The hood used in learning to hood should be an easy one, very much cut away at the beak opening. And the hawk herself must be first so far manned that she will allow the intending hooder to pass his hand over the crown of her head, and to stroke her on the back without making any objection, or exhibiting any uneasiness. She should be accustomed to the sight of the hood, and have often been allowed to pick nice little morsels of meat from the outside of it. Then she may be allowed to pick a clean piece or two from the inside of it; and from the beak opening, under which, as the hood lies upside-down in your hand, you hold the seductive morsel. If a hawk is so treated as to become the leastafraidof the hood, it will be a work of dire difficulty, and almost impossibility in awkward hands, to break her to it, or cure her of the vice. And hawks are sometimes to be seen so mismanaged by their owners that they get into a “state of mind” at the mere sight of the obnoxious head-dress. A hood-shy hawk is not only a nuisance, but a discredit to her trainer.
When the hawk has once gone so far as to dip her beakinto the hood in search of a scrap of food, it requires no great dexterity to slip it over her head. While doing so the knuckles of the left hand should be turned slightly outwards, so that the hawk’s head is naturally projected forwards towards the hood, and cannot easily be drawn back; whereas as soon as the hood is on the same knuckles should be turned a little inwards so that the head is held up. The braces can then be seized, one in the right finger and thumb, and the other by the teeth, and pulled tight, before the wearer can jerk or shake it off. Merlins are of all hawks the most difficult to hood, owing to their extreme vivacity and the quickness with which they discern and anticipate any movement of the trainer. But then their amenability to kind treatment is also so great that they can be handled, like a horse or dog, without offence, if a little patience is exhibited. And, once well broken to the hood, they will stand to it as well as peregrines or goshawks. Gers have a reputation for often being hood-shy; but perhaps the proper treatment of them, in this as in other respects, is now imperfectly understood.
The early steps in the process of reclaiming passagers were so well described four centuries ago by Turbervile that I cannot do better than quote, on this subject, his exact words. After giving instructions for seeling the captive, and putting on of bells, jesses, and swivel, he continues: "Being thus furnished you shall go about to man her, handling her often gently, and both to avoide the sharpnes of her beake as also the better rebuke her from biting and nipping, you shall have a straight smoothe sticke, as bigge as your finger, and halfe a foot long or more, with the which you shal gently stroke your hawk about the pinions of her wings and downwards athwart all her train. And if she chance to knap or byte at the sticke let her bite hardly, for that will rebuke her thereof, whereas your hand being twitched away fearfully would make her proceed the more eagerly. To man her well you must watch all the night and keepe her on your fist, and you must teach her to feed seeled; and having a great and easie rufter hood, you must hood and unhood her oftentimes, seeled as she is [here we see the advantage of seeling], handling her gently about the head, and coying her alwayes when you unhood her, to the end she take no disdayne or displeasure against her keeper. And also to make her plume and tyre sometimes upon a wing, and keepe her so on the first day and night without perching of her, untill she be wearie, and suffer you to hoode her gently and stirre not; and correct her of her ramage toyes, especially of snapping andbiting, stroking her evermore as before said with your sticke. But if it happen (as it doth sometimes) that your chance be to have a Falcon so ramage and shewde-mettled, that she will not leave her snapping and biting, then take a dose of Garlicke cleane pilled, or a little aloes cicatrina, and when she byteth or snappeth at your hand or stick, offer her the Garlicke or aloes, and let her bite it, for either the strong sent of the Garlicke or the bitter taste of the aloes will quickly make her leave off.
"And here I thinke good to expresse mine opinion, that hee which taketh in hand to be a Falconer, ought first to be very patient and therwithall to take singular delight in a Hawke, so that hee may seeme to bee in love (as it were naturally) with his Hawke. For hee which taketh not that delight, but doth rather exercise it for a pompe and a boast, in mine opinion, shall seldome prove a perfect Falconer, but a mar-hawke, and shall beare the bagge after a right Falconer.
"When your Hawke, being so seeled, doth feede well, and will abide the Hoode, and to be handled without striking or biting at your hand, then in an evening by candle light you shall unseele her, and when you have hooded her take her on your fist, and holde her so all night untill day appeare againe, doing off her Hoode oftentimes, and handling her gently with your hand, stroking her softly about the wings and the body, hooding and unhooding of her and giving her sometimes to feede, a morsell or twain, or sometimes tyring or plumage. But above all things you must watch her on the fist so many nights together without setting her downe on any pearch, that shee may be wearie and suffer you to hoode and handle her gently without any manner of resistance, and untill shee have altogether left and forgotten her striking and byting at your hand; but some hawkes will be long before they leave that fault, as the more coy or ramage that they be, the longer they will retain all those ill tatches, and will not peradventure be wonne from them in three, foure, or five dayes. When she is well reclaymed from it then may you let her sit upon a pearch to rest her. But every night you shall doe well to keepe her on the fist three or foure houres, handling her and stroking her gently and causing her to tyre or to plume, alwayes making much of her, and hooding and unhooding her oftentimes, as before said. And the like you may doe also by daylight but in a chamber apart where she may see no great light, untill she feed surely and eagerly without dread.
