER XIX

AT various periods of my strenuous life, I have arrived
at certain crises of a more or less devastating charac-
ter. On one such occasion, being " all torn out," broken-
hearted, and on the verge of neurasthenia, a " Deus ex
machina " appeared in the person of my cousin and partner,
Ted Jaquet, who was accompanied by his gentle wife Ida.

" Look here, Cockie, old chap," he said, " this won't do.
Unless you take a pull we shall have you carted off to the
nearest lunatic asylum before you know where you are.
Ida and I have put our heads together and have decided to
whisk you off to sunnier and more congenial climes, where,
amid new surroundings and plenty of sport, you are bound
to find respite and nepenthe from harrowing memories."

Well, I was much too weak and distressed to argue the
matter, even had I felt so inclined. On the contrary, my
weary soul saw a glimmer of light through the drab clouds
of my despair ; so I jumped at the proposition with alacrity
and thankfulness.

Behold us then, three weeks later, at Ismailia, with the
addition to the party of my cousin's dinky little daughter —
my godchild, Phyllis — (at that time about nine years of age) —
plus my redoubtable valet, Thomas Bedford, who was then
a widower with only a vague inclination to resume matrimonial
amenities by taking the fatal oath of allegiance to the fair
Flora, our most admirable cook.

It was about 3 a.m. when we set foot on the ramshackle
landing-stage, having been conveyed thither by a steam
launch from the good ship Oroya, We adjourned to the only
likely looking hotel, situated within a stone's throw of the
wharf. We had not retired to " rest " (save the mark !)

211 14*

212 A Sportsman at Large

more than a few minutes before loud lamentations arose.
Doors were flung open, whilst dishevelled and weirdly clad
forms rushed forth pell-mell into the night. There had
been a simultaneous attack on our vile bodies by swarms
of active and voracious vermin ; whereupon, what was at
first only a strategic retreat, " according to plan," soon de-
generated into a royal rout. It was a case of " Sauve qui
peut."

The first faint streaks of dawn were gilding the East.. All
we could do was to wander aimlessly up and down the dusty
road in front of the " House of Pain." I found this peregrina-
tion somewhat monotonous ; so being thoroughly fed-up,
I left the rest of my contingent to gang their weary gait, and
strolled down to the water-side and on to the landing-stage.
Here I found a group of little " Gyppies" busily engaged in the
gentle art of Isaac Walton. The water being clear as crystal,
I was able to spot — here and there — shoals of fish of some
sort disporting themselves at a depth of about three feet.

The paraphernalia of the infantile anglers was decidedly
primitive ; consisting, as it did, of a pole of sugar-cane, to the
end of which was attached a line of about six feet in length,
composed of some kind of fibre, plus a foot of twisted horse-
hair, and a formidable hook. The bait was supplied by strips
of flesh, flayed from the corpse of a venturesome fish, which
by some means or other had been secured. The usual demand
for " Baksheesh " was immediately forthcoming. Here I
may interpolate that, by general consent, it is laid down
that the first word one hears on setting foot on the land of
the Pharaohs is that same word " Baksheesh," and that
the first word it is essential to learn is " Imshi," which, being
freely translated, signifies " Get out," or less politely, though
more forcibly, " Go to hell ! "

Having distributed a few piastres among the dusky brats,
I proceeded to commandeer the most likely looking of their
engines of war, and commenced operations forthwith.

As these fish, which were apparently of the mullet tribe
and of herring dimensions, were probably angled for day
in and day out, and very likely by night as well, they were
naturally somewhat diffident about accepting the lure which

A Sportsman at Large 213

I presented to them ; however, by devious devices which were
a revelation to the little " Gyppies," I managed to extract
half a dozen fishlets from their native element ; whereupon
the native nippers signified supreme surprise and delight.
In this fashion I managed to smooth the passing hours plea-
santly enough until it was time to join my disgruntled
relatives, in order to catch the early train to Cairo.

A propos my indulgence in this mild form of angling, I
was subsequently told that Lake Timsa (crocodile) swarmed
with fish of various species ; some of them of colossal dimen-
sions, and that had I grasped the opportunity of chartering
a native boat and setting about the business seriously, with
less primitive tackle than the little fishermen were able to
provide, I might have enjoyed some really delectable sport.

But Cairo was our objective, so I had to leave such an
adventure to the nebulous " some day " (which I believe is
a sort of relation to " one day "), an intention which, as it
happens, has never materialized.

After a sumptuous repast at Shepheard's Hotel, we sat on the
historic veranda, and gazed with open-mouthed astonishment
and interest at the passing pageant of oriental life. It was
all new to us, and we were enthralled by the spectacle. But
many potent pens have from time to time busied themselves
in depicting the extraordinary variety of " local colour "
which endlessly passes along before the eyes of the observer ;
so that I need not trespass further on a description, which,
even when painted by the most imaginative scribe, fails
to convey any really satisfying impression of the riot of colour,
movement and variety which unfolds itself to the eye from
this point of vantage.

It was not long before a gorgeously attired Dragoman, or
Shikari, approached me with lordly bearing. He made a deep
salaam.

" 3a-sha want go shooting ? Blenty sport, berhaps 1 "

" Perhaps not 1" This sotto voce from Ted.

Our Arab friend had sharp ears.

' You tink not — I tink yes," he exclaimed scornfully.
Then turning to me whom he evidently recognized as being
in command :

214 A Sportsman at Large

" What Ba-sha link ? "

" Well," said I, "I am always ready for a bit of sport.
If you — whoever you may be — can show us any, I'm game ! "

The stately stranger drew himself up to his full height,
which was all of six feet and a bit over !

" My name Farag Hamedieh," he announced loftily.
" I known best Shikari, all Egypt. I take you what sport you
like : snipes, duckses, anyting ! If you like you go up Nile
in Dahabieh — all way Assouan."

" Well, let's shoot a snipe to begin with," put in Ted.
" Where can we find one ? "

" Blenty snipe, En Chasse ; also blenty Tel-el-Kabir. You
come along ? "

" What ! this instant minute ? " exclaimed my ponderous
pal, with well-feigned astonishment.

" Ayouah ! (yes). If you like ! "

" No, but I don't like," said I. " You are in too great a
hurry, Farag. Let us say the day after to-morrow."

" Taeb ! (good). I have him all ready. Saida (good-
evening), Ba-sha ! " and away stalked the majestic one.

He was as good as his word ; for he appeared at the station
on the appointed day, with a motley retinue of Fellaheen to
act as carriers, retrievers and beaters ; or to take up any other
old job that might come their way, at the price of two kroners
per head per diem. The aforesaid En Chasse was our ob-
jective that day, and here we had some fair sport with the
snipe, gathering about a dozen couples. I was much in-
terested in watching the vultures and Jalconidcz, which
were in great quantities, and — as regards the latter birds
— of many species. Also, I was greatly amused by watch-
ing the antics of a large Egyptian mongoose, which was sporting
with his inamorata outside a high bed of reeds, into which
the amorous ones retreated as soon as they became aware
of the presence of the dreaded human. The rag-tag and
bobtail of our following beat out the cover thoroughly, but
never a sign of the sinuous animals was seen again.

A week later, Farag took us to Tel-el-Kebir, where the
great battle, which ended in the downfall of Arabi Pasha,
was fought. The marshes here had a bottom of very stiff

A Sportsman at Large 215

and sticky clay ; so that the going was anything but pleasant.
There were plenty of snipe, but they were very wild and wary.
Among those which found their way into our bag was a speci-
men of the painted snipe, a handsome bird, which I had never
before seen in the flesh.

Presently we came to a string of lagoons, dotted over with
rush-grown islets. There were a great many duck about,
mostly mallard and tufted ; but, like the snipe, they took
wing long before we were within shot ; so it became necessary
to put in force stalking operations.

I was wading up to my knees, with a view to taking
up position on a tuft of rushes in the middle of the
water, when, on reaching this and about to seat my-
self comfortably thereon, there was a loud hiss, and a
sort of " Jack-in-the-box " demonstration, as a huge yellow
cobra uncoiled itself and slithered into the water. I do not
know which was the most startled, I or that darned snake.
Had he decided to coil himself and strike, as is the lethal
custom of its horrible kind, assuredly it would have been
all up with your Uncle Cockie ; but, thank goodness, he
slipped off smoothly — on the " safety first " principle, I
suppose. As soon as ever I could recover my nerve, I let
him have the contents of my first barrel ; but he dived under
water and disappeared, just in time to save his glittering
skin. I am sure I didn't want to see him again, dead or
alive !

The tactics we employed against the duck had no material
result ; only one wretched " tufter " falling to a fluky shot of
Ted's. But in an adjacent lagoon we had some lively sport
with the coots, which swarmed on its surface and among
its reed-beds. It was very shallow, so we formed a line, and
waded its full length. The birds swam before us until they
were hemmed in between our line of beaters and the far edge
of the lagoon. Then they rose and streamed back over our
heads, affording us some very lively shooting. Quite a score
were accounted for, and as these bald-headed birds do not
lend themselves kindly to the culinary art, we made a hand-
some present of them to our tatterdemalion army. Later,
we were surprised to find that the ungrateful varlets had

216 A Sportsman at Large

thrown them away. On asking Farag the reason of this
wasteful demonstration, he informed us that it was against
the Mohammedan tenets to eat of the flesh of any bird or
animal that had not had its blood drained ere life is extinct.

It was about this time that I suddenly found that my gold
repeater watch, which had been a present to me from my
dear departed mother, on the occasion of my twenty-first
birthday, was missing. At first I suspected that one of the
units of our picturesque bunch of natives was an expert -pick-
pocket, though cunningly camouflaged as an innocent fellah ;
but after thinking out every place and position where I might
have dropped the timepiece, my thoughts suddenly recurred
to my snake adventure ; so a dusky member of the party
was dispatched to the tuft, which was now over a mile away.
Sure enough, on the very spot where that obscene reptile had
lain sunning itself, lay the derelict watch, all safe and sound,
and correctly indicating the hour (5 p.m.), a hint which
caused us huiriedly to seek the station, en route for Cairo,
home and beauty.

Farag did not seem to have many further suggestions for
sporting days within easy reach of the capital, but proposed
that we should fit out a camping expedition near the lakes
of Fayoum. I cannot say that I was particularly keen on
carrying out such exalted ideas, because our Shikari's descrip-
tion of the game did not appeal to me very convincingly.
For when I asked him what varieties of game might be
expected in those parts, his reply was :

" Ba-sha shoot jackal, berhaps ! "

" Anything else ? " I asked.

" Maybe someting."

" Yes, but what ? " I insisted.

" Bigeons, berhaps." And that was all I could get out of
him.

However, Ted thought it would be a novelty. But on
reconsidering the question, my cousin came to the conclusion
that such a wild adventure would not be suitable to the
delicate Ida. And since he was averse from leaving her and
Phyllis to the perils of Cairo — I did not press him, being my-
self far from enthusiastic — though hankering after a new

A Sportsman at Large 217

experience. So, for the time being, \ve gave the proposition
" a miss in baulk."

Farag, having failed in his endeavour to lure us into the
wilds, would not leave me in peace until he had persuaded
me to charter a Dahabieh for the purpose of sailing up the
Nile to a problematical destination. And so it came about
that my Arab friend and I found ourselves, one fine morning,
in the office of the British Consul, where an agreement was
drawn up between us for the catering and general fitting-
out of this aquatic expedition. When it came to Farag's
turn to affix his sign-manual, which he proposed to do with
the impress of a scarab ring, the Consul looked him sternly in
the face, and then turned to me, exclaiming :

' This man is an impostor ! His papers have either been
forged or stolen ; he is not Farag Hamedieh / "

The object of the alleged misrepresentation threw up his
eyes and hands with an expression of injured innocence.

' True, Ba-sha, I not Farag ; I Hassanein. Farag, my
brudder, all same ting, same papers, same mudder, same
fader "

"Oh, but it's not the same thing, you rascal ! " roared the
outraged Consul ; then turning to me : " This man has
fooled you properly, Captain Cox ; but if you like to take
him on at his face value — unprepossessing though it be — that
is your look-out ; but don't say I haven't warned you ! "

To tell you the truth, the man's colossal impudence rather
tickled my fancy ; besides, I had grown to look upon him as
a priceless scream. He appealed to my sense of humour,
and we had all grown to look upon him as our indispensable
guide, philosopher and friend.

So the day came when we set foot on an archaic vessel
grandiloquently yclept The Cleopatra. Our crew was a
motley one, consisting of a polyglot collection, in which many
races were represented.

Fellaheen of Egypt, ebony- visaged Soudanese, Arabs of
the Pyramids, half-castes, and other weird specimens of the
human race. Our head-steward, one Abu Zed, professed to
being half Turk and half Soudanese. He was a perfect figure
of fun, and a delightful character, a source of never-ending

218 A Sportsman at Large

joy and amusement to us all. His brother All was our cook —
something of a chef, believe me ; but we found it expedient
not to inquire too closely into the materials and methods
which he exploited in the culinary art. Ali was as black as
your hat, whilst Abu was as yellow as a lemon, which caused
one to harbour some doubt as to the strict virtue of their
common mother.

One evening, when Diana had hung her lamp in full glory
in the heavens, I strolled with Abu to the lower deck, where
I nearly fell over what at first I took to be a bundle of rags.
On receiving the shock of my boot, the mass assumed anima-
tion, and revealed itself in the person of Ali.

" What on earth is he doing ? " I inquired of my companion.

" It is de Ali, my brudder de cook — him fishin'."

I was interested, so proceeded to watch the operations ;
but nothing happened. I found that the dusky one was
baiting with the entrails of a chicken. Apparently he had
several bites, for ever and anon he would strike vigorously, but
no tightening of the thick cord, which did duty for a line,
supervened. I ran to that which was by courtesy called a
state-room, and ferreted out my roach-rod and such tackle
as I could lay my hands on, which, anyhow, had a decided
bulge on Ali's outfit. Back again, I soon rigged up my arma-
ment and set to work. Soon enough, a vigorous " rug "
informed me that fish of some sort were on the job ; but for
a time I was no more successful than had been our ebon-
visaged cook. Anon, a vigorous signal caused me to strike
hard and good ; whereupon I found myself fast in something
of considerable weight. A severe struggle ensued. At last
the creature, whatever it was, came floundering to the sur-
face, where its contortions caused wavelets and ripples that
glittered like molten silver in the moonlight. For a moment
I thought I was foul of a bull-frog ; for my victim began
voicing raucous croaks and gurglings. When it was hauled
on board, it proved to be a catfish of some five pounds, a
most horrific object, with walrus-like whiskers, and bearing
in its grotesque countenance a striking resemblance to Abu
himself.

Later, I captured another strange and repulsive-looking

A Sportsman at Large 219

specimen of the piscatorial productions of the Nile. More
like a Japanese giant salamander than a self-respecting fish !
Abu told me its native name, and declared that it was
" taib " (good), but I left it at that !

Next day Ali served up a dish which I regarded with more
than suspicion ; but the rest of the party, who had not seen
the raw material " in statu natures /' were evidently highly
pleased with the gastronomic delicacy, Ted actually indulging
in three helpings. I watched him anxiously for the rest of
the evening, but as he seemed to retain his normal health and
displayed no alarming symptoms, my fears for his corporeal
welfare were finally allayed.

One day, when " Sallie," the Soudanese cabin-boy, was pluck-
ing some quail which we had shot during one of our land
expeditions, the feathers were gently wafted overboard. As
they drifted down-stream, I noticed that some sort of fish
were persistently rising at them. This gave me a brain-
wave. So I tried my hand at fly-tying, and, after much
travail, succeeded in producing a weird lure, with which I
captured several fish of a species which Abu informed me were
known in the vernacular as " Shelbeh." They were almost
transparent, with eyes set high in the head and curiously
pedunculated. As regards these fish, I had no qualms in
accepting Abu's declaration as to their quality, when Ali
had duly dealt with them. In fact, they were excellent
food.

Sallie (goodness only knows what his native patronymic
was, but Sallie we dubbed him, and Sallie he remained),
a full-blooded Soudanese of about fourteen years of age, with
a flat countenance, which shone like polished ebony, was
told off as bodyguard to the little Phyllis, and right well did
he carry out his duties.

Our " entourage/' if not a thing of beauty, was a joy for
ever. In the first place, there was the artful but majestic
Hassanein himself, as priceless a rascal as ever lined his
pockets at the expense of his employer ; a perfect specimen
of the ancient type of Egypt, which has not materially changed
since the earlier dynasties of that land of antiquity and
mystery. His smile was as the sun's ray, and his suavity

220 A Sportsman at Large

(except when dealing with a recalcitrant donkey- boy) soothing
and restful in the extreme.

Abu Zed, our steward, I have already introduced. Quite a
character this. His head was much too big for his body,
whilst his nose looked as if it had been dumped on
warm and had run ! The reis (captain) was a dignified
looking person, in turban and long burnous, who would
have scored several points to the " beaver " hunter of 1922.
He was a perfect martinet, and kept the " Olla-podrida "
strictly to their duties. But one day a certain young Arab,
whom we had named " Handsome Hassan," owing to his
Apollo-like features and elegant form, got the good reis's " wind
up," having failed to conform to the strict rules of Ramadan,
the great Mohammedan fast, which was then toward ; he
being of the more modern — and looser — cult of Egypt. Natur-
ally, I was not much impressed by the indictment of his
backslidings, but the majority of the crew — being of the
strictly orthodox persuasion — insisted on the unfortunate
" knut " being marooned, failing which, they declared their
intention of going on strike and leaving us to shift for our-
selves. This was moral blackmail with a vengeance, but
it proved irresistible ; so, on the principle that " the greatest
good is for the greatest number," the wretched Hassan was
then and there put on shore. When I inquired of Farag
(alias Hassanein) how the unfortunate fellow would find his
way back to Cairo, our dragoman's lip curled.

" He not find way back. Fuzzi-wuzzis find him ; kill him
all right."

This was a startler ! Had I not had reason to doubt the
accuracy of my informant's statements on many occasions,
my conscience would have smitten me sorely and the blood
of " Handsome Hassan " might have called for vengeance
on my devoted head.

Later on, when we had returned to Cairo, I discovered that
the derelict and attractive Arab had not only arrived in
safety at the city, but, on the way, had gathered unto himself
a well-endowed wife as well as various flocks and herds, which
he had probably stolen.

I have not said much about our shooting activities during

A Sportsman at Large 221

this adventurous voyage since there was not very much to
say, except as regards quail. These had begun to show in
considerable quantities soon after our arrival in Cairo, and we
had then some excellent days in the Pyramid district.

On one occasion we were shooting through a field of grain
when a brown owl arose in front of the line. It was not
fired at, but being evidently scared out of its wits, it gave a
sudden twist in the air and fell to the ground. When we
picked it up we found that its left wing was broken at the
first pinion. Never have I come across any sportsman who
had witnessed a similar casualty.

When the quail were flushed in quantities, the falconida
of various species became very busy. As the little birds rose,
the hawks would stoop to them, just out of reach of the guns,
and many a victim did we see so struck. A curious incident
occuired when one day a quail rose about twenty yards in
front of Ted. As he threw up his gun, a small hawk dashed
from behind him without his seeing it. It struck the quail
just as my cousin fired, and the two birds were killed. The
hawk was one of those pretty little French-grey hen-harriers.
I had it set up to grace my collection in " Old Blighty."
Another time we were beating out a lentil field, in which
several sacks of some dressing for the land were scattered about.
Ted let off at a quail, when one of these apparently inanimate
objects jumped up with a loud yell ! No sack this, but an
unfortunate fellah who had received a peppering of my com-
panion's shot in the most prominent part of his person.
Naturally, the shooter was in a terrible state of mind, but
Farag soon put matters right by shaking the victim roughly
by the shoulders, and pouring out a string of invectives, which
it was as well, perhaps, that we could not translate. When
we asked him what he had said to the wounded man, his
reply was :

" I tell him I kick him with stick if he make any more
noise. I say Ba-sha furious, for he get in the way."

This was all very well, but tender-hearted Ted would not
allow our Shikari to get away with it. So, approaching his
victim, he pressed several substantial coins into his ready
palm ; whereupon Farag and the " casualty " had another

222 A Sportsman at Large

wordy interchange. Again being asked to interpret, our
dragoman announced :

" Oh, he very much pleased ; say you have another shot
at him if you like. He say, ' Allah be praised ! May Ba-sha
live long and have many wives.' " — Ida was not present !

On this particular voyage we did not get very far up the
Nile ; for ever and anon the good ship Cleopatra would charge
the bank, and then there was a devil of a to-do among the crew.
I went so far as to dignify them by the names of sailors, but
Abu wouldn't have it. Inflating his widespread nostrils, he
scornfully assured me that they were not sailors at all, but a
lot of low-down donkey-boys, who had been scraped up by
Farag from the streets and bazaars of Cairo.

At other times we would run on to a sandbank in mid-
stream, where we had to remain in solitary grandeur for
hours together, while the said " donkey-boys," tucking their
jibbehs around their loins, would plunge into the water and
attempt to prise the old hulk from her undesirable and
impromptu moorings. At last, in despair, I asked Abu when
we were likely to reach Wasta. His reply was instructive,
but not altogether lucid.

" Ba-sha hab it is de bath. Shoot de belligans ; come
it is back ; hab it is de breakfast ; be zoon gummin ! " which
I took to mean that if I had a bath and went out in the dinghy
for the purpose of enfilading the pelicans (which occasionally
lined the sandbanks), came back and had breakfast, we might
— with ordinary luck — be somewhere within hail of Wasta,
where we hoped to reprovision and to investigate that ancient
village with a day's quail shooting thrown in.

Talking of baths. On my first morning on board I was
much puzzled by the manner in which Abu announced that
my bath was prepared. With much importance, he came to
my cabin and apparently asked me a question.