"If your Hawke be thus in foure or five dayes manned so that she begin to feede eagerly and boldly, then you shal first beginto make her know your whistle or the chirping of your mouth, and afterwards your voice." And he goes on to advise the giving of a live pullet in a place where there is just enough light for the hawk to see it, and then to “chyrpe with your voyce and use those other sounds which Falconers do to their hawks”; and recommends for the ordinary feeding of the haggard falcon, while being reclaimed, “pullets not very old, and calves’ hearts, weathers’ hearts, and hogs’ hearts,” and, if she is not eager for her food, to wash the meat either in cold water or wine, and occasionally to give her, fasting, “as much sugar candy as the quantity of a small nut.”
The duration of the process of manning varies greatly, according to the breed and individual character of the pupil. Wild-caught merlins can be reclaimed by a skilled man in a few days, whereas if you can reclaim a haggard peregrine in less than a month you will have something to boast of. Short-winged hawks, if not well waked at the first, generally require a long time, although this is not invariably the case. Every falconer is familiar with the story of Sir John Sebright’s historic sparrow-hawk, which killed a wild partridge on the tenth day after it was caught. But some few sparrow-hawks are as good-tempered, if skilfully treated, as others are rebellious and obstreperous. Waking will enable the most unamiable pupil to be manned in much less than half the time which would be otherwise required. A judicious use of the hood is also essential. While the hawk is still feeding freely, unhooded, and with a good appetite, she should be hooded up before she begins to be at all satiated. For “bating on a full crop” is to be particularly avoided at all times. The remaining part of the meal can be pulled through the hood. When a hawk eats readily on the fist indoors, she is not yet more than half reclaimed unless she will do the same in the open air. There is a vast difference between the one thing and the other. First take her out a little way in the twilight, or in an ill-lighted place at night, with food in her foot, on the fist. Then in the same place when there are men about. By degrees she will begin to think it natural enough to feed on the hand; and a tiring, tougher and tougher every day, may be substituted for the succulent viands by which her attention at first had to be kept up. Beware at the first, however, of carrying a hawk bareheaded, unless she has something to amuse herself withal. The chances are that you may rather make her more wild than more tame, if she feels that nothing but the jesses and leash confine her to her new perch.
Throughout this period and during all the early stages oftraining, the grand secret of discipline is carrying. It would perhaps be difficult to say why the mere transporting of a hawk, hooded or unhooded, upon the glove from place to place should have so great an effect; but the experience of centuries has shown that it does, and this ought to be enough for the beginner. When he has carried hawks for some hundreds of hours, he will acknowledge the truth of the old theory; then possibly he will be able to explain it to others or to himself. In the meantime he will do well to take it on trust, and adopt the practice without question. If, as he walks about or rides or sits—for the ambulatory part of the process is not compulsory—he is amongst other people, it will be all the better. The sound of the human voice, naturally and instinctively trying to all wild creatures, will by familiarity with it become less alarming. And with the diminution of the uneasiness originally caused by the voice will come a lessening of the distrust felt for the man who owns the voice. It is almost needless to say that the falconer’s voice, especially at times when the hawk is unhooded and in sight, should be soft and soothing in tone. We modern trainers do not use the voice much, as the old falconers did, in educating and directing our pupils. And therein, probably, we make a great mistake. But, however incredulous anyone may be as to the charms of the “falconer’s voice” for which Juliet so prettily sighed, it is at least natural to suppose that the harsh tones of an angry or peevish man must give any intelligent animal a bad notion of his character, and, by analogy, of that of the whole human race.
The actions of the trainer should, like the voice, be gentle and conciliatory. In fact his whole behaviour, when in his pupil’s presence, must be, as Turbervile recommends, friendly, lovable, and free from offence. “Sit procul omne nefas: ut ameris, amabilis esto!” And the hawk should not only like the trainer, but also respect him for his equanimity and self-control. Do you not want to convince your disciple that you are wiser as well as stronger than she? and yet that you are ready to pay respect to her own pride, and even some of her prejudices? “Maxima debeturfalconireverentia”; and if you exhibit petulance and ill-temper yourself, how can you expect that she will be amiable in return? Rough and sudden movements must never be made in the near neighbourhood of an unhooded hawk. Nay, they must be very watchfully guarded against, or they are nearly sure to be involuntarily made. Has a gnat got into your eye, as you are walking aboutwith an unhooded hawk? Your natural impulse is to raise the right hand quickly to brush it away. But that abrupt movement, so natural and almost instinctive on your part, is not at all expected by the hawk, as she stands close by. A catching of the breath and a half-spreading of the wings, if nothing worse, will very likely show you that you have made a mistake; and, if the hawk is a shy one, you will be lucky if the little incident, trifling as it may appear, does not lead to a bout of bating and a feeling of resentment and suspicion for the future. When walking along with an unhooded, half-broken hawk, be on the look-out for everything that may by any chance cause alarm. Women are more to be dreaded than men; children more than women. Dogs are the worst of all, especially if they bark and rush about. Steer clear of them all at first; and in passing them keep them always on your right hand, so that they are never behind the hawk’s back. Getting over a gate or stile, be careful how you step down. The sinking of the left hand always annoys the hawk standing upon it. Very naturally; for she feels that her perch is, as it were, dropping away from under her. Do all descents, therefore, even down an easy flight of steps, with as few jerks as possible. When riding or driving with a hawk on the fist, accommodate the whole left arm to the movement of the horse or the vehicle. A skilled falconer will hold his hand almost still while his whole body is being jogged about in a jolting dogcart or wobbling railway carriage. Just as you may sometimes see a hawk with her eye fixed steadily on some spot, and her head in the same place, like a fixed star, while her whole body is moved up or down by an independent action. Beware also of getting near any obstacle against which your hawk may by any sudden movement strike the tip of a wing. In passing through a gate or door, for instance, or under a small archway, give the gate-posts and walls a wide berth. Never wear a hard-brimmed hat yourself, nor go near any person who has a stiff hat or anything stiff about his clothing. In short, never risk the accidental breakage of a feather.
Carrying is therefore not quite such a simple matter as it at first appears to be. But it must be persevered in without any intermission until the hawk is thoroughly manned. For, all the time the hawk sits contentedly on the fist, she is learning a lesson that must eventually be taught her. Hawks are amongst the creatures most easily taught. They learn any lesson skilfully and diligently taught them with an ease that often astonishes the trainer himself; and, having once learnt it, they are in no hurry to forget. The artificial habit, once grafted ontheir nature, becomes almost a component part of it. But, as they learn quickly to do well, so they also learn quickly how to do otherwise. If you do not make a friend of your pupil, she will soon begin to regard you as an enemy. And then farewell to any hope of making a good servant of her.
“Manning” includes, of course, habituating her to the company not only of men, but also of dogs, horses, and all other animals and things which she is at all likely to meet with in her artificial existence of the future. She must be gradually introduced into society; and, like a young lady of fashion, her début will probably be made at nighttime. Streets more or less frequented may be visited with advantage by gaslight, or under the rather weird rays of the electric light. The extent of the publicity courted must be graduated according to the progress made by the débutante. If the main street is found too noisy or exciting, walk away down the side street. If that is too monotonous, stroll into an inn-yard or a billiard-room. When my lady shows signs of shying at an approaching object, sheer off a little, and create a diversion of some kind, perhaps by giving a pull at the meat under her foot, or by stroking her gently on the breast with the forefinger or a stick. If she strikes at the finger, do not snatch it away, but let her see that no harm is meant. You may even tell her so in a reassuring voice. She will partly understand. Then, when she can be taken without trouble through a pretty well-filled street, or amongst a group of people, she may be brought out by daylight. She may be carried through the stables and across a courtyard in which dogs are chained up. Then past a group of stable-boys, and along the side of a kennel. Meal-times are the best for all these early lessons, which must be advanced by easy stages. First the under-falconer will stand by, perhaps with another hawk, as the pupil takes her dinner. Next day he may be accompanied by a horse or a hound—of undemonstrative and unemotional temperament. On the third day a group of children may be playing at a short distance. Then the tutor himself may be mounted when he takes off my lady’s hood and produces the day’s ration. At each sign of real alarm the irritant object should be eliminated. If the stable is found too trying, step aside into the harness-room. If the children make too much noise, or begin to stare too impudently at the scornful beauty, get away to a safer distance. Tempt her forbearance as far as you safely dare, but not an inch farther.Festina lenteis a capital maxim for the impatient trainer.