" Ba-sha, is bath ready ? "

" Really, Abu," I replied, " I am sure I don't know ! Surely
it is your business to find out ? "

He repeated the question and then signed to me to follow
him. Sure enough, the bath, with all its appurtenances, was
faithfully prepared.

A Sportsman at Large 223

" Why did you ask me if the bath was ready ? " I inquired
curiously. Abu salaamed.

" I tell Ba-sha, is bath ready ? "

Then it dawned upon me that our head steward's method
of making an announcement was to adopt the vocal inflection
of interrogation. So for the future, when I wanted to know
if I could proceed to my ablutions, I would say :

" Abu, bath is ready," and he would invariably reply :

" Ba-sha, is bath ready ?"

Then I knew that everything was in order !

One day, early in the morning, I sighted a large flock of
pelicans — about a hundred in number — busy on the bank,
about two hundred yards away from the Dahabieh, as she
sailed up stream. As they didn't move, I threw up my Win-
chester and let drive. The great birds rose with a loud clatter.
As they did so, I pumped in another shot on the off chance,
and was pleasantly surprised to see a bird fall in the water,
whilst the victim of my first shot lay dead on the sandbank.
The second one did not appear to be much the worse for its
impromptu dive, for it started to swim off down stream at
a surprising pace. Ted, Farag, and a couple of the " donkey-
boys " jumped into a small boat and followed it. But it was
only after an exciting chase for a couple of miles that they
overhauled the bag-billed bird, and took it aboard, when
I found that my bullet had shattered the second pinion of
its wing. We put it out of its misery and fetched the dead
one from the bank. One of the crew, a Soudanese, who fancied
himself as a bit of a taxidermist, skinned the pelican quite
cleverly ; but such an odour was created that we had to vacate
the Cleopatra and amuse ourselves on shore as best we could
for the rest of the day.

Eventually these pelicans were converted into lamp-holders,
and became conspicuous ornaments in my hall at Cassiol-
ridge, where they remained until disintegrated by a succession
of mischievous retriever pups.

Thousands of duck, of many varieties, were to be seen any
day drifting along the edges of the Nile. But all our attempts
to bring them to book were unsuccessful, though now and
then a vagrant bird would fall a victim to our guns.

224 A Sportsman at Large

As for the main army of " canards," as soon as we approached
them, the rear battalions would rise and fly to the head of the
column. These relay tactics went on continually — always
leaving a hiatus between ourselves and the rearmost birds.
Now it struck me that certain manoeuvres might be employed,
which, if meticulously carried out, would result in a perfect
holocaust of feather. On my return to Cairo, I figured it all
out ; but as I was unable to prolong my stay on this occasion,
I laid my scheme before several sporting friends of mine at
the Khedival Club. Some time later I heard that an expedition
had been carried out on the lines which I had laid down, and
that it had met with really wonderful results.

This is what happened.

About two miles above where the large army of duck
was stationed, a line of " hides " was erected, some three
hundred yards apart. These were manned by the shooters.
In all, there were about twenty of these " O. Pips." Then
another section of the attackers gradually approached the
rear of the enemy column in a boat. The duck behaved exactly
as before — when my friends and I had vainly attempted to
outwit them. A section — about a hundred yards in length
and containing about two hundred birds — rose from the water
and flew to the head of the column, where they alighted. As
the boat continued to approach, another section moved,
taking wing in the same way. In this manner the whole
string, consisting of thousands of duck of many varieties,
were brought parallel to the line of " hides." At a given
signal a deadly fusillade was opened upon the serried ranks.
The birds, quite disorganized, then flew wildly hither and
thither, affording extraordinary sport. At the end of the day
over five hundred duck were, I believe, accounted for.

Another raid, on the same lines, was carried out a few
weeks later ; but this time only about a hundred were vic-
timized ; whilst a third attempt ended in failure, since the
duck, becoming wise to the tactics, no longer moved up
river ; but, as soon as the boat was seen approaching, rose
in a body, and flew off down stream, quite out of shot.

We did not tarry long at Wasta ; for, after inspecting all
that was to be seen of interest in the locality, and being by now

A Sportsman at Large 225

thoroughly fed up with our crew of " donkey-boys," we
held a council of war, the upshot of which was that I gave
the order, " About ship ! " and the Cleopatra gracefully slewing
round, was allowed to drift majestically down stream, until
at last the Kasr-en-Nil hove in sight. For the rest of our
days in the land of Pharaoh we contented ourselves with the
pleasures and entertainments of Cairo, and with the enjoy-
ment of the more recherche flesh-pots of Egypt.

CHAPTER XX

ONLY twelve months had rolled by, when, for the second
time, I found myself nearing the land of the Pyramids,
though in somewhat different company. Ted, of course, was
one of the party, but vice Ida and my god-daughter Phyllis,
were installed my C.O. and her mother. Instead of landing
at Ismailia as before, we gave that verminous port a wide berth
and proceeded to Cairo, via Alexandria. But, before landing
at the latter city, my eyes had been delighted by the sight
of the irrepressible Hassanein (or Farag), who came out to
the ship in a native boat. His expressive grin on viewing me
was a sight for the gods. As soon as we had exchanged
greetings, he inquired eagerly whether I had brought him
the gold watch and chain and the double-barrelled gun which
I " had promised him." As I had not promised him anything
of the sort, I told him there was " nothing doing." Seeing
that his bluff had failed, he made the best of a bad job, and
resumed his normal attitude of superiority. But do you
suppose that we were to escape his toils ? Not on your life !
He had made up his mind that the time had come when a
Nile voyage to Assouan was sine qua non. The copper-coloured
rascal had already chartered the cranky old Cleopatra with
Abu, Sallie, the Reis, and others of the old bunch, together
with various new " donkey-boys " whom he had engaged
or " Shanghaied." So there was nothing for it but to bow
to the inevitable. However, we had a few days' respite, and
as there was a large number of quail round about the Pyramids
we made up our minds to enjoy such sport as we could get
out of these gamesome little birds. We found them so plenti-
ful that one evening, after dinner, I began bucking about
what I could do with them ; whereupon I was challenged by

226

A Sportsman at Large 227

a sporting friend, who offered to bet me " a pony " that I
would not bag fifty couples to my own gun in a single day.
Now I figured that this was easy money, so immediately
accepted the wager.

The very next day I staited off with Hassanein & Co. and
a whole army of beaters. I began operations about a mile
wide of the Mena House, and was soon busy on my mission
of slaughter. Everything went well up to the time when
we knocked off for rest and refreshment under the locust
trees. I had by then thirty-seven couples of quail, so I
began to figure out how I should invest that twenty-five
pounds. When we started again, the little birds came quickly
to hand. These " gyppies " are wonders at marking a fallen
quail ; but in the lentils, beans and other dense-growing
cereals a great many were necessarily overlooked.

By and by I became conscious of a dense gloom which was
overshadowing the heavens. The blazing sun had dis-
appeared, and I could see that the natives were gazing appre-
hensively at the overcast sky. All of a sudden the clouds
opened, and a terrific downpour descended. Such a pheno-
menon was almost an unknown thing during the dry season ;
consequently my dusky army took it as a portent of impend-
ing doom. One and all gathered their flowing garments about
them, took to their heels, and scampered for all they were worth
to the native village about a mile distant, leaving me in
solitary grandeur, planted in the middle of the plain. I
had counted up the tally to this point, and made out that
there were just forty- three couples in the bag.

Drenched to the skin, I made my way sloppily on the line
of retreat of my routed army, but on arrival at the village
I utterly failed to induce more than three or four of the more
venturesome beaters to renew the attack. These were only
able to spring an occasional bird, for the quail evidently
objected to risking flight under the damp circumstances ;
so it happened that when " Time " was called I found myself
three couples short of the stipulated tally ; whereby I lost
my bet and caught an infernally bad cold, which did not
leave me until we were well on our way up the Nile.

Again we made our first stop at Wast a. Here the Sheikh

15*

228 A Sportsman at Large

of the village of Maidoum, which lies hard by " the false
pyramids," came to the dahibyeh to pay his respects. He
was a majestic " beaver," with a jet-black beard, and
of saturnine though aristocratic countenance. He sug-
gested that, on the following day, we should grant him the
courtesy of a return visit ; when, so he protested, he would
entertain us royally at lunch, and provide us with sport in
the shape of a pigeon battue.

Now I had been gravely warned that this same village of
Maidoum was a " bad " one, and that Europeans who ventured
within its precincts were in peril of having " rough stuff "
handed out to them by the Sheikh's " gentle " subjects.
Nevertheless, we determined to risk the adventure, having
regard to the ancient fiction that those who partake of an
Arab's salt are held sacred both as regards their persons
and their property.

Behold, then, our whole party, mounted on the inevitable
donkeys, wending our way to Maidoum, which, as events
turned out, was nigh to proving " my doom " and that of
the whole of my domestic bunch !

Arrived at our destination, we were ushered into the
presence of the Sheikh, who received us with deep salaams,
and every expression of goodwill and hospitality.

A lamb, roasted whole and stuffed with chestnuts, raisins
and other succulent ingredients, was served up for our delecta-
tion. No forks, spoons, or other implements of gustation
were provided for our use ; the Arab custom being to claw
the carcase and tear off tit-bits with bare fingers.

The messy feast having been brought to a conclusion, the
Sheikh invited us to adjourn to the outskirts of the village,
where there was a large pond to which continuous streams of
pigeons came in flocks of from seven to a dozen at a time
to slake their thirst. Ted was posted on the far side of this
piece of water, whilst I was on that abutting on the village ;
the ladies being posted under the shade of a mud wall some
three hundred yards distant.

I had expected the Sheikh to accompany us ; but he made
the excuse that he had business of state to deal with, though
he hoped that — when we were surfeited with slaughter— we

A Sportsman at Large 229

would return and take coffee with him. At the same time, he
sent with us a posse of his body-guards — armed with long
rifles — to act as an escort. Now this struck me as being a
rather quaint move ! The warning which. I had received
recurred to my mind, and I wondered why " His Duskiness "
had taken this precaution.

We were soon to learn !

The " rocks " quickly put in an appearance, so we were
kept busy ; but we had not been engaged in our fusillade more
than a quarter of an hour, when we became aware that ex-
cursions and alarums were toward. First of all, the women
and children began to encroach on our positions, and every
time a pigeon fell they would raise loud wails and lamenta-
tions, snatching up the sand from the ground, casting it in
the air, and letting it fall on their dusky heads. Then the
male portion of the community surged out, and so sur-
rounded us that we could not continue our shooting. They
pressed closer and closer, and it soon became evident, from
their menacing cries and gesticulations, that they had the
wind well up, and meant mischief.

" What's all this rumpus ? " I asked Hassanein. " What
are they talking about ? "

" Someping," was our Shikari's terse reply.

' Yes, you fool ! I know it's something, but what ? "

' They say tings ! "

" I know, I know ; but what are they saying ? "

' They not want you shoot bigeon."

" Well, why on earth wasn't I told ? "

' The Sheikh say shoot bigeon, never mind beople ! "

" But I do mind. We'll chuck it up ? Go and tell Basha
Jaquet to come here at once ! "

Easier said than done ! The lusty Ted was so densely
surrounded by howling natives that he was difficult of
approach.

Now a diversion occuired. The Sheikh's body-guard went
bald-headed for the crowd — using their rifles to force back
the surging masses. One of them hit a particularly aggressive
native under the chin with his rifle, sending the man senseless
to the ground !

230 A Sportsman at Large

Then pandemonium broke loose, and it was only after a
desperate struggle that Ted managed to leach my side.
Together with Hassanein, and shoulder to shoulder, we backed
and fought our way to the ditch, which lay in front of the
mound on which the ladies were stationed. Springing across
this, I brought my gun to the " ready," and ordered Hassanein
(whose bronze face had now turned to an ashen grey) to
announce that the first man who might venture to cross
would sure have his head blown off ! Thus Ted and I held
the yelling crowds at bay, while Sallie and another of our
crew, named Achmet, hustled the now thoroughly terrified
women to the entrance of the Sheikh's compound.

As soon as they had gained sanctuary within the sacred
precincts, we retreated foot by foot, until we, too, had placed
the palisades between ourselves and the surging and yelling
mob. The gates were slammed to by the guards, whilst
the infuriated populace shook the barriers and flung stones,
clods of earth and what, I am sure, was very shocking language
in Arabic, at our devoted heads — probably consigning us and
all our ancestors to Gehenna.

Then I " went for " the Sheikh, and using our Shikari as
interpreter, demanded of him what the devil he meant by
telling us to shoot pigeons, when his subjects evidently
objected most strongly to the enterprise. And what think
you his answer was ?

" I am the Sheikh of this village. My people are as dirt
under my feet. What I say goes. I ask you here to shoot
the pigeons whether my people like it or not. Soon you
come again, but next time you bring a troop of cavalry from
Cairo ; then it will be all right. Allah be praised ! "

Imagine the colossal cheek of the man ! Figure to your-
self (as the French say) our distinguished party arriving at
Maidoum escorted by a troop of resplendent Egyptian cavalry
in full parade order and armed to the teeth. Fancy this
detail of military power surrounding us — modest little wielders
of the gun — whilst we proceeded to slaughter the harmless,
necessary doves. I trow that the spectacle would be one
to cause excruciating hilarity and amusement to any onlooker
blessed with a sense of humour ; always provided that he

A Sportsman at Large 231

himself was not involved in the presentation of the farce.
What a stunt for a producer of " slap-stick" comedy.

Well, with the aid of the Sheikh's escort, we were hustled
out at the back of his " palace," shook the dust of Maidoum
off our feet, and succeeded in reaching the Cleopatra without
further adventure, but feeling considerably perturbed and
ruffled.

I may here state that, some years later, two young British
officers, stationed at Cairo, were inveigled into a visit to
this inhospitable village, when a disturbance similar to that
which we had suffered arose. Alas ! in their case the denoue-
ment was far more serious than in ours, for one of them was
done to death ; whilst the other was so cruelly maltreated
that for a time his life was despaired of !

This tragedy, of course, led to drastic measures by the
Cairo Authorities. The then Sheikh (who was, I believe,
the son of our old friend), together with fifteen of his liege
subjects, were strung up in the desert, where their vile bodies
were left for the gastronomic benefit of the vultures, and as
a warning to recalcitrant Arabs to pay proper respect to the
persons of British subjects !

I have said that the Sheikh who invited us was possessed
of colossal impudence. My opinion of him was confirmed
when — on the morning following the day of our unpleasant
adventure — he put in an appearance at the Cleopatra, as
calmly as if nothing had happened !

Whilst taking his coffee with us on deck, I perceived that
he was casting the glad eye of impertinence at my C.O.
Presently he called Hassanein to him, and made a communi-
cation ; whereupon the latter came over to me with a quizzical
grin on his classic countenance.

" What has the Sheikh been saying ? " I asked.

The interpreter's smile widened.

" I not like to say, Ba-sha ! "

" Go on, man, out with it ! "

" He say will Ba-sha sell the Sit Soya (the young lady). He
want her for wife for his son. He say he give blenty money ! "

This was a startling offer indeed, but my sense of humour
overcame my natural indignation.

232 A Sportsman at Large

' Tell the Sheikh," I said, " that there's nothing doing ;
but he can have the Sit Kabera (the old lady) cheap, if
he likes ! "

Hassanein soon returned.

" Sheikh say he no want old lady, but if you not want sell
Sit Soy a, can he buy one like her in England ? "

" Oh, is that it ? " I said. " Yes, I should imagine that
if he went to London he could pick up plenty who would be
overjoyed and highly honoured in becoming the wife of the
Sheikh junior, sharing with him the glories of Maidoum."

The last words of the amorous Sheikh were :

" I go to England— next boat ! "

I left it at that !

Some five miles higher up the Nile we came across a large
village built on its banks. Here also were hundreds of " Blue
Rocks." After ascertaining that the inhabitants — so far from
objecting to our proposed attack on the birds, actually wel-
comed strangers who were bent on sport — we determined to
have another go, and so enjoyed some excellent shooting, as
the birds at sunset swooped down to the river to drink. It
was here that I noticed a custom of these pigeons which was
utterly at variance with my previous experience of their
normal habits and customs. They would actually settle on
the water, after the fashion of duck, and slake their thirst as
they drifted peacefully down-stream.

On reaching Luxor we tarried several days, and divided
our time between quail-shooting and visiting the ancient
temples and tombs for which that delectable oasis is famous.

I shall never forget the impression of grandeur conveyed to
me when we visited the Temple of Karnak. The moon was
at its full. There, unfolded to our wondering gaze, was a
vision of the majestic glories of ancient Egypt such as thrilled
my soul with awestruck amazement, and caused me to reflect
adversely upon the insignificance of modern culture.

Then we made our way onwards, but we had not proceeded
far beyond Girgeh when the expedition was brought to an
abrupt close by a direful mishap which overtook me person-
ally. Before that happened, however, we had suffered two
days of a desert sand-storm, a most oppressive and unpleasant

A Sportsman at Large 233

experience ! One day, after the air had cleared, I was angling
for Nile fish from the deck of the Cleopatra, when suddenly I
was seized with the most agonizing pains I have ever suffered.
I rushed below and collapsed. The faithful Ted saw that
I was in desperate straits. Leaving me in the tender and sym-
pathetic care of my C.O., her mother and Abu Zed, he dis-
embarked, commandeered a camel, cut across the desert to
Girgeh, and telegraphed to Doctor Keatinge (the celebrated
physician of Cairo) to come up post-haste to my succour.
My guardian angels were unremitting in their attention, and —
Heaven be praised ! — by the time the doctor arrived the worst
of the trouble had passed, though I was left in a very weak
and shaken condition.

We drifted back to Girgeh in order to take a train for the
capital.

Here we ran across an R.A. officer, named Captain Machell,
whom I knew, and who had with him no less a personage than
Slatin Pasha, who had just escaped from the clutches of the
Mahdi at Omdurman ; where he had been kept in durance
vile for many weary years, sometimes half starved, sometimes
in chains for weeks together ; at others almost beaten to
death, and finally being forced to act as " syce " to run
before his oppressor's chariot.

At last, the strenuous efforts made for Slatin' s rescue suc-
ceeded, with the result as stated — that we hit him off on his
journey back to Cairo. He was garbed in an ancient jibbeh,
with a faded tarboosh, bereft of tassel, on his head, and lint
slippers on his feet — a pitiful figure indeed, as compared with
the resplendent Rudolph Slatin, who had been Governor of
Darfur before he was captured by the Mahdists. He seemed
dazed and almost distraught, but on his anival at the capital
he was received with acclamation and general rejoicings.
In course of a surprisingly short space of time he regained his
normal condition, and became once more a power in the land.

Eventually he was appointed Sirdar, but when the Great War
broke out in 1914, he — being nominally an Austrian subject —
decided that it behoved him to resign his position under the
British aegis, and to repair to the land of his birth, where, as
matters turned out, he proved of inestimable service and

234 A Sportsman at Large

benefit to British prisoners of war, and where he acted with
never-failing tact and urbanity as mediator between Austria
and the Allies.

It is worthy of note that the Mahdi was so enraged at
Slatin's escape that he vowed that if ever, or whenever, he
could recapture the fugitive, he would have him scraped to
death with oyster shells !

Truly, a most unpleasing and messy death !

It was on the occasion of my first visit to Cairo that I came
in contact with Major Herbert Kitchener and Captain
" Paddy " Mahon — the former destined, in time to come, to be
known to world-wide fame as Earl Kitchener of Khartoum ;
the latter, as reliever of Mafeking and a notable army corps
commander in the more recent ragings of Bellona.

Kitchener, at the time I write of, was already causing a
considerable stir in military and diplomatic circles. He had
just returned to Cairo after having, single-handed, penetrated
certain disaffected districts in the Upper Nile, camouflaged as
a full-blooded native. The information which he had thus
gathered proving of the greatest value to the H.Q.S.

There was some talk of my riding a very smart pony of his
in " The Cairo Derby," but, much to my disappointment,
the animal, a very nippy and game Arab, broke down a few
days before the race was to be decided at the Khedivial Club.

It was on the occasion of my previous visit to the land of
backsheesh and beetles that, when embarking at Naples on
the Orient liner Oroya (subsequently wrecked), I found myself
a fellow passenger of one Jack Seely, who was regarded by all
on board with admiration and awe, by reason of his having
recently performed an act of outstanding valour, for which
he had received the Albert Medal. This was he who sub-
sequently rose effulgently on the Parliamentary firmament,
and became War Minister, and afterwards — in the Great War
— a most distinguished major-general.

Hassanein, having failed in persuading us to pitch our
tents on the plains of Fayoum during our previous visit
to Egypt, now renewed the attack so persistently that, for
the sake of peace and quiet, we at last consented to fall in
with his views. Accordingly he fitted us out and fixed us up

A Sportsman at Large 235

in orthodox Bedouin style remote from the busy life of Cairo.
Our sleeping tent was certainly decorative, but not altogether
savoury. To put it mildly, it was decidedly stuffy and
reeked of native odours.

The first night an owl of the species known as " Little "
persisted in serenading me with its feline-like mewings, as
it sat on one of the guy-ropes of our kitchen tent. Its far
from dulcet notes so got on my nerves, that I made a target
of it for- my revolver ; but my practice was by no means
accurate. Its report, however, moved the abhorrent bird for
the nonce ; but it soon returned, and growing accustomed to
the explosion, it refused to budge, but continued its irritating
" recital " until the first glimmer of a hopeless dawn warned
it that it was time for it to seek repose. Then a chorus of
frogs arose, such as would have delighted the soul of Aris-
tophanes, but which left me cold. There must have been
hundreds of the sprightly reptiles within a few yards of the
tent. They voiced their raucous cacophony so persistently
and continuously that, not being able to stand their con-
certed croakings any longer, I went out in my pyjamas with
a view to scattering the disturbers of my slumbers to the four
winds of Heaven ; but, search as I would, not a single frog
could I discover.

The " sport " which our dragoman had promised proved a
veritable " dud." There were no snipe, no duck — not even
the homely pigeon was in evidence. The only fowl that we set
eyes on until we arrived at the shores of the ancient lake
were parti-coloured kingfishers and a few egrets or paddy-
birds. But when the waters were reached, we could see
numerous pelicans floating on the placid suiface. In the
silvery mist of the morning they appeared about the size
of ostriches, and seemed to be quite tame until our
boat was within a couple of hundred yards of them ; but
without appearing in the least bit of a hurry, they managed
to keep that distance between our craft and their tail
feathers.

I thought to spring a surprise on them with my rook-
rifle, but though my leaden missiles fell with a " plomp "
in close proximity to the plethoric body of one of the tribe,

236 A Sportsman at Large

I failed to hear the satisfying " plunk " which signalizes a
palpable hit.

I wondered what fish, if any, inhabited the lake. By way
of experiment, I rigged up a spinning flight with a gold
" devon," and tried trailing, but all I caught was the sub-
merged carcase of a long deceased goat.

On landing, we became aware that a bunch of natives wa ?
busy with a drag-net, so we waited and watched the opera-
tions expectantly. Nor were we disappointed, for when the
bag was finally hauled ashore, we saw that it encompassed
a multitude of fishes. There were great Nile perch, some of
which must have weighed half a hundredweight or more ;
also carp-like creatures, which were evidently closely related
to the sportive mahseers of India and Kashmir. Among the
smaller fry were catfish, and others to which I could give no
name. When I inquired of Hassanein as to their identity,
I was met by his usual non-committal assertion that they
were " someping," but as to what they were, he either could
not, or would not, deign to enlighten me. So I gave it up !

When I mildly suggested to him that we were getting but
a poor return for our trouble and outlay, he played his trump
card : " To-night, berhabs, Ba-shas shoot jackal."

Perhaps ?

It was a fine, still night, and the moon was at its full
when our shikari posted us near a donga overgrown with short
scrub, which was supposed to be the home of the wily
" jacks."

A " kill " had been secured — the carcase of a lamb which
had yielded to some infantile disorder several days pre-
viously, and was now suffering from the first symptoms of
disintegration. So much so that when I first set eyes upon it
I was in doubt as to whether it was really dead. It seemed
so lively !

We had a long wait, but just before sunrise a shot came
from Ted's ground machan, followed by a yelp of pain —
and then silence !

I saw my cousin rise to his full height and wave his weapon
triumphantly.

" Got 'irn ! " he shouted.

A Sportsman at Large 237

We all ran to the spot which he indicated.

There, calm and serene, in the arms of death, lay — no
jackal forsooth — but a mangy " pie-dog," which pre-
sumably had wandered from an adjacent village, no doubt
attracted by the (to him) appetizing odour of the " kill."

John Leech, of Punch fame, delighted to lampoon the early
volunteers. I believe that one of his sketches gave rise to
the vulgar query addressed by street gamins of the day to
the valiant amateur warriors : " Who shot the dog ? "

For years after our Fayoum adventure, should anyone
make a similar inquiry of the doughty Ted, he, if it were
a man or boy, was in deadly peril of receiving " a thick ear " ;
if of the gentler sex, of experiencing the chilling influence of
" the lemon eye " !

No ! camping at Fayoum was not good enough for your
Uncle Cockie or his satellites; so tents were struck, and we
drifted back to Cairo, wiser if sadder for our latest experience.

Hassanein's stock experienced a slump !

I must not quit my rambling reminiscences of Egypt without
referring once more to Hassanein, alias Farag. (By the way,
it seems that there really was a Farag, for, on informing our
dragoman that my belief in the existence of his " brudder "
had been hopelessly shattered, he one day produced a
resplendent individual, and introduced him as such. Even
so, I had my suspicions that the said individual had been
induced to impersonate a nebulous entity by being slipped a
sufficiency of shekels.) Strange coincidences are wont at
times to materialize. As I was jotting down these vagrant
vapourings, a letter was handed me. On opening it I dis-
covered that it was from Hassanein himself, written more
than a quarter of a century after we had finally parted at
Alexandria. In it, after reminding me of " Auld lang syne,"
and calling down the blessings of Allah on my head and on
those of my offspring, he ventured to remind me of the gold
watch and double-barrelled, hammerless, up-to-date breech-
loader which I had (not) promised him !

This modest missive drove my thoughts back to an occa-
sion during my first visit to Egypt, when, on Hassanein's
pressing invitation, I had paid him a visit in his native mud

238 A Sportsman at Large

hut, there to partake of coffee, smoke the calumet of peace,
and be introduced to his wife ; the latter ceremony marking
me as one highly honoured ; inasmuch as Mussulman etiquette
does not, as a rule, permit of such presentation of a Giaour to
the fair partners of the devout.

Mrs. Hassanein (or Farag) duly appeared ; but after
affording me a fleeting vision of over-ripe charms, she scuttled
back to the seclusion of her lord and master's modest seraglio.

When only a year later the draw of Cairo brought me back
to its wondrous charms, the irrepressible Hassanein again
insisted on my partaking of his humble hospitality " chez
lui." When, lo and behold ! a smirking damsel of some
fourteen or fifteen summers (the Arab girls mature very
quickly) was proudly produced by my host.

" Your daughter, Hassanein ? " I inquired.

" Not daughter, Ba-sha. This my wife," he said.

" Indeed ! Then I fear that the " Sit " whom I saw last
year is dead ? " I remarked sympathetically.

" Oh, no, Ba-sha. She not dead. I send her away. I
not like her ! Perhaps I like this better, but not sure. If not,
I send her away too, and get other one. Blenty ready ! "

Well, well, well !

CHAPTER XXI

THE Pentland Firth is not a friendly piece of water ;
nay, at times, it is positively and aggressively objec-
tionable, especially to those whose fate it is to suffer the
pangs of mal de mer. Luckily for myself, I am not one of
those unfortunates, though when the stormy sea doth rage
and I am on its palpitating bosom I am apt to feel anything
but boisterously hilarious. In fact, at all times I hate and
abhor the rough stuff served up by Father Neptune. There is
only one phase during a sea voyage which " gets my goat "
more thoroughly, and that is a glassy surface, swept by a
dense fog. This from painful experience ; for it was my fate
to be a passenger on board the old Leinster when, under such
conditions, she barged into the lightship Albatross — hard by
the coast of Ireland — catching her amidships and sending her
to Davy Jones's locker inside of seven minutes. The fog
was so dense that one could hardly see one's hand in front
of one's nose. I had been reclining in my comfortable bunk,
reading the latest " seller " of Rider Haggard, and uncon-
cernedly listening to the constant hooting of the siren, when
suddenly I was conscious of a shock (by no means a severe
one), followed by a strange grinding and creaking. Then came
the tinkling of the engine-room bell ; at first " Half speed,"
then " Full speed astern ! "

There followed the trampling of many feet on deck. Ex-
cursions and alarums and excited shoutings and objurgations
assaulted my ears ; so I came to the conclusion that it was
time I got a move on, for the purpose of personally investi-
gating the reason of this to-do.

When I had ascended the companion-way, a strange sight
presented itself ; the exact meaning of which was obscured
by the fog.

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240 A Sportsman at Large

" What's up ? " I asked a phlegmatic sailor man.

" We've run down the blinkin' lightship, guv'nor," he
replied. ' There she is stuck on our bows like a blinkin'
'errin' on a skewer. Blyme, she'll be down in a couple of
shakes, as soon as we backs out of her guts ! "

" Great heavens ! " I exclaimed. " What about her crew ? "

" Oh, they're all right, guv'nor. They've boarded us quick
as a bunch of monkeys — seven of 'em ; but seemin'ly they'll
lose all their kit and belongin's."

" How did it happen ? "

" Gawd knows, guv'nor. We must be five miles out of
our course. I never knowed the like of it afore."

And so it turned out. Down went the Albatross as soon
as we had backed clear of her, causing a maelstrom, which
rocked the old Leinster hard and good. Our bows were
stove in ; but collision mats, deftly used, enabled us to limp
into harbour.

The " Old Man " had been over twenty years in the service,
but he was " scrubbed," which seems rather hard lines, having
in view the baneful conditions which had brought about the
catastrophe.

That is why a fog at sea always " puts the wind up "
me !

As for storms, a tough old merchant service skipper once
confided to me :

" Long experience has taught me to mistrust the absolute
veracity of man, but when one comes to me and says, ' Cap-
tain, I hope we shall have a bit of a toss : I simply love rough
weather,' then / know he's a liar ! "

I cordially concurred.

Meet then our party as we landed after a short but by no
means sweet passage of the Pent land Firth. With me, my
C.O., her brother Marcus, her Aunt Elsie, her head lad (Henry
George), my beloved cousin Ted Jaquet, and the inevitable
Bedford, with Flora his wife. I had long had my eye on the
Orkneys as a suitable field for sporting amenities of a
variegated order.

It was my luck to secure a three-months' lease of Graeme's
Hall, finely situated on the bay of that name, in the island

A Sportsman at Large 241

of Pomona — the largest and most important of the Orkney
group. We had a rather cold drive, though it was then the
commencement of August ; so that on our arrival at our
destination the genial light and warmth of the Hall, and its
table laden with smoking provender, brought much comfort
and joy to our weary souls. I was up betimes in the morning,
and with Ted and Marcus (Henry George was elsewhere)
made a visiting round. After seeing to the welfare and
" messing " of our dogs — Belle, the little old pointer, the
truest and staunchest of her breed ever pupped, and my
retriever Sweep (afterwards known on the show bench as
" Champion Black Cloth "), then only a youngster and half
broken, but showing extraordinary promise — we strolled
down to a likely-looking mire, which stretched from within
three hundred yards of the back door of the Hall right away
to the hills, half a mile distant. In the centre of this was
a rush-grown tarn, where, much to our satisfaction, we viewed
two skeins of mallard circling round before alighting on its
surface. I began investigating the mire itself, but had not
proceeded a dozen yards before a leash of full snipe flushed
and went off with the protestations common to their species.
So I retreated discreetly. We returned to breakfast in high
hope and spirits.

As it turned out, this mire proved an almost inexhaustible
provider of the genus scollopidcz. Although the majority of
these were young birds, they were exceedingly smart on the
wing, and in first-rate condition. Lesser marshes and springs
lay throughout the valley, so that the birds, when disturbed
from one, would but move on to another ; consequently, for
nearly a month, we enjoyed snipe-shooting galore. At the
end of our stay I had accounted for no less than 223 couple to
my own gun !

This kind of sport, intermingled with the slaughter of
sundry other birds — thus affording a mixed bag — has ever
appealed to me beyond any form of shooting in which I have
indulged.

So you may imagine that I had the time of my life !

There were plenty of duck coming and going, but they were
not easily come by, being very wild and wary. However,

242 A Sportsman at Large

we exacted a goodly toll of flappers, which, although falling
easy prey (even to Henry George, who was no " Sir Garnet "
with the gun), and affording but a mild form of sport, were
very acceptable as tenants of the larder and, later, served up
on the domestic board with orange salad and port wine sauce.

When the reaping had taken place and the corn stood in
" stocks," we essayed moonlight raids ; for then the duck came
to the corn-fields in considerable numbers ; but not possessing
the faculty for seeing in the dark possessed by owls, bats,
cats and other nocturnal marauders, but little execution was
done, though plenty of powder and shot was loosed off. On
one occasion I feared that murder was in the air ; for Henry
George, who was a hot-blooded guy, had fallen out with the
frolicsome Ted, because the latter had played a practical
joke which unwittingly seemed to have cast some aspersion
on the former's lady-love ; whereupon H. G. had uttered
blood-curdling threats, which made me nervous as to the
outcome when the twain, both armed with lethal weapons,
should be within hail of one another beneath the baleful rays
of Diana. The said H. G. was, as stated, an indifferent per-
former with the gun, but had he been so minded he could
hardly have missed so conspicuous a mark as Ted — even in
the dark.

Happily the said H. G. refrained from bloodshed, and so
avoided inevitable sus. per coll. There was a sprinkling of
grouse on the moors. On the opening day we gathered nine
brace over Belle, and subsequently, enough were accounted for
to provide a welcome addition to our menus ; but as far as I
was personally concerned, I considered the game hardly
worth the candle, so confined my attention to the snipe, the
trout and the sea-fish ; leaving the " grousing " to Marcus and
Bedford, who thus acted as provision merchants. I presume
that they found some sort of amusement in their calling.
In all, the tally of grouse was forty-three brace (we were
limited to fifty brace), and added to these were a baker's
dozen of hares of the genuine red variety, also very acceptable
with red-currant jelly and trimmings.

I never shoot hares myself on principle. I consider them
far too valuable as accessories to harriers and greyhounds.

A Sportsman at Large 243

Meanwhile, as stated, I confined my personal attention
to the snipe and duck, and to trout and sea-fish. With the
last named the waters of the Orkneys teem ; big cod and
particularly fine haddocks offering unlimited diversion to
those who appreciate such side-shows as varying the monotony
of more orthodox sport.

I am one of these. I look upon no form of fishing with
contempt and ' ' despisery . ' ' The greater the variety, the better
am I pleased.

One of the most attractive features to draw me to the isles
of the far North was the fishing for salmo trutta in the voes
of the sea, of which sport I had heard wonderful accounts.
I was told that all I should have to do would be to await
the assembling of the sea-trout in " the season of the year," don
my waders and step out from the golden strand until within
casting distance of the sienna-tinted, weed-grown rocks,
around which the desirable fishes are wont to congregate
and play, and where they would, so I was assured, freely
partake of such delusive fare as the angler might put before
their noses, always provided that the said fare showed " local
colour " such as would appeal to their eyes and appetites.

I have no doubt that when conditions happen to be
favourable, this sport is all that it is claimed to be ; but as
evil luck would have it, such conditions were conspicuous
by their absence during my sojourn at Graeme's Hall, except
on one notable occasion. The fact is that there had been a
long drought ; consequently the little burns which ran into
the bay at various points were almost completely dried up,
only a tinkling little trickle of sweet water finding its way to
the salt. The voes, therefore, were crystal clear, and though
many sea-trout — some of great size — were to be seen dis-
porting themselves therein, there was nothing doing for the
angler. An occasional and desultory " short rise " being all
that was vouchsafed throughout many days of wearisome
casting.

I collected my forces and detailed them to dam up one
of these burns, with a view to the creation of an artificial
spate. When the psychological moment arrived and the flood
was let loose, I was to stand by with my angling outfit,

16*

244 A Sportsman at Large

and be ready to open an attack on the fish, which I figured
would rush to enjoy the long- wait ed-f or advent of fresh water,
and the verminous and entomological provender which
would be swept down with it to the emerald sea. The water
near the mouth would then show a subdued tint more ap-
propriate to the business which I was bent upon. But our
meticulous plans were upset. Down came the impromptu
flood so precipitately that its force was exhausted in about
forty seconds ; though, for that brief space, it was so powerful
that any sea-trout venturing within the immature torrent
would have been swept far beyond the reach of my longest
cast. The affair was literally " a wash-out ! "

But at last the long-deferred irrigations of Aquarius mate-
rialized ; for after a couple of days' downpour, the voe showed
a sort of dull pastel green tint instead of its scintillating
emerald hue as heretofore ; moreover, the fish — in large
quantities — were rising and " bulging " freely among the rocks,
close in-shore, and at the mouth of the burn. I had been
advised to use a hackle fly, known as the "flamingo" — of a
brilliant scarlet ; or, alternatively, a double hook affair d la
Stewart tackle, having a prairie-hen wing and a silver body.
I suppose the latter was intended as a counterfeit presentment
of the ever-attractive sand eel.

The first two fish that came my way were herling, which were
safely creeled. Then something big attached itself and went
out to sea like a torpedo, making my reel screech loudly.

All of a sudden, down came the point of my rod, and snap-
swish ! It was smashed to smithereens — an over-wind ! the
result of reprehensible carelessness in not seeing that all was
taut before commencing operations. I had to wade back
to shore, and then found that I had not a spare cast with
me ; so there was nothing for it but to leg it back in my waders
to the Hall. This meant loss of valuable time. The half
ebb was already a thing of the past, and soon hope would
be at a discount ; for the chances of good sport are limited
to a couple of hours when the tide is just right.

At last I was at work again, and after having pulled out
another herling by the scruff of its neck, I struck something
which gave me an extraordinary feel. A sort of passive

A Sportsman at Large 245

resistance — not in the least like the active antagonism of a
big sea-trout — but there was weight behind this customer.
When I had him close in, and on the surface, my curious gaze
fell upon a great, gaping mouth and big lack-lustre eyes.
A five-pound codling by all that was wonderful — a strange
catch to come one's way when trout fishing !

I was not over-pleased with this unlooked-for intrusion,
as it meant more waste of time, and as yet I had not had
a decent fish, though they were to be seen busy all over
the place ; but after a few more casts, I saw a beauty come
at me, and he took a firm hold. Then I had ten minutes'
excellent sport and excitement before I netted, with complete
satisfaction, a beautiful silvery specimen of the trutta ilk, which
when weighed went to exactly six and a half pounds.

This proved the first and last really decent fish which I
caught in the voes. I had one of two pounds soon after ;
and then there was a tremendous commotion. It appeared
as if the whole bunch had been scared by some danger beyond
my ken ; for they proceeded to rush out to the depths ol the
sea with panicky precipitancy, leaving me with nothing to
angle for.

Nor did they return the next day, or ever again during my
stay.

The ways of fishes are indeed passing strange !

And now I must go back a bit in order to introduce you
to a very notable personage, none other than Doctor Straton,
Bishop of Sodor and Man, who, like myself, had heard of the
excellent fishing in the voes of the sea for salmo trutta.
His lordship wrote asking me, that if, during his Episcopal
holiday, he happened to visit the Orkneys, would I grant him
the great privilege of fishing from the shores of Graeme's Hall
Bay. As I had heard of the sporting proclivities of this eminent
divine, and being primed with the spirit of angling fraternity,
I there and then sat down and wrote to the good Bishop,
saying that I hoped he would make himself free of Graeme's
Hall and so afford us the pleasure of his company, as soon as
he was able to tear himself from his see.

In due course his Lordship arrived and overwhelmed me
with words of gratitude and thankfulness ; but alas ! he put

246 A Sportsman at Large

in an appearance when conditions — as before described —
were at their very worst for the sport on which he had set
his heart. Day after day we fished together, with a cloudless
sky overhead ; casting our flies unproductively on the trans-
lucent waters. At last we became thoroughly fed-up. I
was in despair of showing my guest sport with the fishes.
So I drew a bow at a venture.

" Do you ever indulge in shooting, Doctor ? " I asked.

" Why, yes," he said. " In my early days before I took
Orders, I was much addicted to the gun."

" Well, then," quoth I, "if you would like to renew
acquaintance with that weapon, I can take you to the marshes
and show you snipe galore, with a duck or two thrown in."

" My dear Cox," he replied sententiously, " fishing is one
thing, but shooting quite another. What would my flock
say if they heard that their spiritual mentor was indulging
in the latter recreation ? "

" It is a long, long trail from the Isle of Man to the Orkneys,"
1 ventured.

" Well, well," said his Lordship, " perhaps under the cir-
cumstances I might indulge."

" Good ! " I exclaimed. " I can fix you up with a gun and
ammunition."

" Oh, thank you very much. I have brought a pair of
Purdies with me."

" Oh ! That's capital," I said. " Come along then ! "

Half an hour later found us approaching the edge of the
productive marsh, with the old pointer Belle as keen as
mustard for the fray, and my clever, but " half-baked "
retriever Sweep, at my heels. No sooner was the old bitch's
foot upon the rushy surface than she froze out in a dead point !

" Go on, Doctor," I whispered, " the birds are sure
there!"

My guest hurried up ; when a wisp of five longbills rose,
uttering their well-known lamentations. The Bishop was as
quick as lightning on the first bird, which he " floored " in
masterful style ; then, slewing round, he brought down a
spectacular long-shot with his second — both birds as dead
as stones !

A Sportsman at Large 247

' You don't seem to have forgotten the art, " I said
admiringly.

' Well, well, it's not so bad considering my want of practice."

Somehow I doubted that want of practice. Ere we
had gone far, my suspicions grew stronger than ever, for
Doctor Straton seemed to shoot as one to the manner
born.

Just as we approached the small tarn which lay in the
centre of the marsh, a couple of teal gave me a remote chance,
and as luck would have it, I peppered one of them severely ;
but it was going at a terrific speed and vol-planed down on
a long swoop. Before I could stop him, Sweep was dashing
over the marsh, bent on retrieving the teal — now some five
hundred yards distant. In his mad career he put up clouds
of snipe, which went screaming and gyrating all over the place.

My companion stood aghast. Laying his gun on the ground,
he exclaimed frigidly :

" Look here, Cox, I tell you what it is : that damned dog
of yours has spoilt our whole day's sport — Confound him ! "

It was my turn to be aghast. To hear such language from
the sacred lips caused me unutterable pain.

Moreover, I felt deeply ashamed of my awful hound.

But matters were not as bad as the irate divine imagined,
for the snipe, after wheeling wildly in the air, dropped down
into another marsh about a quarter of a mile distant, and
Master Sweep, having received well-deserved correction, was
now attached to a lead ; so that the wrath of my guest was
duly appeased, and we proceeded on our way to take heavy
toll of the birds.

A few days previously, I contrived a rather curious shot.
A couple of snipe rising, one on my right and the other on my
left, at about thirty paces, had crossed one another just as
I pulled off, with the result that both lay within a foot of
one another as dead as a door-nail !

When Doctor Straton and I arrived on the scene of this
exploit, I was narrating to him this curious incident. Hardly
had I finished speaking, when again a couple rose, remote from
one another, on my right and left respectively. These also
crossed in their flight, and, as on the previous occasion, both

248 A Sportsman at Large

fell to my one barrel, within a few yards of where their fellow-
victims had given up the ghost on the previous occasion.