Should a half-trained passage hawk ever be pegged out atthe block? Many falconers will answer Yes. But I am of a different persuasion. A man who is over-hawked, or has too few assistants, may think it almost a necessity to weather his hawk at the block. But even in such a case I would advise to weather her in her hood. The proper way, however, to weather a hawk, when she is in course of being manned, is surely on the fist. If a man has so many hawks and so few falconers that he cannot spare one of the latter to carry each of the hawks for some hours every day, he is going about his business in an unbusiness-like way. What good can a passage hawk possibly get from standing as a prisoner on a block of wood, tempted continually to jump off, and jerked back as often as she does so by a rude pull on to a damp plot of grass? The fashion now so prevalent of pegging hawks out on the lawn by themselves seems to me, if the truth is to be told, to have originated in the laziness of the falconer or his subordinates. It is manifestly much easier and simpler to tie a hawk to a block, than to roam about with her on the fist. But is it equally beneficial? Is it even advisable at all? It is argued that a hawk, while so pegged out, is breathing the fresh air and getting manned, if there are, as there should be, people passing to and fro before her eyes. But, on the other hand, she is all the time plagued by a feeling of discomfort and discontent, which cannot be good for her. Her position is not natural to her. It is not the one she would choose of her own accord. Every bird which flits across within her field of view, every cloud which passes over head, almost every breeze which whispers in the tree-tops, suggests to her a longing to take flight. A dozen places invite her to leave her humble perch and go to them and obtain a better view. Four out of every five wild-caught hawks, unless their spirit has been half broken by fasting or persecution, will be found to bate off constantly when pegged out. And bating off cannot do them any good. It must remind them painfully that they are now captives and slaves. Moreover, it is impossible to properly arrange their surroundings. Either there will be too many or too few people about. And whoever there is about, whether man, child, or dog, will either be too near or too far away. The background will not arrange itself with a due regard to the happy medium between distant reserve and vulgar familiarity. On the whole, there are very few passage hawks that I should like to peg out bareheaded before they have arrived at a much later stage of their education than we have yet reached.
FALCON AND TIERCEL WEATHERING
FALCON AND TIERCEL WEATHERING
CHAPTER VI
Training and Entering
We have traced the history of the wild-caught hawk from the moment of her misadventure in the bow-net to that in which having been introduced under good auspices to the society of her new friends she has learnt at least to tolerate their presence, if not to rejoice in it. She can be taken amongst men, women, and children, dogs, horses, and carriages, without feeling uneasy. She has, in fact, now been manned. When we took leave of our eyesses they had not yet arrived at this stage. They were only just taken up from hack. But the manning of the eyess is accomplished in no different way from that of the passager, except that the more vigorous parts of the discipline may be omitted or modified. Waking is not necessary for eyess merlins, hobbies, or kestrels. It may often be dispensed with altogether with eyess peregrines, even after a prolonged hack. Carrying and handling are with them, as with their wilder brethren, the simple but laborious methods whereby they are tamed. But manning is only the first step in the reclamation of a hawk. She must be made also to come to the fist, at least to a certain extent. If, indeed, she is a short-winged hawk, this lesson of coming to the fist may be considered the principal part of her training. But all hawks should be taught and accustomed to jump a short distance on to the fist, whenever it is held out invitingly towards them. Nor is there any great difficulty about this, if a right beginning is made. As the falconer stands with his hawk bareheaded on the glove, he should get her first to reach forward with her head when he offers a morsel of food on the end of his short stick. Then by degrees he may induce her to step an inch or two sideways towards his wrist for the same purpose. Next, to walk a little way along the screen-perch. And, when she will do this, he may set her down on the perch, and, touching it with the openfingers of the gloved left hand, invite her to step on to them and to the knuckles. The next short step is to get her to jump from the perch to the hand. When once she will do this, even if the jump is one of an inch only, the distance can soon be made much greater. But in order to succeed with this lesson she must not be tantalised. It is no good to stand for five minutes with the left hand outstretched and a piece of meat on or near it within six inches of your hawk, when she is in no humour to make the leap which seems to her so perilous. When she will not come, humour her, and put the meat nearer, so that she can get it without jumping. Sooner or later she will find that the meat so placed before her is not a trap or a sham, but really meant for her delectation, and that she can get it a little quicker if she chooses to go for it. There is no use in telling her the story of Mahomet and the mountain, but you can illustrate the theory by a sort of practical dumb-show. If a more advanced pupil is placed on the perch next to the slow learner, the latter will see how much quicker her sister gets the proffered delicacies by jumping for them. As soon as she will come a little way from the screen-perch, try her from a block, and then from a gate-post out of doors. Keep her at this exercise for some days, but do not make a toil of it to her; merely let her know that if she comes for it, she will get the tit-bit at once, whereas, if she does not, she will get it all the later.
Next comes the lure. Passage hawks are notoriously and naturally bad at the lure. Nothing in their previous experience at all leads up to it; and you have to teach them an entirely new lesson. Consequently, you must take pains about it, and be prepared for disappointments and delays. The lure is as important to the falconer as a hook to a fisherman, or a bridle to a rider. To take a long-winged hawk out to the field without a lure would be almost as silly as to go out shooting without any cartridges. When first introduced to the pupil the lure must be well garnished with attractive and palatable viands. It is by no means enough to throw down a freshly-killed pigeon in front of the hungry hawk. She is quite likely, if a passager, to stare at it absently, and apparently without any very defined belief that it is at all good to eat. After a minute or so she is not unlikely to look the other way, and pay no more attention to your well-intended bait. But you must not then be surprised, or begin exclaiming at her “stupidity.” If the passager will not come to the dead pigeon, take a lure and cover it with chopped meat. Give her pieces off this, and presently let her pick them off it. Then let her walk towards the lure to get thepieces, as she has already learnt to go to the fist. When once she has walked even three inches to it she can soon be made to fly to it right across the lawn.