Truly coincidence has a very long arm !

Did I hear you say : " Yes, and shooters draw a very long
bow ? " But what I am telling you is gospel. What is
more, it forms a decidedly striking parallel with the story of the
two salmon caught at the same spot in the Furnace Lake at
Burrishoole, as narrated in a former chapter.

CHAPTER XXII

T T NDOUBTEDLY Sweep's backsliding caused him to be
vJ held in contempt by His Sporting Lordship. It must
be remembered, however, that my cherished retriever was
but a puppy, and consequently somewhat irresponsible ; but
this was the natural outcome of intense keenness. He had
all the makings of an Ai dog, and, in course of time, was
so pronounced by every sportsman that shot over him.

Some days before Dr. Straton arrived at Graeme's Hall, Ted
and I had made a raid on a late clutch of flappers which had
been bred in the nearer tarn. Among this bunch of nine was
a callow and backward " Little Willie," which, being unable
to take wing with his brothers and sisters, escaped lethal
powder and shot, but had to put up with persistent persecution
on the part of Sweep.

Every morning, my black beauty would slip off, whilst we
were negotiating breakfast, and chivvy the unfortunate
caneton until the latter was so exhausted that it allowed
the dog to take it tenderly (Sweep had a velvet mouth) in his
jaws and transpoit it, in triumph, to our presence.

This diurnal formality being completed, the flapper was
each day returned to its native haunts, there to await a
further call by the enemy. I had a hunch to pull the epis-
copal nether limb — gaiters and all !

'You don't think much of Sweep, do you, Doctor?" I
asked.

r< Well, well. I cannot say that I do ; but perhaps if you
do not spare the rod, you may avoid spoiling the pup 1 "

" Believe me," I replied, " Sweep is super-intelligent.
He knows every word I say to him. A nod is as good as a
wink to make him carry out orders. Now if I were to ask

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250 A Sportsman at Large

him to slip off to the tarn yonder and bring me back a duck,
do you suppose he could or would succeed in so doing ? "

" I am not given to rash speculation. I simply abhor the
vice of gambling, but I dare venture my clerical headgear
against your lay tile, that he neither could nor would do
anything of the sort."

" Done ! "

I went to the door and whistled for my favourite. " Sweep,"
I said in my ordinary tone of voice, " His Lordship. wants
you to fetch him a wild duck from over there " (inclining my
head in the direction of the rush-grown mere). " Do you think
you could find one ? "

This was enough ! Sweep was off like a shot. In less than a
quarter of an hour he was back again with the much-harassed
duckling, firmly but tenderly held in his jaws !

" Well I'm " (here the Bishop, no doubt mindful of his

former lapse, pulled up short) — " I'm — I'm — blessed I "

In the evenings, after our day's sport and a grateful repast,
during which His Lordship showed his unstinted appreciation
of Pol Roger 1889 (then in its prime), my C.O. " would oblige "
on her violin. She was a thorough musician and knew how
to extract the sweetest music from that glorious (when
gloriously played) instrument. The dulcet strains invariably
caused our guest to slip gently into the arms of Morpheus,
whilst not infrequently he would join in with a nasal obbligato
which was somewhat trying to those blessed with a sensitive
ear for music.

Again I ventured on a little mild leg-pulling. This time
the plot was carried out by conspiracy.

We all waited until the Bishop was fast asleep and emitting
a cacophony like unto the grinding and whirring of a twenty-
horse-power steam saw mill.

Then the C.O. drew her bow across the strings in one long-
sustained, excruciating discord !

Dr. Straton opened his eyes, rubbed them, and bowed to the
player.

' Thank you so much," he murmured suavely. ' That
was really divine ! My favourite melody. Every note went
to my heart, calling up visions of my childhood's days, when

A Sportsman at Large 251

my dear mother used to play it on her harp. Again, thank
you ! thank you ! "

After His Lordship had departed in peace, I took to sea-
fishing, a sport to which, faute de mieux, I was much addicted.

So I chartered a twelve- tonner manned by a North Briton
(the inhabitants of the Orkneys are apt to take deep offence
if rated as Scots) of the name of Gunn, who, when not engaged
in maritime amenities, earned a hard but honest living by
renovating the footgear of the inhabitants of Pomona.

Ted had, by this time, made himself scarce, and so had
Marcus, brother of my C.O. ; so that Henry George was the
only one of my own sex and condition that remained to bear
me company. I am afraid that the last-named did not appre-
ciate the job, for " when the stormy winds did blow," he
" generally went below," to find such seclusion as the " cabin "
might grant. In propitious weather, when the surface of
the sea was calm and serene, he would hold out gallantly, until
we came to our moorings for cod or haddock fishing ; then,
when I began impaling the useful but repulsive looking lug-
worms, his soul would sicken again, and the angling proceedings
would interest him no more.

This cod-fishing, if not highly exciting, had its thrills ; for
whilst the tide was running at half ebb or flow, and always
providing that we had taken our bearings correctly, we (Gunn
and I) were kept busy. The first time I let my line down
with its length of steel trace, I thought I had fouled a rock,
and so began to curse my luck ; but, having put on a vigorous
strain, I felt the obstruction lift a few feet.

" That's a fish ye have, sir-r," called out the skipper. " Wind
up quick ! "

All very well to say " Wind up quick," when I could only
lift the creature a foot or two at a time, with twenty fathoms
of line to reel in, and the top of my stout sea-rod bent right
below the surface of the water. My hands and wrists became
numbed by the strain; but at last, gazing down into the
clear depths, I could see gyrating vigorously a silver body,
which appeared to be about the size of a normal whiting.

As the roll of line thickened on the winch-pin, the flashing
form assumed larger dimensions, until at last it came flounder-

252 A Sportsman at Large

ing to the surface, there to be skilfully gaffed by my sailor-
cobbler. A cod of eighteen pounds.

This sort of thing went on pleasantly, if monotonously.
No sooner was the bait down than it was seized by one of the
goggle-eyed, gaping-mouthed monsters, until the whole of the
deck was covered with their corpses — the biggest twenty-two
and a half pounds, the smallest eleven pounds. But as soon
as the tide slackened the fish went dead off the feed.

Then we came in nearer the mouth of the bay, where the
currents still ran strongly, and set ourselves to the capture of
the common haddock of commerce. These were very fine
specimens, and whilst on the take, could be hauled up two
at a time, as long as conditions favoured.

Naturally I began to wonder what we should do with such a
miraculous draught of fishes ; so asked Gunn how much they
would fetch in the Kirkwall fish-market, and was told that
the whole caboodle (there was quite a quarter of a ton of good
fish-food) would command about two shillings — spot cash ! "

What about crimped cod at two-and-six per pound in Bond
Street ?

We ate of them (with oyster sauce) at Graeme's Hall until
the very name of cod or haddock caused a certain nausea to
overcome us. Some we salted, and the rest we gave away
to anyone who would deign to take them off our hands.

At times we did a bit of whiffing for mackerel, and one day,
after many abortive attempts, I got among a shoal of very fine
fish, with my fly rod. When, using the flamingo and silver
eel fly, as recommended foi the sea-trout, I had some excellent
fun. I took nearly a score of the gorgeously bedizened fish,
each one of which, on my light tackle, put up a real good fight.

But mackerel we could not give away. The hardy Norsemen
(most of the dwellers in the Orkneys are of Scandinavian
descent) simply would not look at them, much less taste of
their flesh. They declared that, when one of their ilk had
the misfortune to meet a watery end, these decorative fish
would tear the poor corpse to shreds, leaving nothing but bones
to find a final sanctuary in Davy Jones's locker. A fact which,
in their simple opinion, renders mackerel " unclean," and unfit
for human consumption. For my own part I never dwell upon

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what my dead rations may have subsisted on during their
brief span of life on this beautiful but desperately cruel
sphere. Otherwise, what about ducks, pigs and such-like
gross feeders, whose succulent flavour is in inverse ratio to the
obscenity and repulsiveness of their sustenance ?

John Gunn (sounds more like Notts than the Orkneys,
doesn't it ?) came to me one day to ask if I would like to visit
the caves on the coast, outside the bay, there to launch an
offensive against the Blue Rock pigeons which inhabit them
in considerable numbers. Knowing that these birds are able
to test the skill of the shooter to the utmost, I thought I
would like a try out. It was impossible to use the Valhalla
(as our half-decked sailing craft was called), by reason of the
dangerous, rock-bound coast, which would admit of approach
by an ordinary fishing boat only.

Announcing my intention to the C.O., she expressed a wish
to accompany the expedition. I was rather surprised at this ;
for, although she was a pretty good sailor on a cross-channel
steamer or an ocean-going vessel, she had ever expressed an
opinion that a voyage in a small boat on the open sea would
find her prostrate with mal de mer. For that reason she had
never yet joined in our various fishing excursions.

Choosing a likely day when the waters appeared calm
and pacific and the skies showed no signs of dirty weather
in the offing, she, I, Henry George, and the faithful John set
forth on this novel venture. All went well during the out-
going voyage. We rounded the point of the bay and coasted
along the shores of the open sea until the first of the pigeon-
caves was reached. It was a deep embrasure in the lofty cliffs
which towered over the waters. Here the water was crystal
clear. Gazing down into the depths, a perfect maritime
fairyland was revealed. Sea fauna, in the shape of massed
formations of many-coloured weeds, swayed in a gentle tide.
Here and there, patches of glittering sand were to be seen,
whilst, darting hither and thither, shoals of small fish of various
species worked their way in and out of the rocks and gently
waving weeds.

All of a sudden, a sharp exclamation from the C.O. caused
me to raise my eyes from the contemplation of the decorative

254 A Sportsman at Large

glories of this submarine paradise. There, not twelve feet
from the boat, a large, round and dark head was thrust above
the surface, with great, lustrous eyes fixed upon us in obvious
curiosity and amazement. It was one of the large marble
seals which affect these parts. Having satisfied itself that
our intentions were amiable and pacific, it sank slowly beneath
the waters, and was lost to sight.

Now our boatman seized a good-sized rock from the heap
which he had collected in the bows of the boat, and heaved
it into the recesses of the cave, where its violent impact caused
a hundred echoes to reverberate in the rocky depths. Scarcely
was my gun at the ready when a flock of the " rocks " burst
from the aperture at terrific speed. The boat was swaying
violently, thus rendering chances very difficult. I let off
both barrels wildly, so was hardly surprised when the birds
went on their way intact. Another missile brought two
belated pigeons to open air. One of these I dropped in first-
rate style.

Having exhausted that particular cave we proceeded further
on our quest. The shooting was exceedingly difficult ; so that
I only succeeded in accounting for an average of about one
bird to every three shots fired.

Gunn had told me that the best cave of all was still further
ahead ; so, being by now well-primed with the excitement
of the chase, I bade him lay to ; but he suggested that the
turn of the tide was at hand, and that we might have some
difficulty in bringing up to the bay again. Moreover, he
pointed to the south-west, where an ominous bank of dark
clouds was massing. So I decided to abandon the sport for
the nonce.

We had not gone far on the homeward journey, when I
devoutly wished that honest John had imparted his warning
sooner and more emphatically, for we were making poor way
against the tide, which was increasing in power and rapidity
every moment. I could see, from the boatman's countenance,
that he was becoming seriously alarmed, and that his exertions
were beginning to tell on him ; so I ordered him to ship sculls,
so that Henry George and I could take a turn at the sweeps,
which luckily we had brought with us. The wind was now

A Sportsman at Large 255

rising and the water becoming decidedly choppy. Soon
small wavelets broke over the bows and damped us all. Then,
to our horror, we found that, instead of making the point,
we were being carried rapidly out to sea. The only thing to
be done was to turn inshore and skirt the jagged rocks, thus
risking a lesser disaster. Henry George, who was not
altogether in a well-trained condition, resigned his sweep
to Gunn, and then we took alternate turns. I was so intent
on what threatened to be a disastrous tragedy that I had not
noticed the condition of my C.O. She was evidently in
parlous state, blue with the cold, wet to the skin, and shivering
in every limb. But I had perforce to stick to my sweep, and
so could not go to her succour ; neither could Henry George,
who was at the tiller and in almost as bad a state as she
was.

The waves began to break over the bows of the little boat,
and it was only by keeping her nose well up to them that
we avoided being swamped. As it was, we shipped so much
water that the planks were afloat ; so Henry George was
detailed for persistent baling.

All of a sudden my C.O. collapsed, and subsided in the
wash. I shouted to Henry George to raise her head sufficiently
to save her from the risk of drowning.

As luck would have it, the wind suddenly dropped, and I
could see that by rowing out to sea again and taking a long
slant, we might gain the longed-for point.

It was a desperate chance, but it had to be taken.

Never before, and only once since, have I experienced such
heartfelt joy and relief as when these tactics proved success-
ful ; though only by the narrowest of squeaks. Had it been
otherwise our doom had been sealed.

There was yet a long row before us, but no imminent danger.
Our spirits rose, and in order to give vent to our feelings, we
chortled various seafaring songs as we lay to our sweeps
with a will.

But even so, we were unable yet to relieve the C.O., who
appeared to have lost consciousness.

When, at long last, our boat grounded on the friendly
shores of Graeme's Hall Bay, Henry George ran hot-foot for

256 A Sportsman at Large

help. He soon returned from the mansion with Bedford
and his wife, Flora, bearing between them hot drinks and
blankets.

The poor sufferer was wrapped in the latter ; carried
between us to Graeme's Hall, and placed in the charge of her
aunt. After a hot bath and a good night's rest she came
down to breakfast next morning as fresh a? a daisy. Glory
be ! But, believe me, nothing in this world would induce her
to set foot in an open sea boat again.

Dogs have strange ways. I verily believe that they possess
some intuition of danger besetting those they love. Bedford
told me that, during our absence on this unlucky expedition,
Sweep had been obviously uneasy and distressed, and that
about the time when danger was most imminent to us, he had
raised his head and given voice to dismal howls of pent-up
misery.

A .propos this same Sweep. I forgot to recount a little
story which illustrates the reasoning powers of the canine race
in general, and of this member of the tribe in particular.

One day, when shooting on a marsh which lay remote from
the Hall, a single snipe rose, rather wild, affording me a very
long shot. I dropped it with a broken wing ; whereupon a
mallard sprang from a bunch of reeds which fringed an adjacent
pool. This bird also was brought down in similar plight, and
fell with a resounding splash in the middle of the water.
Sweep immediately went to retrieve it, and succeeded in
doing so ; but only after an exciting chase ; for the duck
kept diving, and each time it did so, the dog had to wait until
its head popped up again before he could get on terms. It
was not until the bird was able to hold breath under water
no longer, that my retriever's jaws closed upon it.

As he was bringing it to hand, his eyes fell on the winged
snipe, which kept springing from the ground in futile efforts
at flight. Releasing the mallard, Sweep traversed the hundred
yards or so which lay between the two, and laid hold of the
long-bill.

But the duck, as soon as it was released, began to flop back
towards the rushes, so the retriever had to drop the snipe in
order to arrest the other bird's progress. Then this farce

A Sportsman at Large 257

was repeated thrice over. Each time the two birds were
brought in closer proximity to one another.

At last he had them practically together. I wondered
what he would do next, for I had purposely avoided lending
a hand. The dog being now fairly baked, took the snipe in
his mouth, and placed one ponderous paw upon the neck of the
unfortunate canard ; thus pinning it to the ground. Having
done so he looked back at me with pleading eyes, as who
should say :

" Now then, master, I have done my best. I can do no
more ; for goodness' sake come and relieve me of these
blighters ! "

It is said that we are all mad — that the sanest and cleverest
of us have a bee in the bonnet, which at times will buzz
consumedly.

I suppose that I am not entirely immune from this infliction ;
but I hold that, like Hamlet, I am " mad but nor'-nor'-
west," for assuredly " when the wind is southerly I know
a hawk from a herne ! " Only once have I been accused
of being a stark, staring lunatic, and that by my old freind
Henry George.

It happened this way :

One fine day I took him over from Pomona to the neigh-
bouring island of Burry, where, so I had been informed, golden
plover — which are succulent and desirable birds — were wont
to congregate. With us came the hoo-doo terrier, Billy — of
infamous notoriety — for the reason that (supposing the golden
birds were not to be found) there was a large colony of
rabbits which inhabited the sand-dunes, and these I proposed
to " pink " with my rook-rifle, using the said Billy for the
purpose of digging out any of the coneys which, after being im-
perfectly shot, might drag themselves into their sandy burrows.

Soon after landing, I found that the information which I
had received about the plover was accurate, for several good
flocks were to be seen on the move.

The higher plateau of the island was of considerable extent.
Having descried a bunch of about fifty plover in the middle
thereof, I began to put in force tactics which, from experience,
I had found to be most effective.

258 A Sportsman at Large

Henry George was some five hundred yards remote from
me when I commenced operations. I made violent signs to
him to circle round, and walk in the opposite direction to
myself, thus forming a moving circumference, of which the
birds were the centre.

Wrongly imagining that I had put my friend wise to the
game, I went on my way at a round pace. On completing
each circle I proceeded to describe a smaller one, every time
approaching nearer and nearer to the golden beauties. .

Everything was going O.K., when suddenly I discovered
that Henry George had disappeared as if the ground had
opened and swallowed him up. However, I was much too
busy at the moment to investigate the mystery, for I was
speedily drawing within range of the plover, which were
standing stock still, with their necks stretched well forward,
gazing in mute astonishment at my evolutions.

When the psychological moment arrived I ran in, and as
the birds rose in a cloud, I enfiladed them with such effect
that I was able to pick up nine of their number, and reloading
quickly, bowled over another brace as the main body of the
flock swung back over their fallen comrades to see what had
befallen them.

After gathering the slain, I went in search of my missing
pal. There was no response to my holloas ; but at last I
found him, pale and trembling, crouching behind a rock by
the sea-shore. When I greeted him, and asked him what was
up, I noticed that he addressed me in a very soothing and
conciliatory tone of voice (such as one would adopt in address-
ing a fractious little child), begging me to enter the boat.
He said that he wanted exercise, and would row me back to
Pomona. When I offered to take an oar, he sternly demurred,
and I noticed that he kept his gun close by his side. Just as
we were shoving off, we found that Billy, who had been busy
with the rabbits on his own, was not to be seen anywhere.
Calls and whistles were for a long time unavailing ; but at
last I tracked him to a rabbit burrow, and hearing him at
work within, I lay down, inserted my arm, seized him by his
stump of a tail, and dragged him out by main force.

During the row home Henry George seemed to be in a

A Sportsman at Large 259

devil of a hurry, but never a word did he speak to me. As
soon as we had landed in Graeme's Hall Bay, he took to his
heels, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the Hall,
where, so I was afterwards told, he burst in upon the assembled
company, exclaiming fearfully :

" Come down to the beach quickly ; Cockle has gone stark,
staring mad ! "

Naturally, this put the wind up my other friends, who
post haste sallied forth in a body, followed by Bedford carrying
a hank of rope; as Henry George had suggested that my
malady might be of so violent a nature that I should require
restraint.

I think it was a terrible disappointment to all when they
met me half-way, strolling unconcernedly towards them,
carrying my well-filled game bag over my shoulder.

" What's the trouble ? " I asked, when they came up.

" Trouble 1 " said my C.O. " Trouble enough ! Henry
George here told us that you had gone balmy ! "

I turned upon the informer.

" What on earth do you mean ? " I asked angrily.

" Now, keep calm, Cockie," he soothingly said. " Don't
excite yourself ; you'll be all right to-morrow. I knew that
there was something wrong when I saw you floundering
round and round like a mad dog."

Then the reason of his strange conduct suddenly dawned
upon me. He had mistaken my instructive gesticulations
for signs of maniacal fury, and when he saw me tripping
around those birds, the lid was on it with a vengeance.

Even to this day I am sure that he has his doubts as to
my sanity on the occasion in question.

For many years past I had made a practice of collecting
birds for stuffing which had fallen to my own gun. An
expensive and a not altogether satisfactory hobby.

The Orkneys are justly celebrated for their showing of
rare varieties. I had been told that even the Great Northern
Diver was to be found in the locality, so I determined to see
if I could procure one of these gorgeous birds. Therefore,
with Gunn and Henry George I set sail, one day, in the
Valhalla.

17*

260 A Sportsman at Large

There was certainly an immense number of wild fowl to
be seen, as we sped on our way between the islands and out
into the open sea. Eider-duck, little auk, and the common
sea-birds such as razor-bills, puffins, gannets, guillemots,
great black-backed gulls, and the lesser ones of the same
ilk were in abundance. I also spotted a great skua, and
watched with interest, and some disgust, its nasty habit of
chivvying the gulls after they had finished their meal, and
by constant bullying, causing them to disgorge the half-
digested fishes which they had caught, and gobbling
them up.

At last Gunn called out that a bunch of divers were in sight.
He declared that they were of the "great northern" variety ;
but as soon as I was near enough, I found that he was wrong
and that they were of their smaller, but hardly less beautiful,
cousins of the black throated ilk.

They appeared to be tame enough ; so when within thirty
yards of them, I let fly at the male bird, which was leading
the others — probably the female and a clutch of young ones.
My shot did not appear to have much effect, which did not
altogether surprise me, for I knew how well these birds are
protected by their dense plumage, which is apt to deflect the
shot. To be effective this must be placed in a vital spot.
Then a curious thing happened. Whilst the rest of the birds
dived and disappeared, the one which I had fired at, turned
round and swam flapping, straight for the boat — uttering plain-
tive cries. On reaching it the poor creature tried to scramble
up over the gunwale, as if — being hurt and sorely terrified —
it was trying to induce us to come to its aid and afford it
sanctuary. Gunn lifted it out in the landing-net. At first
I could find no sign of a shot wound, and I was therefore in
hopes that we could take the bird alive as a valuable addition
to the Zoological Gardens, of which I was a Fellow ; but on
closer inspection I saw that a ruby-like bead of blood was
welling up at the back of the poor thing's head ; so, after
leaving it to rest for a few minutes, I gently returned it to the
water ; but as the boat sped on, it again tried to follow, though
so slowly that it gradually fell astern. At last it passed
out of sight.

A Sportsman at Large 261

Somehow or other, this incident greatly distressed me.
I bitterly regretted having shot at it, and if only I
could have felt sure that the beautiful bird had recovered and
joined its family, my guilty conscience might have been
relieved !

Spero sed vereor /

CHAPTER XXIII

THE year following our Orkney adventure I again went
North, but this time took up my abode on the Scottish
side of the Pentland Firth — namely, at Ribigill, situated on
the Kyles of Tongue, in Sutherlandshire. In addition to the
party which was with me on the isles were Bizzy Robinson
and Kate, his wife, as well as my two elder sons, Raymond
and Denis, who were then aged respectively ten and seven
years.

I had been attracted to this pitch by the prospect of mixed
sport, which included grouse, black game, duck and roe-
deer, together with brown trout in various lochs, an occa-
sional salmon in one of them, and sea-trout and sea-fishing
in the Kyles.

Later on, we were again favoured with the company of his
Lordship of Sodor and Man.

This breezy spot took some getting at. The postal address
was " By " Lairg. I do not know what is meant by the
word " By," but, as a matter of fact, we had a lugubrious ride
of forty miles from Lairg station — in the usual ramshackle
" ma-chine " — before reaching the haven of rest. Our quarters
were more primitive than some which I have enjoyed in other
sporting localities, but we managed to rub along in fair
comfort.

I was particularly keen on entering my eldest hopeful to
the sport of shooting. By way of affording him practice, I had
brought along with me a clay pigeon trap, and after a bit, he
began to break a fair percentage of the discs, so that when
the long-looked-for I2th of August arrived, I figured that he
would be able to ground a grouse or two, given a fair chance ;
and, indeed, so it turned out. Although he was quivering

262

A Sportsman at Large 263

with excitement the first time he approached old Duke's
steady point, he accomplished a very smart right and left
with his double-barrelled " 28 " bore. Of course, he was
highly delighted, and I think that my parental pride soared
sky-high. I forgot to mention that my C.O.'s brother Marcus,
with whom you have made acquaintance in the Orkneys and
elsewhere, was of the party. The grouse shooting over dogs
was decidedly good. Our limit was 250 brace, and although
we did not come anywhere near to accomplishing the full
tally, we kept up a very fair average for the first two or three
weeks. Our best, if I remember rightly, being thirty-two
brace to four guns.

There was a good show of black-cock, but these, of course,
were not available until later on. In between whiles I fished
several small lochs in the neighbourhood, and creeled many
brown trout, averaging about three to the two pounds.

In Loch Shinn, one day, I moved a salmon, which rose to
my fly several times, but I never touched him. This was the
only one of his species that showed during my visit.

The scenery in this district was magnificent. There were
several large woods on the hills, in which roedeer were to be
found. So when the grouse began to pack, and refused
any longer to lie to the dogs, we determined to have a go at
the pretty little deer. A buck and three does had been
harboured by our keeper, Jamie McDonald. So one day
found us posted around the dell, whilst the beaters were
pushing through the covert. After a space of time I heard
a crashing of undergrowth below me, and presently a dinky
little buck broke out within about thirty yards of me. I
was using ordinary cartridges in my gun, loaded with Number 4
shot. I let the pretty little fellow have both barrels; but
though he stumbled, he picked himself up and made off.
He was presumably hard-hit, for it was impossible that I
could have missed him altogether. Sweep was at my heels,
and as the buck broke loose, he appeared to be utterly flabber-
gasted at the vision, though quivering with excitement.

In an evil moment I set him off on the trail of the retreating
roe, and away he went at his best speed. I followed as best
I could, but my progress in the thick growth of the wood was

264 A Sportsman at Large

decidedly slow. It was not until I had penetrated nearly a
quarter of a mile of the covert that I came suddenly upon an
open glade.

Here a most distressing sight met my eyes. Sweep had
overtaken the unfortunate buck, bowled it over, and was now
worrying it ferociously, whilst the poor creature was struggling
to free itself and uttering piteous cries. I called the dog off.
Then came the question of how I should give the unhappy
victim the coup de grace, and so put it out of its misery. . I had
not a knife with me, and even so, had I had one, I should sure
have sickened at the use of it. Happily McDonald, who had
followed me up, now appeared. I turned away while he
performed the act of mercy.

From that day forth I swore that no roedeer should suffer
from my attack with a shot gun. I bitterly regretted that
I had not brought my rifle, and so given the little fellow a
sporting chance. But the deed was done, and that's all there
is to it.

Never have I taken a sporting lease but what some
untoward accident or occurrence has cropped up, and Ribigill
proved no exception to the rule.

One day we were grouse-shooting over some undulating
ground, where it was difficult for a gun to keep in touch
with his next-door neighbour, when Marcus went to the
point of Ranger — one of our setters — who had pulled up to
stiffen over the summit of a heather-grown hillock. Just
as the birds rose, McDonald came over the brow, and Marcus,
pulling off, gave him a severe peppering. In fact, so bad
did the casualty appear (though at the time the ghillie made
light of it), that I feared dangerous complications. We plied
McDonald freely with whisky, after which he was able to walk
back to Ribigill with only slight assistance. He had to keep
to his bed for about a week, and then appeared to be quite
all right. Marcus, who was fearfully upset by the accident,
though it had happened through no fault of his own — but was
obviously brought about by reason of the man being quite
out of his proper position — presented him with twenty-five
pounds and paid the fee of the doctor who had been called in.
Nothing more was heard of the affair until some time after

A Sportsman at Large 265

we had left Scotland ; then much to the surprise and disgust
of Marcus, he received a letter from McDonald, hinting that
he (Marcus) had purposely shot him, and demanding fifty
pounds as a solatium. I told my young friend to take no
notice of such an outrageous demand ; especially as he had
been charged with what amounted to an attempt at wilful
murder. After a time a second letter arrived from McDonald,
threatening legal proceedings. Marcus wanted to place the
matter in the hands of his solicitors, but again I urged him to
" lie doggo." My advice proved sound, for this was the last
we heard of the rascal's abominable attempt at blackmail.

It was now that Dr. Straton reappeared on the scene,
not this time for the purpose of fishing in the Kyles for sea-
trout, or in the lochs for brown ; but because he wanted to
whisk me off to a wonderful piece of water which he had
heard of, called Loch Dianard, which lay some fifteen miles
distant, in the heart of the mountains. The stories he had
to tell about this loch revealed it as a perfect angler's paradise ;
so I readily consented to fit out an expedition thereto. It was
impossible to carry out our programme in one day, but the
Bishop had some kind friends, whose house was situated at
the foot of the hill overlooking the wonderful loch, and they
had told him that they would be delighted to put us up for
the night.

The idea was that we should start early the next morning,
and taking a couple of ponies laden with our impedimenta,
make our way over the hills, and spend the second night in
a shepherd's hut which was said to stand near the banks of
the water. We were very hospitably received and enter-
tained by his lordship's friends, and after a good night's rest
we began our strenuous climb, accompanied only by my
valet Bedford, who was detailed to look after the ponies and
our goods and chattels. We had an ascent of nearly three
thousand feet ovei very rough going before we reached the
ridge. Then, looking down, we could see, shimmering below,
the object of our expedition, a kite-shaped piece of water,
the tail of which was formed by what, at a distance, looked
like a streak of silver ribbon, but on closer investigation
proved to be a stream about fifteen feet wide.

266 A Sportsman at Large

When we arrived at what were to be our quarters for that
night, we found a ramshackle affair — a single room, without
furniture of any kind, the ceiling of which had no practical
existence.

It was already too late to attempt an attack on the fish ;
moreover, Dr. Straton was pretty well baked by his climb ;
so he suggested that we should turn in at once and get what
sleep we could. We collected armfuls of bracken and made
up an impromptu couch. This would have been pleasant
and cosy enough had it not been for an army of black midges,
which descended upon us with awful rapacity; so that we
had to wrap towels around our faces at the imminent risk of
being suffocated. We were up betimes in the morning, and
then, to our disgust, we saw that the whole valley was wrapped
in a dank, white mist. The loch was no longer in view, and
we could hardly see our hands before us. So all we could
do was to sit on our now thoroughly damp couches and smoke
our pipes in sullen silence. This penance for our folly in
risking the show, lasted until mid-day. Then the sun came out
and gradually dispelled the mist ; but there was not a breath of
air ; consequently the surface of the water was as a sheet of
glass.

There was as much chance of our catching a fish of any size
or sort as if we had cast our flies in the fountains of Trafalgar
Square. Personally, I would not make the attempt ; but the
enthusiastic Bishop, nothing daunted, went and thrashed the
water for all he was worth, until his muscular strength gave
out, and he sank exhausted on the friendly heather. But
when the shades of evening fell athwart the glen, and the
gloaming gave promise of a sporting chance, I wended my way
to the river and succeeded in pulling out two and a half
brace of very nice sea-trout. Then something of far greater
avoirdupois got hold of me. Immediately I sensed a salmon.
But I was fishing with my light trout-rod, and an ordinary
single gut cast, with a small sized "fiery brown." So I did
not feel altogether happy, and had little hope of success in
accounting for this customer. However, it seemed to be an
amiable and lethargic sort of fish, for it kept very deep and
attempted no rush ; but all I could do was to march sedately

A Sportsman at Large 267

along the bank, whilst it wended its way calmly and steadily.
After a bit the salmon thought it would vary the monotony
by turning back and taking me over the ground which I had
already covered ; and so he kept me marching up and down
like a soldier on sentry go. It was not long before I became
thoroughly fed up with this profitless parade, so making up
my mind to lose — or win — all, I resorted to violent measures,
so gave the sullen joker three or four vicious jerks. Then it
seemed to awaken to the serious nature of things, for it sud-
denly went off down-stream with such a rush that it became
utterly out of control. Before I could give line, it had the
point of my rod down and smashed me up entirely. As I
gazed at my broken cast, I saw this casual customer derisively
throw itself high up out of the water about fifty yards below,
as who should say : " Now, what about it, guv' nor ? "

This was the beginning and the end of our carefully-thought-
out expedition to Loch Dianard. If I could believe the tall
stories that had been told to me about its prolific character,
it would appear that we were exceptionally unlucky on this
occasion. One of the tales went, that an angler — a friend of
the Bishop's — had, a few weeks previously, stood where the
waters of the loch flow out into the open river, and had there
accounted for no less than eighteen salmon, without moving
from one spot.

A tall order indeed !

We were thoroughly disgruntled, and by the time we got
back to the domestic hearth, I wished that Loch Dianard and
all to do with it had been dried as hard as a turnpike road
before I ever set out on this wearisome and wholly profitless
expedition.

Towards the end of my tenancy, the more orthodox sports
were fizzling out, so, as in the course of my latter days in the
Orkneys, I turned my thoughts to sea-fishing, after having
attempted the slaughter of sea-trout in the Kyles by trail-
ing a sand-eel ; a form of sport which has no attraction for
me ; especially when, as was the case here, it is so slack that
the average works out at about three moderate-sized fish
per week.

I had heard great accounts of the haddock and pollock

268 A Sportsman at Large

fishing nearer the mouth of the Kyle, where it flows out into
the open sea.

Therefore, I chartered a fishing boat and a native who
was supposed to be learned in the ways of sea-fish, and how
to catch them. I had intended taking only Bizzy with me ;
but my two brats implored me to allow them to come along,
simply for the pleasure of being aboard the lugger and not
because they had any hunch for fishing per se. Arrived at our
proper points, the anchor was lowered, the angling gear
prepared, and we made a start. Bizzy soon hauled up a
very fine haddock, and I followed suit ; so we began to think
we were in for a good time ; but suddenly we were aghast
at seeing a huge maritime monster gliding along on the surface
within a hundred yards of the boat. I could not make out
what it was. It might have been a narwhal or a basking shark.
We were gazing at it with interest, when I found that the
boatman was hurriedly pulling up the anchor.

" What are you up to ? " I inquired sharply.

" Man," he cried excitedly, " d'ye ken yon beastie ; forrby,
if we're no movin* the noo, ah'm thenken' that he'll be forr
coomin' richt at us an* upsetting the whole of us i' the sea! "

Whereupon he seized the sculls and began pulling away
for all he was worth. But the great creature went its way,
apparently oblivious of our presence ; so that the wind it had
put up Neal (the said boatman) soon subsided. But wind
of another kind arose and the surface of the water became
somewhat violently agitated. Our boat was now rocking
unpleasantly. First Denis and then Raymond were seized
with sea-sickness, and imagined themselves to be nigh unto
the doors of death.

Presently the waves were coming up the Kyles boisterously ;
and though the shore was within easy reach, it was bounded
by jagged rocks, which forbade any attempt at landing, so
that it became imperative that we rowed up the Kyle for
more than a mile, against the tide and in the face of a storm
which grew more violent every moment.

My thoughts flew back to the previous adventure which
we had struck when rock-pigeon shooting in the Orkneys,
as already chronicled. An added terror now encompassed

A Sportsman at Large 269

me, the dreadful realization that my two beloved boys were
with me to share the danger. As in the case mentioned,
again we had a strenuous struggle under most trying condi-
tions, until at last we were able to land in a sandy cove, a
mile above where we had been fishing. It was with heartfelt
thankfulness that Bizzy and I set foot on shore and lifted the
sick children out of the boat, sending Neal with her to the
Ribigill landing-stage.

We fondly imagined that all we had to do was to climb
over the rocks and take a short cut to the house, which was not
more than three quarters of a mile distant ; but we were soon
undeceived, for all of a sudden we realized that we were in
a trap ! The tide was now rising fast and threatened soon
to cover the strip of sand on which we stood. We looked
for a path, but there was none ! The rocks, piled one upon
the other, led to a steep slope, some two hundred yards in
height, ere the brow of the cliff could be reached. I looked at
Bizzy and Bizzy looked at me. By silent telepathy we
perceived that a big risk must be forthwith taken. I hauled
Raymond on to my back. Bizzy placed Denis in a similar
position, and then we began one of the most nerve-racking
climbs that it has ever been my misfortune to endure !

We had to haul each other over the rocks to begin with, and
then we found that the slope was even steeper than we had
imagined it to be when we first took stock of it. It was only
by crawling with the greatest care that we managed to keep
a foothold at all. Perspiring at every pore and obsessed with
a nameless terror, we slowly progressed, inch by inch, with
our inert burdens on our backs.

My heart almost stopped beating as I saw Bizzy, with
Denis, make a slip, and slither half a dozen yards down the
slope. Heaven be praised ! a jutting rock held them up.
Another ten feet and they would have been over the cliff and
dashed to pieces on the rocks below ! I had found a ledge
on which I was able to take a breather. A stout bunch of
heather was growing there, and by holding to this and placing
Raymond by my side, I was able to let myself down until
Bizzy could get a hold on my foot and lever himself up.
We all kept together until we had recovered our breath

270 A Sportsman at Large

and our nerve. Then, taking the now thoroughly terrified chil-
dren pick-a-back again, we made another start ; but the worst
was over, and although the rest of the climb was anything
but pleasant, the danger was not anything like so imminent
as it had been. You can imagine our relief when, at last, we
gained the brow of the cliff and saw a straight and easy walk
to our temporary home, which, at one time, I feared none of us
would ever set eyes on again. Not many words passed between
Bizzy and myself during that trying ordeal ; but, in after
times, he has often told me of the horror which he experienced
whilst we were making that nightmare ascent !

CHAPTER XXIV

I WAS so bucked up with my sport on the Harang beat
of the Surendal that I determined to take the earliest
opportunity of renewing my experiences of that delightful
pitch, so was greatly disappointed when Colonel Whitmore
informed me that he was not letting the following year.

As luck would have it, Mr. Archer — the Inspector of
Fisheries — decided to put his holding on the Sand, on the
market. I was quickly in communication with him, and
arranged to take it over. To this fishing was attached
" Archer's Hiis," a most convenient lodge for the purposes
toward ; but there was one little fly in the ointment, since
the river was shared between Archer and his friend Hunter.
At first the arrangement between them had been that the
former should take the near, and the latter the far bank ; but
as this did not work particularly well, a new scheme had to
be adopted, whereby Archer, or his representatives, were
to fish for twelve hours of the twenty-four, and Hunter, or his
lessees, the remaining twelve, alternately.

Now, in the early part of the season — that is to say during
the months of June and July — the salmon ascended but a
comparatively short distance from the fjord ; so that only
two good pools and a problematical run could be fished with
any hope of success.

The lower, or Adsen, Pool is really the estuary of the Sand
itself ; for, at the mouth, its sweet waters intermingle with
those of the brackish fjord.

When fish were running, they generally put in an appearance
as the tide flowed, and though some would push a long way
up the pool, the majority would drop back with the ebb.

The other pool, known as the Great Foss, is one of the
most celebrated and prolific on the whole of Norway. At its

271

272 A Sportsman at Large

head is a fall of about forty feet, over which the waters
surge and boil into the depths below.

The whole of it is rock-bound and rock-bottomed, and of
great depth. It emerges therefrom between two great walls of
stone, close set together, that are known as " Scylla " and
" Charybdis."

Then there is a run of about fifty yards before the Aasen
Pool is reached ; therein there are certain casts where, when
the water is at the right height, a " pull " may be looked for.

The spring had been a cold one ; consequently, our arrival
proved to be somewhat premature, for our first fish was not
registered until we had been in residence ten days. This
was about June 20th, when I was the lucky one to open the
score with a nineteen-pounder, which was a small fish as the
Sand salmon go at this time of the year.

I must tell you that, as regards my first visit to the Sand,
the same party that had foregathered at Harang was again
assembled at Archer's Hiis : namely, my C.O., her brother
Marcus, my versatile valet Bedford, and his wife Flora, the
cook ; not forgetting the irresponsible fox-terrier Billy, who
again had been the cause of endless correspondence and
official documents ere we were permitted to lead him, by a
chain, on to the sacred shores of Norway.

Two natives were told off as our boatmen ; both thor-
oughly efficient, reliable chaps of the best Norsk pattern.
Lars Petersen, heftier of the two, was a long, limber fellow,
with a deeply tanned skin and a black beard. Somewhat
gruff and abrupt, though obviously well-meaning and as keen
as mustard. The other, Tolle Svensen, was of a different
type, being very fair, with deep blue eyes and of much lesser
stature than his colleague. He also sported " face fungus " ;
which, according to the playfulness of 1922, would have
elicited the exclamation " Beaver ! " from any of the gallant
hunters devoted to the ridiculous but mildly exciting stunt.

I was much struck by the quiet, unobtrusive manner of
the last-mentioned descendant of the Vikings. Therefore I
attached him to my person in preference to the rougher
Lars. I may say at once that Tolle proved to be a priceless
attendant — a waterman of the first order and primed with

A Sportsman at Large 273

all the ways and wiles of the local salmon. He knew where
to fish and when to fish ; whilst his stroke with the gaff
was one of deadly accuracy.

The first of the bigger fish fell to Marcus, who had arisen
at four o'clock one morning for the purpose of fishing the
Aasen Pool with a prawn. He was attended by Lars.
When Tolle and I came down, an hour later, we found the last-
named on the strand. But Marcus himself had returned to
the Hiis to snatch a hurried breakfast.

" Any sport ? " I inquired of his boatman.

" One fish, twenny-seex pund."

" Oh, lead me to it ! " I said.

Sure enough, there on the grass, beside the boat-house,
lay a beautiful hen-fish of the weight mentioned ; — a great bar
of silver and steel-blue, with the sea-lice still adhering to her
shimmering scales.

This was a good omen for my own sport, so I lost no time
in getting to work.

I had one or two rises at the " Wilkinson " with which I was
fishing, and managed to pull out a nice fifteen-pounder. There
followed a slack time ; but, as Tolle suggested, I fixed up a
prawn and started harling. A few lengths from the furthest
swim, off the point of the estuary, a tremendous " rug "
proved that something of extra size had attached itself. I
don't think I will trouble you with a description of the fight
which followed. Not only is one such so like another, but
I must reserve details for a description of the desperate struggle
which, later on, I waged with the biggest salmon I have ever
caught. This will be narrated anon. Suffice it to say that
the present customer kept me in a state of nervous excitement
and muscular endeavour for some twenty minutes before
we landed on the strand, where I put on the final pressure
and Tolle waded in to gaff and lift it ashore, a magnificent
cock-fish of forty-two pounds !

It tickled my fancy to have a mild joke at the expense of
Marcus ; so I removed his fish to another spot and covered it
with grass, dumping my monster in its place.

By and by, down came my young friend from the Hiis,
all eagerness to renew the attack.

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274 A Sportsman at Large

" Any luck, Cockle ? " he shouted as he drew near.

" Not much/' I said. " By the way, you caught a decent
fish before breakfast, didn't you ? "

" I should smile — why I got a beauty of twenty-six pounds !
That's good enough surely? "

" Not half," I said casually; " you don't call that a fish?
Come and look at mine."

Whereupon I led him to my magnificent victim. He was
struck dumb with amazement.

" By Jove ! " he exclaimed, " that's a beauty, and no
mistake ; but where's mine ? I left it here ! "

"I'm very sorry, old chap," I replied, " but I thought
you wouldn't mind if I used it as bait for this one."

His reply was terse and somewhat rude.

" Oh, you be damned ! " he exclaimed, turning away.