Prolong these lessons, therefore, till your hawk is well “made to the lure.” Each day at feeding-time make her come a longer and longer distance to it for her dinner. After a while she will be flown to it in a creance, that is, a line attached to the end of the leash, or, better still, to the swivel, from which the leash has been detached. The best way to give the lesson is to get an under-falconer or assistant to hold the hawk on his fist in an open piece of ground, and then, going a little way off, to show her the lure, on which she knows by experience that her food is fastened. In the case of eyesses which have been hacked to the lure they are of course well habituated to the business in hand. But all hawks, if properly treated, will after a time learn to look with some eagerness, at the dinner hour, for the appearance of the lure. Peregrines and all the bigger hawks will be hooded up before going out; and when the hood is taken off they will glance around in search of the trainer. As soon as they discern him swinging his lure, they should jump off and fly towards it, and, when it is thrown on the ground, alight on it. Merlins and sparrow-hawks may generally be set down on a post, and lured from it by the same person who took them out, without the need of an assistant. Or, when they know the lure sufficiently, it may be attached to the far end of the creance, and, after being swung once or twice, thrown to a short distance, and the little hawk thrown off at the same time, when she is pretty sure to go straight to it. These exercises at the lure should be continued till there is no longer any reasonable doubt that the pupil will come as soon as she has the chance; and, in order to make sure, the length of the creance may be increased from a few feet to at least a hundred yards. It will be a proud moment when first you trust your passage hawk entirely free, and, detaching the swivel from her jesses, abandon for the moment all actual control over her. On this occasion you will probably take extra precautions, making sure that no intruder will interrupt the operations, and that your hawk is undeniably sharp-set. But in order to make certain of this, do not dream of starving her; merely put off the feeding-time for an hour or so. Hawks in captivity should commonly be fed, as will be seen later on, at about 11 a.m. When you first fly your passage hawk free, wait until past noon. The small extra delay will have put an edge on her appetite. If all goes well she will not notice or suspect that anything unusual is occurring. Verylikely, if a light line has been used, she may have supposed for days past that she was flying free. Possibly she has never once suspected the existence of the creance.
It is well to make all hawks to the lure, even if afterwards you should have no use for it. A lost goshawk will very often come to the lure when she will not come to the fist. As a rule, it will be seen that short-winged hawks in the field should not be called to the lure; they are “hawks of the fist,” and should be taught to come to it whenever they have the chance, in default of wild quarry. It requires some faith to believe when the wild-caught sparrow-hawk is first taken in hand that she will ever do this. Nothing will seem much more unlikely than that this fierce, restless creature, a feathered termagant, would ever so lay aside her innate wildness as to come contentedly out of the free air, and, disdaining all other resting-places, take perch by preference on the hand of her once detested captor. Yet so it is. Goshawks and sparrow-hawks can all be brought to come habitually to the fist, and remain there willingly at all times except when there is quarry to be pursued. In their case the calling-off to the hand in the open field is only a prolongation and extension of the early lessons in which they were taught to jump to it from the perch, as already described. After the creance is no longer necessary each kind of hawk should be called off for two or three days at least, the one to the lure and the other to the fist, one man holding the hawk, while the other swings the lure or holds out the fist. And here ends the early drudgery of reclaiming the wild-caught hawk.
The education of the eyess, whether flown at hack or not, must, of course, be brought down to the same stage. If they have had no hack at all they will have been manned very early in life and habituated to come to the fist. If they have been well hacked, they will have become in many respects very like wild hawks—possibly “more so.” Anyhow, they will be full summed and full grown in all respects before they come to be put in actual training for the field. We took leave of our eyesses in the third chapter, soon after they had been taken up; and we must now assume that by a modified application of the régime prescribed for the haggard they have been manned and taught to come to the hand or the lure, or both. The time occupied in this process will of course have varied according to the disposition of the individuals. A well-natured eyess merlin hacked under the lure-and-fist system will be manned in two or three days. A goshawk, or a peregrine of an independent turn of mind, hacked at the board, may resist for the best partof a fortnight the best-intentioned efforts to subdue her wild instincts. It will be well in all cases, and will save an immensity of time and trouble, to reduce the eyess to some extent as soon as she is taken up. For my own part I incline to doing, even at this early stage, a bit of mild physicking. Half a Cockle’s pill for a peregrine or one-eighth for a merlin will do no manner of harm. At all events the allowance of food must be cut down. Hack hawks, when taken up, should be as round as balls and as bumptious as undergraduates. They know not what it is to be really sharp-set; and unless dosed they make quite a favour of eating at all during the first two or three days of real captivity. Continue feeding them at the rate they have been accustomed to, and you will lose patience before you can bring them under any sort of control. In fact, you will not do so at all. Yet I do not mean that they should be made thin. There is, it is true, no longer any fear of hunger-traces, but a thin hawk is a weak hawk, and sometimes even a spoilt hawk. Her small feathers lose their gloss; her flight feathers grow weak and brittle, and are ready to break on slight provocation; her nares lose colour, and begin to harbour mites. In short, a thin hawk is an abomination and a disgrace. She must therefore not be either overfed or underfed, but just made hungry enough before each meal-time to be really keen after her food. And as she has accumulated during her probationary time of adolescence more or less internal fat, the quickest and easiest way to get rid of it is to give her a mild dose or two of purgative medicine, and some rangle, as recommended in the chapter on ailments. Hack hawks and all other eyesses must be taught to jump and fly to the fist. If long-winged, they must be made to the lure. And in all cases they should be thoroughly broken to the hood.
Thus we have arrived at the same stage with our eyesses and with our wild-caught hawks; and the subsequent stages are very nearly the same with each. Carrying (on the fist—I do not mean the vice of that ilk) is still asine quâ non. No hawk can have too much of it. I have read in some hawking books a reference to hawks being “too tame.” The phrase, as applied to a trained hawk, is not very well chosen, and might mislead a beginner. Some of the most deadly hawks ever flown have been as “tame as parrots.” When a very tame hawk flies badly it is not, as a rule, because she is too tame, but because she is too fat, or, more likely still, because she is not properly sharp-set at the moment of flying. Some remarks on the conditioning of hawks will be found later on. In the meantime letnot the beginner be afraid of getting his hawk too fond of him. She should “rejoyce in him,” as the old falconers expressed it, and at sight of him be all excitement to come to him, not only for food, but for the chance of a flight, which she will soon begin to think that he alone can procure for her. Even wild hawks will sometimes wait on upon their known enemy, man, on the chance of his putting up game, and so “serving them,” as the saying is. How much more should a trained hawk do, who is beginning to know that the falconer is a good friend?
Our charges must now be classified in a different way. The distinction is not now so much between eyess and passager, as between long-winged and short-winged—between those which are to be flown at one or other sort of quarry. Thus, short-winged hawks of both kinds, eagles, merlins, and all the long-winged hawks which are to be flown at rook, heron, kite, or gull, are flown from the fist, whereas hobbies and all the long-winged hawks which are destined to fly either at game or duck are allowed to mount to their pitch before the quarry is sprung, and from thence descend upon it. We may first speak of the first-mentioned category, premising that as far as safety is concerned the flight from the fist is preferable.
We assume that the hawk will come readily to the lure or the fist as soon as she has a chance. Now contrive, if you can, that your assistant, having her hooded on his fist, shall stand on an open ground at a distance from you of some two hundred yards, and that somewhere between you there is a live bird or beast of a suitable kind on the ground, or in a very small bush. In the case of a merlin a wild lark may very possibly be marked down in such a position. So may a blackbird for a sparrow-hawk, or a rabbit for a goshawk, or even a young partridge for a peregrine, ger, or lanner. If you cannot manage to make this arrangement with a wild creature, you must employ a bagged one for the nonce as a substitute—a poor one, no doubt; but it may serve the turn, if used in the way to be presently described. Now let the assistant unhood the hawk; and make sure that somehow or other you can put up that marked quarry when you like. As soon as the hawk has had time to look round and has looked towards you, let the man walk in the same direction, and walk in yourself to put up the quarry. When you are close upon it and are sure that it is about to rise, you may show the lure for a moment, quickly hiding it again. And, as the hawk starts towards you, put up the quarry with a shout. If you are quick enough, it will rise just as the hawk is approaching the spot where it was, and thetemptation to her to pursue it will be strong. If the hawk yields to the impulse, you are in luck. She is already “entered.” If she takes it you are still more fortunate, for the hawk is “made” at the first trial. But very possibly she may refuse. No matter, take her down to the lure, and try her again another time—perhaps an hour later. Possibly you may possess or borrow a make-hawk which is alreadyau faitat the quarry—a sister or brother of the tardy learner, which has already taken more kindly to the business—maybe a last year’s hawk, which is now coming into action again. If such a pupil-teacher is thrown off as the quarry starts, the force of example will pretty surely lead to imitation. Rook-hawks are very often entered in this way. But the plan is advised for the nobler races only, for short-winged hawks must not be slipped together, for fear of “crabbing” or fighting.
A proposof bagged quarry, which are an abomination to all right-minded falconers, it should be said that whenever they are turned out great care should be taken to deceive the hawk into the idea that they are not bagged. With this intent dig a small hole in the ground, just large enough to accommodate the bagged quarry comfortably. Over the top of the hole and the quarry inside it place a flat board of the same colour as the surrounding surface, green, brown, or as it may be. Let the board be sufficiently heavy to prevent the captive from escaping, as long as it remains over the hole. Then attach a string of the required length, and coloured like the board, to one of its corners. When you want the quarry to bolt, pull the string and thus uncover the hole. When the liberated prisoner comes forth, the hawk will be too intent upon looking after it to inquire why or wherefore it appeared on the scene. If, on the contrary, you throw it up out of the hand, or let it out of a bag, the case will be different. Most likely the hawk will see that it is no chance quarry, but is expressly thrown out as a sort of animated lure, and pursue it as such. When afterwards you try her at a really wild quarry, she may refuse, just as if you had given no bagged quarry at all. Hawks, like other creatures, are averse to hard work when they think it unnecessary; and when they are accustomed to easy flights—such as are always afforded by birds thrown up from the hand—they are apt to shirk the more difficult job of catching a wild bird.