Two days later, I was fishing the Foss Pool, which at that
time was rather high. There was but a small space on the
further side, and even this could be fished only with difficulty,
as there was a high rock behind the angler, with a dense
growth of large bushes at its base. The fly had to be
" flicked " in ; but as the fish generally congregated there
to escape the terrific rush of the main stream, it was not
necessary to get the lure far out. The " Wilkinson " was
again my chosen fly. The very first time that I succeeded
in manoeuvring it into a favourable position, it was seized
by " a whopper." It was then a matter of " Pull, devil ;
pull, baker," and resolved itself into a question of which was
the stronger — the fish or myself and my tackle. Unless I
could contrive to keep him in the backwater, I knew it
would be all up with me ; for once in the main stream no rod
or line that was ever made would hold him ; so I put on every
ounce of strain that my rod would stand. To cut a long
story short, I had the fish in such a position that, in the
absurdly brief space of six minutes, Tolle, lying prone on
the slab of rock at my feet and using a very long-handled
gaff, was able to strike effectively and haul up from the depths
a glorious cock-fish, the exact counterpart of the one I had
caught a few days previously in the Adsen Pool. The same
colouring, the same lines of symmetry and the same weight

A Sportsman at Large 275

to an ounce — I am figuring that these two resplendent fishes
were twins !

For about three weeks our sport continued good. The
larger fish were the first to run, they being followed by others
of lesser dimensions, and then came the grilse, the majority
of which, I was sorry to observe, had their silvery scales
badly scarred by the meshes of the salmon-nets, which had
been established in far too many positions in the fjord.
During one of my day's fishing, having plied the fly in vain,
I thought I would give a brown phantom minnow a chance,
but spun the whole of the A dsen Pool without being rewarded
by a touch ; so I told Tolle to bring the scow about and row
back to the landing strand. I wound up my line and placed
it at the stern of the boat. But somehow the trace and
minnow, unobserved by myself, got loose, so that the lure
was skittering along the surface about two yards astern.
Suddenly there was a great boil and a " splosh," as a salmon
had the impertinence and audacity to make a dash at the
phantom ; though it failed to lay hold. I had the presence
of mind to tilt the top of my rod over and so to sink the
spinner, when immediately the fish came again and was
firmly attached. It proved to be a nice fresh-run customer
of twenty-two pounds. I am not aware whether any of my
brothers of the angle have had a similar experience, but such
a method of gathering salmon is surely a novelty !

When the raging Foss Pool was just a bit above its normal
level there was only one way in which I could hope to get
a salmon, and that was by Tolle rowing swiftly across one of
the currents, and holding the scow in mid-stream. He told
me that he could keep the boat in position for seven minutes,
and seven minutes only — fish or no fish ; and that then he would
have to wrench her back to the landing plateau.

' What would happen if you stayed any longer ? " I asked.

" Boat carried deun steum, yeu tink, and then yeu dreun ! "

' Thank you very much, and so forth," I murmured ; " but
where do you come in, Tolle ? "

" I not come in at all — I dreun teu ! "

This was a lively look-out ! But having great confidence
in my boatman, I submitted myself to his care, and was soon

18*

276 A Sportsman at Large

placed in the precarious position, but took jolly good care
to have my watch in one hand, while I essayed to cast with
the other. I was taking no risks, and had no intention of
cutting it fine ; so at the end of six minutes I yelled " Time ! ! "
whereupon Tolle turned the scow round and shot her into
safety.

I had not had time to wind up, so about twenty yards of
line, with my " black doctor " at its extremity, trailed out
and was swept deep down into the depths.

After I had landed, I began reeling in, when I found myself
fast in some obstruction. As I put a strain on to get loose,
I was conscious of a movement such as no snag or rock could
cause.

" Yeu'm got risk, yeu tink ! " exclaimed Tolle excitedly.

Faith, I had ; for it seems that a salmon had laid hold of the
fly as it was being swirled round and round on a loose line,
amid the raging waters. I brought the fish to the gaff in
safety, a very welcome eighteen-pounder. Here was another
example of taking a salmon in unexpected fashion !

Toward the end of July the water ran very low, and came
gently over the Foss, minus the roar and rattle which hitherto
had marked its fall.

The narrow strait between Scylla and Charybdis no longer
surged with a tumult of waters. In fact, it was so pacific
that we were able to pass in the scow to the straits below
quite comfortably.

The weather was now set fine, so it was hopeless to look for
fish, except very late at night and early in the morning ;
even at such times very little reward followed our efforts.

Marcus gave it up as a bad job, devoting himself to pro-
menading the modest streets of Sand and giving the Norsk
maidens a treat.

One day I had a brain-wave.

My keen eye of observation had noticed the movements
of a salmon under a ledge of rock which jutted out from
" Scylla." Mounting a very small " black doctoi " of sea-
trout size, I was able, by a long cast, to reach the position
which I judged the fish was occupying. These tactics proved
successful, for I pulled out, not one — but five fish, and lost

A Sportsman at Large 277

three others ! They were not of considerable size, the largest
scaling only fifteen pounds and the smallest not much bigger
than a top-hole grilse. I renewed the attack on several
occasions, but never quite so successfully as on my initial
attempt. Finally, it would seem that I had exhausted the
stock, for my last attempt proved utterly futile. So I aban-
doned the Foss altogether, and devoted my attention to
certain holes or " pockets," which lay at the base of the
rocks which bounded the Adsen Pool. Here I rigged up a
prawn on a single hook, with a leaded line, and manoeuvred
it on the " sink and swim " principle. In this fashion I added
half a dozen more fish (of which one fine fellow weighed
thirty-two pounds) to our tally.

We were now nearing the limit of my tenancy. Day by
day conditions became more and more impossible. Such fish
as came up were so intent on ascending the salmon ladder
and betaking themselves to the higher pools, that they utterly
refused to abide in the Foss for our amusement. So I passed
the time in investigating the means by which the native
fisherman obtained the fine halibut which I had seen come
into the port. I found that their method was as follows :

A number of empty, water-tight barrels had attached to
them the lines, gear and bait requisite for the capture of the
great fish. These gigantic " trimmers " were set afloat, but
secured to the shore of the fjord by a light line about fifty
yards in length. When the halibut seized the bait, this
attachment would be forthwith broken, and away would go
the barrel, careering out into deep water. Then the watchful
fisherman would pursue it in a scow, and, on overtaking it,
would hoist it into his craft, and then proceed to pull the
great semi-flat fish out of its native element by the scruff
of the neck !

I have seen many good pike caught with trimmers, but I
had no idea that ponderous halibut — which might weigh as
much as 150 Ibs. — could be captured in what was practically
an identical manner.

So ended my first visit to the celebrated Sand river.

Six years passed away before I again visited it. On this

278 A Sportsman at Large

occasion I had taken unto myself a partner to share the
expense of my enterprise and all its possibilities. This new-
comer, Tom Lambert, was an old hand at every form of sport ;
whilst his cheery and attractive young wife was as keen as
mustard, especially as regards angling for the lordly salmon.
My C.O. was in evidence again, and later on the irrepressible
Teddy Maurice put in an appearance, bringing with him a
marvellous invention of his own, which was supposed to
prevent that regrettable accident known as an " overwind."
We all stood on the rocky bank of the Foss Pool, intent on
observing his manipulation of this astonishing contraption.

Presently he became attached to a fish — apparently of
negligible size — but he was so busy engineering the product
of his inventive brain that he quite lost touch with it. Teddy
was obviously ill at ease, but, in order to impress us to the
contrary, kept attempting to light his pipe, whereby he wasted
a whole boxful of matches. He " played " (if, indeed, such
a demonstration could be so called) the salmon for fully an
hour. Then the fish, being evidently tired of swimming round
and round the pool on a slack line, quietly sailed away between
Scylla and Charybdis, taking out the whole of the angler's
line and backing, straightening his rod, and breaking him to
blazes !

We others came to the conclusion that we would not adopt
Teddy's weird invention, though we were bound to admit that,
since the salmon had stripped the reel clean, there could be no
question of an overwind ! So perhaps our volatile friend was
justified in claiming that his invention was " IT."

But again I find myself anticipating.

We had commenced fishing about the middle of June, and
immediately hit on a run of remarkably ponderous fish.
I may here and now state that by the time our tenancy was
up, we had accounted foi forty-seven fish, averaging 25! Ibs.,
an extraordinary figure, which I believe constitutes a record.

In the sporting papers I have challenged all and sundry to
put forward an authentic figure which would lower it, but, so
far, my brothers of the angle have remained silent.

In the previous chapter I ventured to suggest that descrip-
tions of fights with monster salmon have been overdone, and

A Sportsman at Large 279

that the details of such encounters are apt to pan out some-
what monotonously ; but when an enthusiast, such as I claim
to be, has for years hankered after a fifty-pounder, and then has
secured one only a few ounces short of the desired weight, I
think it is up to him to describe when and where such a
momentous affair happened. So off we go !

One day I had been fishing the Adsen Pool steadily all the
early morning without having anything to show for my labours.

After breakfast Tom and I entered the scow with Tolle,
to have another dart, just to show there was no animosity,
though the conditions were anything but favourable. As
usual, we started off with the fly, but neither of us met with
the ghost of a rise. Then we tried a prawn with no better
result. After that — just for a lark — I affixed a weird mother-
o '-pearl spinner, which had been presented to me by a neophyte
friend, who had had it dumped upon him by an unconscionable
tackle-maker. Of course, this venture of mine was laughed
to scorn by my companion. Tolle' s steady blue eyes
opened wider than I had ever seen them do before. I think
he had an idea that the continual run of bad luck had affected
my brain !

But just as the scow came within a few lengths of where the
brackish water of the tide was meeting the glacier stream,
suddenly a great body surged up from the depths and over
my despised spinner, and snapped it hard and good. In doing
so, the fish came half out of the water, thus exposing its mighty
proportions. Tom nearly fell backwards into the bows of
the boat with astonishment ?

" My God, Cockie, what a fish ! " he yelled. " It can't be a
salmon ; I believe you're foul of a porpoise or a shark."

Whatever it was that had taken a fancy to my decorative
lure, it went down deep, seeming hardly to realize what it was
up against, for some time elapsed before it attempted a run ;
but when it did, oh, my aunt ! it was some run, believe me !
I had no chance to check it until my whole line and half its
backing was ripped off ; whilst my finger was cut half-way
to the bone. At last the fish turned and came towards us.
I shouted to Tolle to row for his life, whilst I snatched in the
slack, hand over hand, until I had a direct feel of the fish.

280 A Sportsman at Large

I had no earthly chance to reel in after the orthodox fashion.
Next, the brute went deep again, suddenly stopped, and then
began " jiggering," in that nerve-racking fashion which is
apt to reduce the angler to the verge of impotence and neuras-
thenia.

In order to counteract this manoeuvre, I tried the adminis-
tration of half a dozen short, sharp jerks ; for I had no doubt
as to the strength of the tackle which I was using, and I knew
that the treble flights which were attached to that fearsome
spinner must be well implanted in the victim's jaws. This
counterstroke of mine had the desired effect, for the fish
suddenly stopped his bulldog-like worryings, and made another
terrific run ; but it did not get as much of my line out as before,
so I was able to turn him ere he had traversed fifty yards.
And so the battle waged, first the fish and then the angler
getting the best of it. After about forty minutes, I thought
I had His Nibs in a reasonable frame of mind, so ordered
Tolle to pull gently to the strand, where it was our custom to
land in order to fight out the final stages of our struggles with
the various fish which we had in hand.

This one was now swimming deep, but quite steadily, about
ten yards from, and parallel with, us. As soon as our scow
landed, Tom and I jumped out, and I had another ten minutes'
fight with the fish, which was now running short and sullenly.
At last, I having manoeuvred him into a favourable position,
Tolle waded in with the gaff ; but no sooner did the great
salmon (for salmon indeed it was) catch sight of Tolle" s sub-
merged legs, than it was off again with a tremendous rush !
All I could do was to scramble back into the boat. Tom
remained on shore, but Lars, who had been watching the
performance with wide-eyed astonishment, took his place,
and we shoved off just in time to avert a catastrophe.

The fish was going so fast towards the mouth of the estuary
that it was necessary for the two boatmen to row for all they
were worth, as again the whole of my line and most of the
backing was out. Never did the salmon stop, in the Adsen, but
went careering at express speed some hundred yards out into
the fjord itself, and then went fathoms deep !

By this time, the inhabitants of Sand had gathered on the

A Sportsman at Large 281

landing-stage to watch the sport, and to encourage us with
lusty shouts and cheers.

Now, I had a unique experience, which reminded me of the
time when I had to reel up cod-fish off the Orkneys from
forty fathoms of water, as previously described.

Strange salmon angling this, my friends !

Well, at last I managed to raise the great fish to the surface,
where it began rolling about like a disgruntled porpoise, en-
tangling it sell in the cast, which thus became wrapped round
its body and gills. It was dead-beat, but the question then
arose as to how, when gaffed, it could be lifted into the scow.
But the attempt had to be made, unless we chose to risk
towing it along behind us to a more favourable position.
But, thank goodness, Tolle and Lars between them managed
to hoist our " catch " over the gunwale ; though in so doing
we were within an ace of turning turtle and so messing up the
whole kaboodle and perhaps meeting with a watery end.

Then we rowed back in triumph, amid the acclamations
of the populace.

Forty-nine pounds, nine ounces exactly. By no manner of
legitimate means could the steel be induced to register one
jot or tittle more. Tom suggested that I should cram a large
stone down the throat of the corpse, so that, haply, it might
"weigh in" correctly; but I did not think that this was
altogether " cricket ! "

Thus my soaring ambition to account for a salmon of fifty
pounds still remains unsatisfied. To be so near and yet so
far is certainly most aggravating ; but all and sundry to whom
I have narrated the foregoing circumstances have pouied
sympathetic balm upon my feelings by assuring me that I
am absolutely justified in claiming this remarkably fine speci-
men of the salar species as a genuine fifty-pounder !

I may add that I studiously tried that mother-o'-pearl
phantasy times out of number ; but never another salmon,
or any other fish, deigned to take the slightest notice of it.

Anyhow, it was a grand cock-fish in magnificent condition
and absolutely fresh-run. It fought me valiantly for an hour
and twenty minutes before it yielded to the inevitable.

This was the only fish over forty pounds that fell to our lot

282 A Sportsman at Large

on the occasion of this, my second visit to the Sand ; but we
had quite a number over thirty pounds, the biggest of which
(thirty-seven pounds) fell to the skilfully wielded rod of Mary
Lambert, who also had others of thirty and thirty-two pounds ;
whilst I took one of thirty-five and lost another, probably
a few pounds heavier, in rather curious and certainly
aggravating fashion.

I was fishing with fly (a " Wilkinson ") the swift run which
connects the Foss Pool with the A asen ; whilst Tom and his
wife stood on the rocks above watching me cast. Almost
immediately I got fast in a very big fish, which headed down-
stream in an attempt to reach the lower pool. I managed
to thwart its intention, and, after a time, had the salmon
beaten to a frazzle ; but I was in a cul-de-sac and could proceed
no further. The salmon was some twelve yards below me, tail
down the stream, which was running so strongly that it was
quite impossible to drag the fish against it. I could see it
plainly, and judged it to be about thirty-seven pounds. I
was never in such a hopeless position. I have often won-
dered what I ought to have done under the circumstances.
It seems to me that the only hope of success would have
been to have allowed the salmon to drift gradually and quietly
to the head of the A asen — a distance of about seventy-five
yards, then, if I could have crawled up the rocks, I might
possibly have shifted the line as I progressed until I could
gain the Pool.

But this operation would have had to be carried out " blind,"
as it were, for the rocks inevitably would have hidden the fish
from my sight.

But it is no use discussing what " might have been " except
from an academic point of view. All I could do was to make
futile attempts to drag the weighty fish up against the stream.
All the time I was doing so, it was shaking its head violently
and continuously ; so that it was not long before it succeeded
in wearing itself loose. Then it slithered away down-stream,
lost to sight and (by no means) to memory dear.

Tom and Mary told me that, from where they were standing
on the rocks above, they could see exactly what happened
when the fish took my fly. They said it was a wonderful

A Sportsman at Large 283

sight to see it dart up from a deep hole and come right over
the lure, with a perfect " head and tail rise." They declared
that they had never witnessed anything like it !

Three weeks later, I caught, in the Aasen Pool, what I am
convinced was this identical customer. If so, it was now in
wretched condition, and weighed barely thirty pounds ;
whilst its upper jaws bore a deep blue cicatrice which un-
doubtedly had been caused by a hook. From its appearance I
judged that the original wound had been inflicted at about the
time when I struck, played and lost the salmon in the straits.

Our deeds of derring do so stimulated the ambition of my
C.O. that one day she begged me to take her fishing, though
never previously had she shown any desire to share in the
sport.

At the time I speak of, the river had run low, and we had to
resort to the tactics which had been employed, during similar
conditions, on the occasion of my previous visit to the Sand,
that is to say, that the only chance of a fish was to ply a
prawn on the " sink and swim " principle in the deep holes
which lay under the precipitous rocks of the Adsen Pool.

Thither I took the C.O. and fixed her up with the right
tackle. With the proverbial luck of the beginner, she had
hardly let her prawn down when she had a hefty pull.

" Strike ! " I exclaimed excitedly. " Strike ! " Whereupon
she hit the surface of the water violently with her rod.

' What on earth are you doing ? " I cried.

' You told me to strike ! " she screamed.

Of course the fish had made itself scarce. I explained
to her the modus operandi, so that the next venturesome salmon
which accepted her offering was duly attached. It was
evidently a fair-sized fish, and when it felt the prick of the
hook was off like lightning. Instead of giving out line or
allowing the fish to strip it from the reel, the C.O. held on
like grim death and for all she was worth ; so that she was
in danger of being pulled overboard, or of having her rod and
tackle smashed to smithereens.

" Let it go ! let it go ! " I shouted.

" Let it go, you fool ! " she gasped with withering emphasis.
" I came here to catch salmon not to let them go ! "

284 A Sportsman at Large

I had a deal of trouble to explain to her that the fish must
be given line, but at last she became wise to my instructions,
and handled the salmon quite effectively.

When the psychological moment arrived, we put her ashore
to finish the fight. By this time she was more beat than the
fish. Her hair was loose and falling over her face, and she was
puffing like a grampus.

I suggested that I should lend a helping hand, but she
wouldn't have it at any price, exclaiming :

" If I can't snatch the salmon on my own, then it can go
hang ! "

Well, she was as good as her word, so at last Tolle was
able to strike home with the gaff, and lay a fine nineteen-
pounder at the feet of the C.O., who thereupon collapsed and
went into hysterics. This was the first and last time that she
ever tried salmon-fishing !

" I told you I could and would catch a salmon, Cockie dear,"
she said, " but having done so I am going to quit. This is no
game for one whose view of the essentials of life is the enjoy-
ment of perfect peace and repose."

THE SECOND VISIT TO THE SAND RIVER

Much to our delight the weather changed and what was at
first only a drizzle soon developed into a steady downpour.
At the same time the thermometer registered eighty degrees
of heat ; consequently, the snows in the watershed of the Sand
liquefied speedily and a big spate came down. The torrent
again roared over the fall of the Foss, and the whole of the
basin boiled and surged furiously, rushing between the straits
of Scylla and Charybdis in one huge, irresistible volume.
For a day or two fishing was impossible, but when the flood
had subsided sufficiently, we had a renewal of sport, or rather
I had personally, for I happened to discover a method of
fishing which was most effective, though decidedly difficult.
I knew that a large concourse of salmon was waiting in the
deep pool under the Foss for an opportunity to ascend it by
the salmon ladders, in order to gain the upper reaches of the
river, as was their custom towards the end of July. No boat
could come within casting distance ; therefore, my plan was

A Sportsman at Large 285

to stand on a ledge of rock some forty yards below. I rigged up
my ten-foot spinning rod, and affixed to my line three feet of
twisted gut, to which was attached a prawn threaded on a large,
single hook. Three feet above this was a lead, weighing a
quarter of a pound. When all was ready, I coiled my line
and slung the weight right up into the boil of the fall, where
it immediately sank, and was rolled by the strong current
along the bottom towards me. All the while, I kept drawing in
line, at the same time keeping a feel on the lead. I presume that
the three feet of gut trace were swinging loose ; but when a
salmon seized the lure, I could feel the pull plainly enough.
Immediately I would strike hard and good.

In this fashion hardly a day passed without my accounting
for a good fish or two. Tom Lambert, Teddy Maurice, and
even Bedford tried their hand at the game (though it was far
too strenuous a one for Mary to attempt). Somehow or
other none of them found the knack, so all their efforts proved
futile, though I did my best to instruct them in the art which I
termed " prawn punching." There came a time when I was
short of prawns, so, as an experiment, substituted a large-sized
" Jock Scot." To my surprise and delight the change of lure
made but little difference to my average catch, for— as when
fishing in mid-stream with Tolle, as previously described — a
salmon attached itself while my fly was being whirled loose
in the current ; thus I got many a good pull when " punching."
I must confess that I was constantly hung up in rocks and snags
at the bottom of the pool, and so lost more casts and traces than
I cared about. Once, when pulling loose, I drew up a tangle
of no less than five derelict casts, one of which was my own ;
the rest evidently having been lost by unfortunate anglers in
far-off days.

I am now approaching one of the saddest experiences that
ever befell me.

There came to reside at a "Hiis" — about a mile distant
from Archer's — a certain distinguished General and his wife.
With them were their daughter, a pretty, fair girl of about
twenty, her fiance (a young naval officer) and a dark-haired
flapper cousin of about fifteen. This party would often come
to the Foss Pool in order to watch our proceedings.

286 A Sportsman at Large

One day Lars took them over the top of the Foss to show
them where the salmon, after ascending it, were wont to rest
in a shallow sluice, before proceeding up-river.