Many hawks are, of course, entered without any such manœuvring as above described. An eyess, for instance, which has begun to chase birds freely at hack may often, when properly reclaimed, be taken straight out into the field, and thrown off atthe sort of quarry which it is ultimately intended to pursue. Perhaps two out of every three eyess merlins may, in skilful hands, be thus dealt with. But they will perhaps not begin at once. I remember well the first day when Princess was taken out, as the first of a nest of four merlins intended to be entered. It was on the open down, where the larks were very strong. She refused eight in succession, merely making a pretence of following, and sometimes not even that. But at the ninth, which got up very near her, she flew with the utmost pluck and skill, and, after at least half a dozen good stoops, put it into a potato patch, where it could not immediately be found. She then refused three more, and ultimately, thinking perhaps that it was long past dinner-time, caught the thirteenth lark in good style. Another year Colonel Sanford and I took out two jack-merlins—the advance-guard of the hack hawks—very early in the season, to be entered at the same time. We threw them off at the same lark. The hawk which was nearest to it refused: the other went on and killed the quarry. Sparrow-hawks will generally fly, if in yarak, without being entered artificially. With peregrines there is generally more difficulty. As for those of them which are intended for game or duck, they belong to the other category, and will be referred to later as hawks of the mountee. But passage peregrines, coming to the falconer as they do late in the autumn, will first be flown at rooks or gulls from the fist. With each of these quarry there will probably be trouble. For the wild hawk does not, as a rule, fly at rooks, unless when hard driven for food, nor is she much addicted to gulls, except at breeding-times, when she has many mouths to feed. If, when the time comes for her to be entered, she is started straight away at a rook or gull, without a make-hawk as companion, she is almost sure to refuse, or take no notice at all of it. Possibly, if she is first flown at a white pigeon, in the same place and way as afterwards a gull is sure to be found, and flies well at the pigeon, she will afterwards go for the gull. But for entering rook-hawks, where no make-hawk can be used, a bagged quarry or two is generally found necessary.
When once a hawk has taken one of the quarry at which she is intended to be flown, she may be allowed to eat it if it is to her taste. But if its flesh is not of an appetising or palatable kind—as, for instance, rook or gull—a ruse should be adopted to induce her to believe that the prize is more valuable than it really is. A freshly-killed pigeon, or part of one, should be smuggled under the hawk’s foot as she is pluming the dead rook or gull. There will be no difficulty in practising this innocentdeception. Hawks, while pluming their quarry, keep a firm hold of it with the inner talon of one foot, and often of both. But it is easy to contrive that the outer talons of one foot shall get hold of the pigeon, and afterwards to shift the inner talon on to it. Then, as she goes on feeding, the other foot can be shifted, and the real quarry stealthily withdrawn from underneath. As there is nothing that peregrines like better than pigeon, your newly-entered hawk will, after a meal presented to her in this fraudulent fashion, take a new view of the merits of a hitherto despised quarry.
It remains now to warn the beginner in the process of entering to beware of the hawk’s carrying, that is, lifting or bolting with the quarry. Unless you have very good reasons to suppose that she will not do this, you should specially guard against it from the first. When bagged quarry is used, attach a short light string to it, such as will not materially impede its flight. After the hawk has made a capture allow her to come with it quietly to the ground. This she will do if accustomed always to feed on the lure upon the ground. You will also, of course, be in a place where there is no temptation, and, if possible, no reasonable chance, of her taking it up into a tree. Then approach her very gently and cautiously until you are near enough to take hold of the end of the string. Having secured this, you can prevent all attempts at carrying. Do not, however, on that account hurry up. There is much art in “making in,” as it is called. You will have plenty of time; for the mere plucking or depluming of the quarry (always nearly completely finished before the meal is begun) will last several minutes at least. Still holding the string, go up very slowly, advancing a few inches when my lady is intent on her booty, and stopping when she looks up. Above all things avoid staring at her, which hawks greatly dislike. Look any other way than towards her, and walk rather obliquely towards her than in a direct line. When you are nearly within arm’s reach bend down. You may kneel or even crawl along like a snake. When you begin to reach out your hand towards her let it be garnished with a well-looking piece of food. Get it gradually within reach of her; then close to her feet; then near enough to touch the real dead quarry. When you have hold of this you have gained another point. But be patient and wary still. If you alarm the hawk, even a little, it will throw you back terribly in your progress towards making her. It may lead to the abominable vice of habitual carrying, than which nothing is more annoying and more dangerous. If by mishap the hawk should bolt, hold on gentlybut firmly to the string, and give her still more time before again approaching her. The art of “making in” should be studied and practised from the first. You will afterwards be amply repaid for all your trouble. See the important remarks made on this subject inChapterIX.