Now it seems that this greatly interested the girls — especially
the younger one. One day, whilst I was in the boat below
with Tolle, and when Tom and Teddy Maurice were just
coming down from the " Hiis " to relieve me and take their
turn, to my horror I saw the two girls leaping from boulder to
boulder on the summit of the Foss, alone and unattended.
I was just about to direct Tolle to row ashore and to run round
to warn them of the danger they were in, when suddenly
/ saw the elder girl slip !

Immediately afterwards there was a terrible shriek. At
the same time I caught a momentary glimpse of a white,
struggling figure being borne over the brink of the raging Foss
and carried by the cataract to the depths below !

Then another figure was seen to take a header into the boil
of waters !

This proved to be the young sailor, who, witnessing what
had befallen his fiancee, had plunged, without hesitation,
to what appeared to be a certain death ; for to swim in such
a tumult of waters was utterly impossible. Then another,
but smaller body, was launched from the rocks into the pool.
A spaniel dog, seeing what his master had attempted, had
immediately followed suit !

Of course the gallant lad had not the remotest chance of
rescuing his beloved, for she had disappeared utterly, drawn
down to the depths by the relentless force of the torrent.
Even then she must have been beyond all human succour.

A double tragedy, however, was averted by the merest
chance; for the swirling currents whirled the young officer
against a rock, where he managed to grip an interstice, and
to hold on until Lars hitched a gaff into his clothing and held
him up until Tom and Teddy Maurice came to the rescue.

Now all this takes a long time to describe, but as it happened
it was only a matter of a few seconds, Meanwhile, the un-
fortunate mother (the General was not present) was shrieking
in an agony of terror and despair. In her ravings she cursed
us for a lot of cowards, who would make no attempt to save

A Sportsman at Large 287

her child ! Of course, it was utterly impossible for Tolle
to row anywhere near the fall of the Foss, in fact he could not
move a single yard up-stream. I knew this ; so directly I saw
what had happened I bade him wrench the scow back to the
landing-stage, where I seized a long-handled gaff and ran as
quickly as I could lay heels to the ground to the mouth of the
straits, thinking that perhaps the poor girl would be borne
past me, where, by hanging on with one hand to an ash sap-
ling which overgrew the water, I could just cover the breadth
of the narrows.

Hardly was I posted, when I saw a mass being swirled
towards me ; but as it was swept past, I recognized it as the
spaniel dog which, being carried by the stream near the surface,
had escaped the fatal " under-tow " which had dragged its
mistress to her death. The dog was carried swiftly down
through the straits, and into the Adsen Pool, where it landed,
safe and sound, on the shelving beach.

By this time there was a large assembly on the banks of
the Foss Pool. Another scow was brought along and a
careful search made ; but it was fully an hour and a half before
we set eyes on the luckless girl. She was found in twenty
feet of slack water, where, on the edge of the main stream,
it was so clear that we could see her lying there on her back,
with her long golden hair swept over her face by the shifting
currents. By lashing a gaff on to an eighteen-foot salmon rod,
we were able to draw the poor creature to the surface and into
the scow. When we landed, the grief and despair of the poor
mother was piteous to behold. Seeing that she was utterly
distraught we took no notice of her reiterated curses upon us
for not having saved her child !

I may here state that, a few days later, she called upon us
and begged us to forgive her for accusing us of cowardice ; for
now she realized how utterly impossible it was for any human
being to have averted the tragedy, when once the victim
was over the fall.

The younger girl, too, was prostrate with grief ; but when
she became coherent, she explained how the accident had
happened.

It seems that she had persuaded her cousin to crawl over the

288 A Sportsman at Large

rocks, in order to reach the sluice where the salmon rested.
At first all went well. One of the runlets had to be passed
before the resting basin was reached. The near side of this
was higher than the other, which made it easy to spring over
on the outward journey; but in returning her companion had
miscalculated the width, and, catching her foot on the higher
ledge, she slipped backward into the trough and was im-
mediately carried down it and over the Foss !

As you may well imagine, following this tragedy, the Foss
Pool lost its fascination for me. After the poor girl was buried,
I did essay to fish it once or twice, but without heart. Every
time I gazed on the sinister fall I recalled the horrors of that
fatal morning. This eerie feeling might have worn itself out in
time, but one morning on arriving at the Pool I perceived, to my
amazement, that its water was as white and opaque as milk.

" Why, what's the meaning of this ? " I asked of Tolle*.

He shook his head ominously.

" Some bank give wayoop abeuve. Watter come deun like
dis for long time, yeu tink ! "

" How long ? " I asked gloomily.

" Perhaps a veek, perhaps dree veeks, yeu tink."

This was a nice look-out, considering that there were only
ten days more of my tenancy to run.

We were now joined by Tom and Mary (Teddy Maurice
had already departed), and they were struck dumb by the
catastrophe which had befallen.

Sure enough the section of bank which had subsided some
two miles above us was a very ponderous one.

I subsequently heard that it was not washed clear until
three weeks after we had departed.

During our last week's stay I tried trout-fishing in the lagoons
of the river itself. Some of them I was able to wade, the others
I fished from a boat.

I succeeded in catching a good number of trout, averaging
about three to the two pounds, the largest being two and a
half pounds. Pretty sport in its way, but to my mind " small
deer " compared with salmon, though many experienced
anglers hold that salmo salar " has nothing on " salmo
trutta, or even salmo fario, as the acme of the angler's desire !

CHAPTER XXV

FROM my earliest days it has been dinned into me that
Connemara, otherwise the wild and woolly west of
Ireland, was (I use the verb advisedly) El Dorado of the enthu-
siastic angler. The beauty spot thereof — a veritable oasis
in the desert — is Ballinahinch Castle and its demesne. Now
it happened that the proprietor of this desirable pitch was a
Raleigh Club friend of mine, one Dick Berridge, who also had
forgathered with me at the Gun Club and at Hurlingham.

He was a keen shooter of big game — the draw of wildest
Africa was continually pulling him. There came a time when
he packed up his armoury with a view to cavorting in search
of lions, buffalo and other fearsome fowl, in the recesses of
the Dark Continent. He happened to mention to me at the
club one day that it was his intention to let his beautiful
Castle, with all its sporting rights, for the term of one year.
Here was my opportunity, and I seized upon it with alacrity.
When all the preliminaries and formalities were completed,
I started across the Irish Channel with my entourage ; but
on arrival at Cashel I was informed by Mr. Matthews, my
friend's agent, that the Castle was not quite ready for our
reception, so we took up quarters at Johnnie O'Lochlan's well-
known hostelry in the village. From thence I wandered
forth on the Ballinahinch river in eager search of the salmonidce,
both of the salar and trutta varieties But before doing so
I cast a fly over the waters which were held by the hostelry
presided over by the said Johnnie O'Lochlan, who, among
other offices, held that of resident magistrate. I had one or
two days with the sea- trout, but seldom took more than
half a dozen fish of herling age. Never a salmon came my
way, for at that time the waters were rather low.

The first day I essayed the Ballinahinch river — commencing

289 19

290 A Sportsman at Large

at Blackadder — I came across a pool where several salmon
were showing ; but, though they rose to or followed my lures,
devil a one did I touch ; albeit I patiently presented to them
every pattern of fly which I possessed.

Pushing forward for something over a mile I came to the
lower of the Castle lagoons. Here, standing on a promontory
which jutted into the water, I had some bright sport with the
sea-trout, and nearly filled my creel with fresh-run fish, though
none of them was of great size — the largest going but little
over the pound, and most of them being herling.

Whilst so engaged Mr. Matthews put in an appearance and
informed me that all would be ready for our reception in three
days' time.

This Ballinahinch reserve was indeed an oasis, set in a
wilderness of wild wastes, bare rocks, coarse stag grass
and stunted gorse. Pages might be filled in describing
its glories, but it is up to me to tell of sport rather than to
draw vivid pictures of local colouring. The Castle itself
was a grand edifice, replete with every luxury and convenience.
Therein we settled down with much rejoicing. Visions of
sport crowded upon us, but the drought, which had held the
land for several weeks, continued to depreciate our chances.
Ere a change in the weather occurred I was joined by that
ardent sportsman, Teddy Maurice, the hero of " The Tin-spoon
adventure," as narrated in a previous chapter. He arrived
escorting my two younger sons, Denis and Lionel, then lads
of fifteen and thirteen respectively, the latter bringing with
him a miniature Zoo, consisting of rats, mice, rabbits, guinea-
pigs, frogs, toads, snakes and lizards. I regret to say that
these callow offspring of mine had no taste for " the art of the
angle," which was in direct contradiction of the laws of
heredity. They simply turned up their noses contemp-
tuously when I suggested that I should initiate them to the
sport which had appealed to me so insistently from the days
of my early boyhood.

Day after day we watched the fleeting clouds and prayed
for that downpour which had been so long delayed, and which
was so ardently desired for the purposes of sport. But for
a time nothing happened ; nevertheless, we were a merry

A Sportsman at Large 291

party and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves malgre the perverse
conditions.

When at last Jupiter Pluvius condescended to loose his
waterworks our spirits rose, and so did the river and lakes.
But it is possible to have too much of a good thing, for soon
we found that the river and the whole chain of loughs were
in high flood ; so again we had to sit tight and possess our
souls in patience. At last the day arrived when the flooded
waters had subsided to exactly the right height, whilst the wind
was in a favourable direction. Then we had glorious sport
with the sea-trout on the lower Ballinahinch lake. I found
that the most killing fly was the " Zulu " — not that with
the usual red tag, but sporting one of a dull buff colour.
When the surface was fairly rough I found this fly most
killing. Later on I tried an experiment, using various tags,
red, yellow, green and blue affixed to the orthodox black
hackle, and I found that particular conditions suited each
in turn.

The largest fish fell to my rod — a four and a half pounder —
and between us we accounted for many, running from one
and a half pounds to three pounds each together with dozens
of herling ; but though there were plenty of salmon in the lake
and the river, they were very stiff and dour.

We had arrived at our destination about the middle of
August, but it was not until the end of the first week in Sep-
tember that, when fishing a stretch of river between the
lower lake and the Castle, I became attached to a lordly fish.
I was not expecting one of these ; my flight being made up
of sea-trout flies, attached to a fine-gut cast. Under these
circumstances I had not much hope of landing the joker, so
was not altogether surprised when, after ten minutes' careful
manipulation, he made a terrific run and smashed me to
smithereens !

A week later our head boatman, Larry Coleman, informed
us that there was a cast at the head of the Castle Lake known
as " Sna Beg " (which, being translated from the Erse,
signifies " small swim "), where, now that the water was at
the right height, a grand chance was offered us of taking a
salmon or two.

292 A Sportsman at Large

This same Larry Coleman had as lieutenant one Micky
Magee, of Simian countenance, side whiskers and that pretty
wit for which the inhabitants of Connemara are famous.
But the two were always at loggerheads. As soon as one
made a statement the other flatly contradicted it.

This was the sort of thing that went on. Let us suppose
that Teddy and I have just taken our seats in the boat which
Coleman has pushed 06 :

Myself. " This should be a good day, Larry ? "

Larry. " Indade, an ut whill, sorr ! "

Micky. " It will not! Faith ! there's teu much sun."

Larry. " Shure, yez don't knaw phwat yez tarkin' about,
yez ormadhaun ! "

(Time passes and my companion selects his flies.)

Teddy. "What do you think of this 'fiery Brown,'
Larry ? It ought to do the trick, I think."

Larry. " An' indade ut's a foine floi, yer 'anner. Ut is
that ! "

Micky (on the bow thwart, gloomily). " Faith, ut's naw
good ut all ut all. Divil a fish whill look at ut ! "

(And so on and so forth all day and every day.)

The information we had received about Sna Beg proved
accurate enough. This cast was in the narrows which connect
the Castle Lake with the next of the chain, called Glendalough.
Here I placed my guest, on the ledge of rock commanding
the narrows ; whilst I proceeded in the boat with Coleman to
a rock which lay at the mouth of the strait. I began fishing
with a " claret and jay." Before I had cast this half a dozen
times I was into a lively fish which, when brought to net,
pulled the scale at eleven pounds. I rose another, but it failed
to attach itself. Meanwhile, Teddy, excellent angler though
he was, had thrashed the narrows without any response. I
found him at his stance, and caught a gleam of envy, hatred
and malice in his eye. This saturnine expression was fearfully
accentuated when, casually casting my lure across the waters,
it was immediately seized by a fish which was successfully
landed, a fresh-run nine-pounder.

But this sort of pleasantry did not continue, for it was
many days before another salmon came to hand. This I

A Sportsman at Large 293

caught in a very beautiful pool — just above the Castle —
named Corrah More.

About the last week in September the fish in the river
began to move , but as a blazing sun poured remorselessly
down day after day, our only chance of securing one was to
wait until Phoebus had retired to rest on his western couch.
As soon as his last golden rays had disappeared below the
horizon, it was our custom to commence operations, and by
these tactics we managed, between us, to pick up a fair
number of fish. The salmon in these parts do not run to size,
the biggest of the bunch which fell to our lot being but fifteen
pounds, which was quite five pounds above the average. A
few monsters were to be seen, bulging and rolling in the pools,
but we never had the luck to get hold of one.

About the end of the first week in October the fish woke
up with a vengeance, and developed a gargantuan appetite.
Then they would take almost any fly that was presented to
them, though they showed a decided preference for a local
pattern termed " The Fenian," a medium-sized fly, with a
body half-green and half-orange, with a mixed hackle. So
voracious were the salmon now that I believe an old boot
attached to a meat-hook, on the end of a rope, would have
been eagerly snapped up.

I flatter myself that I put in a rather good performance
one day on the further lagoon below the Castle. This piece
of water holds a good many salmon and sea-trout, whilst
others are continually running through it, but, according
to Larry Coleman, no device that any angler could put in
force would have the remotest chance of meeting with a
response ; the reason given being that the pool was very
deep, and had a black peaty bottom without any submerged
rocks or other hides from which the fish could rise to the fly.
On the occasion to which I refer, the salmon had been ram-
paging throughout the lower reaches of the fishing. I had
caught three in a strip of river which joined the two lagoons,
all of them gravid hen-fish, which I returned to the water
after marking them.

Seeing that the salmon were well on the move in the lagoon
below, I determined to test the accuracy of Larry's informa-

294 A Sportsman at Large

tion. So I told him to get the boat in order, so that I might
fish the most likely-looking spots. I was using an old fourteen-
foot green-heart rod, which had been lying by for some fifteen
years. As matters turned out, I shattered Larry's theory
to atoms, and established a record, if his statement was true ;
for we had not drifted more than half a dozen yards before
I was into a fish. I had just reduced it to sweet reasonable-
ness and was reeling in, when snap ! bang ! My rod broke
in the centre of the second joint, so that the dismembered
portion slipped down the line and entered the water. Here
was a pretty go ! Of course my best chance would have been
to land and hand-haul the fish ; but I was intent on getting up
another record as regards my own experiences. I continued
to play it from the boat as best I could. When I had
wound in until the top ring of the derelict section was against
the salmon's nose, I seized hold of the other extremity, and
relinquished the butt ; then, after a most interesting con-
flict, I actually managed to bring the salmon to net. A cock-
fish of twelve pounds.

This freakish performance reminds me of an experience
which I had in after years when fishing my friend Herbert
Beddington's glorious stretch of the Blackwater, at Bally-
hooly, County Cork.

I was accompanied by a typical Hibernian boatman, named
Ned Fitzgerald. The river had run very low, and it was the
last day of my visit. My host had told me that there was one
run, and one only, where a remote chance of " pulling " a
salmon existed ; so thither I went, accompanied by the
aforesaid Ned. Almost at the end of the stretch my " lemon
and grey " was seized by a good fish. Just below was a
sunken lane leading down to a shelving beach. In order to
facilitate fishing this bit of water, a ladder, some eight feet
in length, had been so placed that the angler, having a fish
in hand, could shin down, cross the lane, and crawl over the
opposite bank, when again the quarry haply might be under
command. But such an acrobatic demonstration did not
appeal to me in the least. Despite my attendant's excited
exhortations, I preferred to stay where I was, and attempt
to head the fish up-stream. I did my little best, but it

A Sportsman at Large 295

gradually bored down, until the wall of the bank blinked
my view of it, and I could only guess its whereabouts !

This was playing blind-man's buff with a vengeance ; but
I felt that my victim was weakening, so I bade Ned get down
into the lane and I would attempt to manoeuvre the fish to
the shallow at the end thereof. At the same time, I told
him to keep me well informed as to the exact position of the
fish, and what it was doing. When I judged that it was
within a fair distance of the strand, I called to the son of
Erin to wade in with the gaff ; but he seemed an unconscion-
able time in so doing.

" What are you waiting for ? " I cried.

" Aw' bad cess to ut ! " he shouted back, " ut's me infernal
boot-laces phwat's in a knot ! "

" Damn your boot-laces ! " I screamed. " I've got the
fish ready ; get in, boots and all ! "

" An' is ut meself phwat wud be going inter the wather
wid me best Sunday boots on, and thim the ony wans phwat
I possess, an' ut's tin good shillin' Oi paid foor 'em on St.
Pathrick's day ! The Holy Saints forgive me ! "

It was no good arguing the matter, so I held on to the
captive, which luckily seemed now to be dead-beat.

At last I heard Ned splash into the water ; but a few seconds
later he called out, as it seemed, to the salmon ;

" Come back, yez dirthy divil, come back ! Faith, yez
got me gaff ! "

What think you had happened ?

Why, the silly galoot had struck the fish all right, but it
had pulled the gaff out of his hand, and had darted away
like lightning ; but happily without freeing itself.

My line ran out again at express speed, and then the gaff
handle — looking like the periscope of a submarine — came into
view careering up-stream. I held on manfully, and after a
time managed to bring the gaff, with the fish attached, within
the reach of Ned's hand ; so that he was able to grasp the
staff and hoike the fish — a fine nineteen-pounder — on to firm,
dry land.

This little story when retailed to the other fishermen and
the members of the house-party, caused unlimited hilarity,

296 A Sportsman at Large

and it was many a day before the unfortunate Edward was
allowed to forget his weird performance. Every morning
when he went out one of his colleagues was sure to say :
" Aw' Ned, had yez not betther take a spare gaff wid yez, in
case so be yez lose wan in the back av a fish ? "

To return to Ballinahinch.

By the time the I2th of October had arrived and rods and
tackle were regretfully laid aside, my personal tally amounted
to ninety-four salmon and five hundred and seven sea-trout ;
whilst many others had fallen to Teddy Maurice and the late
Oswald Part, who, with his sportive wife, had been with us
in the earlier days of my tenancy. About this time we
were visited by the Hon. Aubrey Hastings, of " Ascetic
Silver" fame; but this was before that gallant steed and his
accomplished rider had pulled off " The Grand National."

Fishing being at an end, our thoughts turned to villainous
saltpetre, and guns took the place of rods ; but it was some
time before we had anything of importance to shoot at.
There was a certain number of snipe scattered among the
rushes that fringed the river, but they were few and far
between ; so that there was nothing doing until the " cock "
began to come in. Even these succulent fowl were not
exactly in profusion, though we managed to bag a respectable
number.

Participating in this sport were two cheery gunmen, Com-
mander Wilson, son of the sea, and his brother, Captain
Leslie, of the same ilk — a soldier bold. Moreover, my two
lads, who had looked upon fishing as an altogether con-
temptible activity, waxed quite enthusiastic now that
shooting was toward. In fact, so eager was the younger of
the two, Lionel, that in his anxiety to encompass the death
of the elusive Scollopida, that he blazed at every one which
came within a hundred yards of his ken. Nor did he hesitate
to let off even when the bird was flying so low that the beaters
— to say nothing of his precious friends and relatives — were
in imminent danger of being peppered.

It was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened,
for, having let loose at a woodcock which flew directly to the
rear of the beaters, we were greeted with loud lamentations

A Sportsman at Large 297

from one of them. This proved to be none other than Micky
Magee, who yelled out : " Aw' bad cess to ut, ut's murthered
and kilt Oi am intoirely ! Faith, and the yong gintleman has
shot me dead ! "

We rushed up and found the unfortunate one rubbing his
head's antipodes, the while emitting most blood-curdling
groans, intermingled with strange oaths in his native Erse.

Naturally enough, my young hopeful was in a terrible
state of perturbation. No doubt he had visions of a trial
for manslaughter or worse, with chains and dungeons to
follow. Nor was he restored to equanimity until he was
assured that a careful diagnosis had revealed the fact that
only two shots had pierced Magee' s epidermis, and to such
shallow effect that we were able to prise them out with a
penknife. Nevertheless, the whimpering boy had dived into
his pocket and, producing a carefully hoarded half-sovereign,
had handed it over to the victim of his carelessness, who,
as soon as he had received the douceur, ceased his groaning
and curses. Grinning from ear to ear, he seized the little
Lionel's hand, exclaiming :

" Aw* more power to yez 'anner ! May the blessed saints
presarve yez, and if so be ye'd be having another shot at
pour ould Micky, begob yez welcome ! ' '

In addition to those I have already mentioned as guests of
the Castle, was my trusty friend, Bizzy Robinson (he of the
glass-eye) and his charming wife Kate.

After our day's sport we had many merry evenings. All
sorts of spoof, games and entertainments — in the invention
of which Teddy Maurice was the moving spirit — were
engineered. The ladies of the party subscribed to a prize
to be presented to the male guest who should produce the
best dinner-table decoration ; and many an artistic pro-
duction was evolved. Another time we decided to have
a fancy-dress repast, and each racked his or her brains in the
invention of some weird costume or characterization. Here
again Teddy's theatrical experience served us in good stead.
Though his make-up of various members of the party was
strikingly effective, in some cases they were decidedly incon-
venient ! For instance, he made up Bizzy as Captain Pott,

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using black nose paste in order to fashion the fierce moustache
and imperial of Mr. Cutcliffe Hyne's irrepressible hero, and
to such purpose that the said Bizzy was quite unable to work
his jaws for the purpose of mastication.

Some of us felt convinced that this was contrived by our
histrionic friend in malice prepense; consequently we egged
on the victim to seek vengeance. When it came to a similar
show a week later, he persuaded his persecutor to present
himself at table encased in a portable Turkish bath, with a
rough towel wrapped round his head, which was the only
part of his anatomy which protruded from the unwieldy
contraption.

As soon as he was placed in position, Bizzy slipped a pad-
lock through the fastening of the lid and turned the key.
All being ready, we sat down and commenced to feed, paying
no attention whatever to the unfortunate captive, who had
perforce to look on whilst we devoured the delicacies which
were put before us. His piteous pleas for release went for a
long time unheeded ; but at last, so heart-rending were his
appeals that kind-hearted Kate Robinson held a glass of
champagne to his lips, and finally he was freed from his incar-
ceration, just in time to enjoy a vanilla ice, which was the last
item on the menu !

In the Bay of Cashel there was said to be very good fishing
for black bream, haddock, mackerel and other denizens of
the deep. Belonging to the Castle was a ten-ton fishing smack,
which had been placed at our service ; but the salmon and
sea-trout were keeping us so busy during the season that we
had not much time to exploit the ancient craft ; though, on
one occasion, I tried some desultory sea-fishing without any
obvious result. So we proceeded to scoop up oysters from
the celebrated Cashel beds, which belonged to my friend,
the over-lord of the Castle. These bivalves were of excellent
quality, so we made free with them to our hearts' content.

About two miles away, in the offing of the bay, was a rock-
bound island, in which roamed a herd of about sixty fallow
deer ; but it was only when the wind was in a favourable
direction that there was any chance of landing thereon.

On several occasions we sailed out, armed with our rifles, to

A Sportsman at Large 299

reconnoitre ; but each time we were told by Larry and Micky
that an attempt to land would probably end in disaster ;
so we had perforce to abandon the idea ; although in addition
to the aforesaid deer, this island (the name of which I fail
to remember) was a favourite haunt of woodcock.

If ever I find myself again in this beauty spot — Beloved
Connemara — I mean to have one of those fallow buck, and to
take toll of the longbills, given a chance to set my foot on
the forbidding shores of that wind and sea swept island.

CHAPTER XXVI

MY last visit to the land of Vikings, salmon, fieldfares
and " clegs," was, as far as the second named is
concerned, a complete and unholy wash-out ; but it had
its compensations and humours, some of which may be deemed
worthy of inclusion in these rambling reminiscences.

I can imagine some readers who are without intimate
experience of Scandinavian fauna asking themselves : " What
are " clegs " ?

I will tell you.

A cleg is a sort of super-gadfly : a fearsome fowl about as
big as a Queen wasp, with great, goggling, green eyes and a
gargantuan appetite for human flesh. One has to be con-
tinually on the qui vive when a cleg is about, otherwise, after
buzzing around in an apparently innocent manner, this
horrific creature will seize the opportunity — when one is busy
with the rod — to suddenly drop on one's neck, bite out a
chunk of flesh, fly away, perch on an overhanging bough
and gorge itself to repletion on the reeking rations — and this
in front of one's very eyes !

When in search of a likely Norwegian salmon river, it was
my custom to pay a visit to Messrs. J. A. Lumley's, where I
knew that good Mr. McDowell would provide me with the
best goods at the moment on the market.

I had been on the Sand (twice), the Surendal and the Nam-
sen, and now was anxious to extend my experiences.

" Look here," said the agent, " will you do a little pioneer
work ? I cannot promise you a stone-cold certainty of
success. On the other hand, there is a good sporting chance
of your having the time of your life 1

"It is this way. We have bought up all the nets and traps

300

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for three miles on the middle reaches of the Rauma river,
which runs into the fjord at Romsdal.

" For years, an average of over five hundred good fish has
been taken by these same nets and traps. Now it is reasonable
to suppose that — such being entirely removed — the pools
and runs where they played such havoc will, this season,
hold a fine show of fish.

" If you would care to take your chance you can do so,
and we shall not charge you a penny rental ; but should
you enjoy such sport as we have reason to anticipate, we
hope you will give us a report which will ensure satisfactory
lettings in the future."

Always ready to take advantage of likely " sporting chances "
such as the worthy Mr. McDowell was now offering, I jumped
in and clinched the bargain.

The Rauma is an exceedingly picturesque river of con-
siderable dimensions, and is dominated by the conical Roms-
dalhorn, a peak which is strongly reminiscent of the far-
famed Matterhorn. Salmon are able to run up some ten miles,
until the big foss at Ormheim (I think that is its name) puts
an end to their further progression.

I will pass over our voyage across the dour North Sea and
the delightful trip from Molde to the mouth of the Rauma,
replete as it was with interest, but devoid of any conspicuous
incident.

Behold, then, our party established in a small farmhouse
in the Flatmarc district. To say that our quarters were
even comfortable, not to say luxurious, would be to stretch
imagination to its utmost limits. Frankly speaking, they
were squalid and none too clean.

And of whom did the said party consist ? As the cricketing
egoist said when asked the strength of the eleven of which he
was discoursing : " First of all there was me ! "

Then, of course, there was the C.O., who had been " blooded "
(or should I not say " slimed " ?) with her first salmon the
previous season on the Sand, as already narrated.

Her sister-in-law Hattie had come along to lend a hand at
the domestic amenities ; whilst my young friend Lindsay
Garrard (a dragoon officer and brother of Harry of the same

302 A Sportsman at Large

ilk, who had been my subaltern in the Duke of Cambridge's
Hussars) had joined up. Lastly there was one Dickie
Rorvig, whose family tree showed that his father was a Swede
and his mother an Irishwoman. This was a quaint bird,
bubbling over with humour ; a first-rate batsman, a tricky
bowler and a good horseman — he was up to any sport or game
that might be thrown in his way. But so far his fishing achieve-
ments had been negligible ; in fact he knew nothing whatever
about the fascinating art of the angle. Though ever in a
chronic state of impecuniosity, so cheery was he and so keen
on sport, that he was always welcome in our circle.

He was of what the police reports describe as " medium
height and build," with a knowledgeable, square head, a
somewhat rubicund countenance, an inconspicuous snub-
nose and an expansive mouth.

With scant ceremony, my C.O. had dubbed him " Bone-
head," by which descriptive pseudonym he was universally
recognized and addressed.

As soon as ever we had descended from our respective
carioles, Lindsay and I went on to the wide wooden bridge
which spanned the river in front of our quarters. It was at
once evident that the river was in flood, and that we should
have to possess our souls in patience until it had subsided
at least two feet, which might not come about for some days,
and if luck and weather proved against us — for weeks on end !

This was a bright look-out !

Anyway, it gave us time to look around, spy out the land
and investigate the fluvial intricacies of the Rauma. After
walking from one end of the beat to the other, I must say
I was not very favourably impressed ; although the high state
of the water forbade my forming anything like an accurate,
or even fair, estimate of its possibilities and probabilities.
At some points the river was very wide, and judging from the
flow, none too deep. At others, it rushed and tumbled through
narrow, rocky gorges, where I was quite unable to visualize
anything like a promising pool or run. In fact, on the whole
stretch, the absence of what was likely to prove a good cast,
if and when the flood might subside, was only too apparent
to any practised eye.

A Sportsman at Large 303

Here and there, the flood had invaded the surrounding land,
forming a series of large lagoons. Whilst skirting one of these,
I observed distinct rises of fish of some kind, far and wide. I
had my eight-foot fly rod with me, but had left my waders at
home. However, the ever-obliging " Bonehead " volunteered
to fetch them ; being, as he said, dead keen on seeing me
perform.

During his half-hour's absence, I sat me down under an
adjacent pine and lit my pipe. The rises were still dimpling
the surface merrily ; but I was unable to decide what manner
of fish were responsible for them.

As soon as my volatile friend returned, I donned the waders,
set up a cast with a medium " March brown " and a small
" butcher " and commenced operations. Surely this was a
queer game, casting for fish among small larches and hazel-
bushes. The "going" was pretty level — from two to three
feet in depth, but there were pitfalls which had to be carefully
avoided.

I approached within casting distance of a fish that was
rising persistently. It came for my " stretcher " at once,
but I felt nothing. As this unproductive disturbance was
repeated half a dozen times, I was able to make a shrewd
guess at the identity of the fish.

A few more casts and I had him all right. Yes, as I expected,
a grayling of three-quarters of a pound. After fishing for
an hour or so I had a score of the " ladies," all about the same
size. They were in fair condition, but not what they would
be in four months' time.

Subsequently I discovered that the small tributaries of
the Rauma teemed with salmo thymallus, and that when the
land became flooded they spread themselves far and wide ;
but I never caught a grayling in the Rauma itself, which
seems odd.

There was, too, a fair showing of trout in these small streams,
but none of great size : the biggest I accounted for only just
exceeded the pound. As matters turned out, I had, faute
de mieux, to fall back on these small deer to satisfy my pis-
catorial cravings and to garnish our meagre board. But I
anticipate.

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Shortly after our arrival I had a hunch to procure a bunch
of hoodie crow nestlings ; since having — this time — no blood-
thirsty Billy to dismember them, as was the case at Harang,
I hoped to rear some of these handsome, but mischievous
rascals, and to import them to my native land as pets.

But our surroundings were of the wild, woolly and moun-
tainous order, and as the holdings were small, the " hoodies "
could not get a decent living, since the farmers were able to
fire them out whenever a raid on their stock was attempted.

So my offered reward went begging. But one day a little
lad brought me five young magpies. These being of just the
right age for rearing, I took charge of them, after parting
with a couple of kroners to their captor, which douceur was
gratefully and joyously accepted.

These fledglings soon waxed strong and hearty. We
named them respectively Matthew, Mark, Luke, John and
Acts. .It was rather difficult at first to tell t'other from which,
but I soon learned to distinguish them by some characteristic
not obvious to the uninitiated.

As a matter of fact, all Nature's children possess individuality,
and in some cases distinct " personality." Many people
are quite unable to understand how a shepherd can distinguish
between his sheep, or how it is that a master of hounds knows
every unit of his pack, not only by sight, but by tongue.

These impertinent " pies " were extraordinarily tame, though
hopelessly mischievous. They were allowed to fly about
the homestead as their fancy might tickle them. If they
saw me coming they would flit to me and perch upon my
shoulders, and always in the same positions : Matthew and
Acts on my right, Luke and John on my left, whilst Mark,
who considered himself boss of the bunch, would occupy a
conspicuous post on my head. Then all would begin to squeak
vociferously for food, which I would hand up to each in turn.
Their appetite was insatiable.

They were merry and amusing folk, and they thrived apace.

A harmful and unnecessary tom-cat set sinister eyes upon
them, and one day launched an offensive against Matthew,
the smallest and weakest of the family ; but grimalkin little
reckoned what he was up against, though he soon realized the

A Sportsman at Large 305

mistake he had made. The whole pie contingent set about him
so vigorously that he was obliged to beat a hasty retreat,
utterly disgruntled and lucky to escape with his eyesight
slightly impaired and an ensanguined nose.

There was only one casualty in the family during our stay.
There came a day when the dead body of the weakling
Matthew was found in the open well which occupied the
centre of the farmyard. How it came to be there, and what
had brought about the poor bird's untimely end, remains one
of those unsolved and mysterious tragedies which have
intrigued writers of detective romances from days immemorial.

As time went on, the survivors went further afield, and
though they generally reassembled at feeding time, they became
more and more independent. Then they began staying out
of nights, and sometimes days would pass without the whole
family putting in an appearance. One by one, the call of
the wild claimed them, and anon we knew them no more.

Truly, gratitude is the rarest of virtues (its antithesis, a
prevailing vice), even among the creatures of fur and feather ;
always excepting the canine, but including the feline species.
" Acts " was the last to desert us. In fact I believe that,
at the last moment, he repented him of his want of loyalty ;
for as our carioles rumbled away to the mouth of the Rauma
on our homeward journey, the staccato cry of a magpie
was continually heard, whilst an occasional glimpse of a
decorative black and white body was seen flitting from tree
to tree above us and keeping pace with our progression.

" Here, I say, old Cockie ! " my friends who read these
chronicles will exclaim, " how about this miraculous draught of
salmon that you were to tell us about ? "

" Ah ! " I make reply, " that's where the laugh comes in ! I
sat by the waters of the Rauma and wept, for six weary
weeks, and devil a salmon did I see, much less gather to myself !"

One wretched grilse of three and a half pounds, which had
wandered from the main river into one of the lagoons and which,
like Mr. John Jones of Covent Garden, not knowing " where
he were," had in a moment of aberration seized the fly which
I was plying for his cousin thymallus.

When the river had subsided, after we had been in residence

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306 A Sportsman at Large

a fortnight, I found, alas ! that my early estimate of possi-
bilities was only too accurate. There was not a really inviting
pool or resting-place throughout the whole stretch ! That
plenty of salmon had come up was obvious ; for, ten miles
above, at the Ormheim foss, they were pulling them out by
the dozen ! Evidently the fish had run right through my
water without lingering anywhere.

When I delivered my report to good Mr. McDowell, he was
bitterly disappointed — so, incidentally, was I !

But I did not complain. I had jumped at what he had
frankly told me was a fair sporting chance, and it had come
unstuck ! That's all there is to it !

But, all said and done, we had some measure of fun for our
pocket-money, one way or another. I caught a few sea-
trout in the river (with one exception, of no great size),
whilst, as stated, I was always able to fill my basket with
grayling and " brownies " in the lagoons and smaller streams.
The capture of " the exception " quoted, is worth recording.

Close home, and just above the bridge, was a hole which
usually held a her ling or two. I had just hitched on to
one such, and was persuading it to come to net, when there
was a great upheaval, and it was violently seized by some-
thing of considerable dimensions, which held on and kept
shaking the doubly unfortunate trutta as Billy was used to
do with a rat.

Moreover, this vicious customer refused to let go until I
attempted to slip my net under the twain ; then he dropped
his prey, went quickly about and retired to his dug-out.

This " got my goat," so I determined on the destruction
of this hooligan.

Giving him an hour to settle down in the hole to think things
over, I directed Johann Flatmarc, my boatman, to take me
in the scow, so that I could harl a " devon " within reach of the
would-be cannibal.

Sure enough, that same volatile fish made no bones about
attacking the glittering lure. This time, there was no escaping
the meshes, though ere he lay gasping on firm, dry land, he
gave me a merry bit of sport. He proved to be of that variety
of the salmo family known as a " bull-trout." I say " variety,"

A Sportsman at Large 307

because the consensus of opinion among icthyologists is that
this fish does not represent a distinct species. His weight was
three and a half pounds, and so he dead-heated with the unfor-
tunate grilse, before mentioned, as " the catch of the season ! "

One day, Flatmarc — a most picturesque and knowledgeable
Norseman, who had been many years in the United States
and so spoke "pure Amurrican " — told me of a mysterious
inland tarn, where, so he said, leviathan trout lurked. It was
altogether out of the beaten track. In fact, he doubted if the
foot of man had been set upon its shores for at least a quarter
of a century; but he remembered, as a small boy, accom-
panying an uncle, a great native shikari, to this weird spot,
where the said avuncular relative had succeeded in pulling
out (by what means Johann failed to recall) a sackful of
enormous fish ! This sounded interesting to mine ears, so I
called a gathering of the clan, and suggested a cutting-out
expedition.

The " big idea " was received with acclamation, so one
fine day found us on the war-path.

After traversing the main road for some five miles in the
direction of Ormheim, we took to the forest, and by a devious
footpath, and after a forced march, struck the river again.
Here it ran narrow and turbulent between gigantic bouldera
and rocky banks.

" We cross now, Boss," said Johann.

" Cross ! " I exclaimed. " How, pray ? "
' I sure have small boat. I fetch it right along."

And such a boat ! A sort of wobbly dugout that would
figure as unsafe on a duck-pond !

We looked at one another, and by mutual telepathy voiced
in chorus the monosyllable No !

All except one ! My beloved " C.O."

" Come on, Cockie dear," she exclaimed. " Who's afraid ?
I'm not ! I'll give you a lead," and she made to enter the
unstable craft. I could not permit this, so seized and held her !

" All right, Boss, it's sure quite safe," laughed Johann.
" See, I fix it all right, watch out ! "

We did ! His was an object-lesson in expert waterman-
ship. Two hefty strokes up-stream, a quick drift down — for

308 A Sportsman at Large

a dozen feet — a spasmodic twist with one scull around a sinister
boulder, and two more powerful strokes up-stream again,
and then the frail craft grounded safely between two rocks
on the far side.

It struck me very forcibly that unless this aquatic manoeuvre
was executed with meticulous precision the result would be
disastrous in the extreme. An upset in that raging torrent
would not afford a dog's chance of survival to the luckless
passenger.

But it had to be risked.

I think we offered fervent, if silent, prayers of thanksgiving
when we were all safely assembled on the far side.

From this position we had a fine view of the towering
mountains which stood guardian over the Rauma Valley.
I was greatly interested when Johann pointed out a line of
moving specks on the far horizon. He handed me his tele-
scope, and I was able to make out a herd of some hundreds of
wild reindeer as they threaded their way along the skyline.
Now we began to push through what appeared to be a virgin
forest. The standing trees were festooned with licnens and
other parasitic growths, whilst all around lay those that
had yielded to the belated call of Father Time, and had sub-
sided to Mother Earth, where they lay partly concealed by
ancient moss and rotting leaves — their skeleton branches
grotesquely interwoven.

Alter an hour's trudge we mounted some sharply-rising
ground, on reaching the summit of which a most impressive
sight met our eyes. There, shimmering and glinting some
five hundred feet below us, was the lake of mystery ! — nearly
oval in shape, fringed with high rushes, and hemmed in by
huge boulders of a bright ochre shade. The water, of a vivid
emerald tint, was so clear that the light-coloured bottom
could be seen everywhere, except in one corner, where the
depth was such that the verdant tint of the water shaded into
a deep azure. A truly beautiful effect. And there, basking
on the surface, were the great shadowy forms of fish of some
sort !

It was impossible to identify them, but they must be trout,
we thought. What else could they be ?

A Sportsman at Large 309

We descended hurriedly, set up our rods and donned our
waders.

The shallows were only about two and a half feet deep,
and good going, on a bottom which shelved very gradually
toward the deeper end of the pool.

Plenty of small trout were to be seen darting hither and
thither as I waded ; but they were not in the least scared,
and took the fly freely. They were pretty little fellows,
going about seven to the pound, but my soul was hankering
after far more weighty loot ! Presently I saw quite a big
fellow — a three pounder at least — following my tail-fly, but
making no attempt to seize it. So interested was he in the
strange contraption, that he chased it, nose on, right up to
the limit of my draw, and when I was obliged to lift, he rushed
forward, and actually barged into my legs ! This put the
wind up him, and he darted off into the depths.

I was wading carelessly on, each step bringing me towards
the deeper water, when I became aware that Bedford, who
was perched on a rocky eminence high above me, was shouting
and gesticulating wildly. I could not make out what it was
he was trying to convey, but my progress was arrested.

My valet came shinning down the rocks like a mountain
goat, and soon stood panting on the edge of the water.

" Stand still, sir, for God's sake ! " he shouted.

' Why, what's the matter ? " I asked wonderingly.

' There's a great hole not three yards in front of you, sir,
with water bubbling up. Go back, sir — go back ! "

I did as desired, and being anxious to set eyes on the danger
that had threatened, I climbed up with Bedford to his original
position.

" Look there, sir ! " he said. " Now do you wonder I was
near scared to death ? "

I did not wonder !

For there, set in the midst of the pallid and innocent-looking
bottom, was a round hole, some six feet in diameter, from
which rose a spring of emerald water.

Heaven only knows what the depth of that deadly trap was.
Had I inadvertently stepped into it assuredly these lines
would never have been written !

310 A Sportsman at Large

" God be praised, I was there to warn you, sir," was Bedford's
simple remark.

Meanwhile, Bonehead had skirted round to the deep end,
where we had seen the great fish basking. By a very long cast,
he hoped to cover the nearest ; though now, being on a level
with the surface, he could no longer fix their exact locality.
For some time his efforts proved fruitless, but all of a sudden
we saw his rod bend almost double and heard his reel screech ;
we scrambled round to him as fast as we could contrive, only
to find, on our arrival, a disconsolate guy, with vertical rod
and broken cast.

" He straightened me out and smashed me to atoms," he
sighed. " Goodness knows what sort of fish he was, or how
big, but, my Lord, he did give me a feel, Cockie."

While all this was going on, the female contingent, with
" Johann " on escort duty, had remained in the bosky
recesses of the hill. We now joined them, unpacked our
rations and enjoyed a welcome alfresco repast, amid the most
weird surroundings it has ever been my luck to strike.

Whilst smoking the pipe of peace and contentment on a bed
of the softest and dryest moss, I gazed around in wonder-
ment at the awesome solitude of the scene, which forcibly
reminded me of the stage set wherein Rip van Winkle took
his twenty-years' nap on the Katskill Mountains.

After rest and refreshment, I essayed to emulate my young
friend's adventure at the deep end of the haunted pool, but
though I tried many seductive flies, and spun spoon and
minnow, not a touch rewarded my efforts.

Our homeward journey was effected without any striking
incident, though once more we had to endure the thrills and
tremors of the perilous passage of the Rauma.

That evening when Johann came in for orders, I asked him
how the mystic pool was called.

" It sure has no name, as far as I am wise, Boss," he said.

" Let us christen it ' Lake Cockie ! ' " suggested my C.O.

Carried unanimously !

THE END

PRINTED AT

THE CHAPEL RIVER PRESS,
KINGSTON, SURREY.

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
BERKELEY

Return to desk from which borrowed.
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.

170ct'5JEO

30ct51LU
26Augf56Pl

REC'D LD

AUG 1 2 1956

LD 21-95m-ll,'50(2877slG)47G

M312352