When you have secured the quarry, keep down for at least two or three minutes more, and let the hawk begin feeding at her ease on it, or on the pigeon which you may have substituted. Help her to find the best pieces. You may talk to her in encouraging words, if such is your habit, while she is eating. Then slowly get up, lifting the food, and the hawk upon it, without any haste or jerking. Let her have nearly a full crop—the reward of good behaviour—and subject her to no chance of annoyance or interference all the rest of the day.
These instructions may seem lengthy and needlessly minute. If they are, it is a fault on the right side. You are at a critical stage now in your pupil’s education. You are “making” her to the business which is henceforth to be the business of her life; and a little extra precaution is justifiable in order to ensure that the lesson you are teaching shall be well learnt. As the hawk finds by experience that you approach her with no predatory intentions, but rather to help her and add to her enjoyment of her meal, she will gain confidence, and be less and less inclined to misbehave herself by bolting. And as her mistrust diminishes so will your trouble be lessened, until at last you will be able to make in without any of these precautions and delays. Whereas, if you are negligent or over-confident at first, you may end by not being able to make in to her at all, and may have the mortification of having been for some weeks the owner of a fine hawk which could fly admirably, but which, after one of her first few flights at wild quarry, literally “vanished into thin air.”
The training required for hawks which are to “wait on” is different. It has already been said that merlins and the short-winged hawks cannot be taught this accomplishment. A merlin which will wait on even for half a minute is rather a phenomenon. I have had such an one, it is true, but only one. The thing is not impossible in all cases, but so rarely practicable that it is needless to speak of it. Nor is it advisable to teach the art of waiting on to any hawk which is intended to be flown at rooks, gulls, heron, or the like. But all long-winged hawks intended for game should wait on well. The whole race of peregrines and their cousins, gers, hobbies, sakers, lanners, and the humble kestrel, can all be made to wait on beautifully. Soaring (to which waiting on is so nearly similar) is the natural exercise ofall these hawks. In the wild state they spend hours almost daily at it. But if they are to wait on in the rather artificial style required by the falconer, nature must be aided a little. When they are keen at coming to the lure, you should call them off, and, as they approach, jerk the lure away off the ground in front of them. When they have missed it, their impetus will carry them on beyond the place where it was, and they will rise in the air, partly turning round to see what has become of it. Then after a very short delay you may throw the lure down again, and let them have it. At the second lesson it may be hid for a longer time, and the hawk allowed to make one or two circles in the air before it is produced. At each fresh lesson make the interval of waiting longer, hiding the lure as long as the hawk is circling round within a short distance of you, but producing it when she strays away, or gives signs of being tired out. By this means she will soon learn that patience is not only a virtue, but a profitable, and even a pleasant one. For if the wild hawk soars from choice for the mere pleasure of stretching her wings, it must be natural for a trained hawk, which has so much fewer opportunities of doing this, to take a delight in it. Eyess peregrines are very unlike one another in their aptness for waiting on. Some are very slow to learn it, and can hardly, by the greatest efforts, be got to go up any height, or even to keep on the wing at all. Some few, on the other hand, take to it quite readily, and, after a few days, of their own accord mount to a great height. Of course the higher a hawk can be induced to go, the better game-hawk she will turn out.
As for passage hawks, you must remember, when teaching them to wait on, that there is much more danger than there is with eyesses. The longer they are kept on the wing, and the higher they go, the more chance there is of their espying some bird passing—perhaps some old familiar quarry, of which they have struck down scores for themselves—and making off after it. The very fact of being in the air, and feeling the free breeze as it lifts their wings, must remind them forcibly of old days of liberty, and slacken the ties which bind them to their new master. Be extra careful, therefore, in the case of all passage hawks, and most of all with the haggard, to watch for any signs of returning native wildness. Fly her in a country where chance quarry are not likely to appear. If she “rakes away,” or wanders far from you in making her airy circles, call her back before it is too late. Fly her always when she is quite sharp-set, even if you have to give her little or no exercise on some of the intermediate days between one lesson and the next.You may diet her now upon “washed meat.” This is meat washed in cold water and squeezed dry, so that a part of the nutriment originally contained in it is lost. It is, of course, less palatable and less sustaining. But it should be used in moderation. The old falconers seem to have given it much more often than we do now. But for some reason or other the nineteenth century hawk, if at all habitually dieted on this distasteful food, seems to lose pluck and power as well as weight.
There is another mode of flying hawks to the lure, which is a sort of combination of the first-mentioned process of “calling off” and the last-mentioned “waiting on.” This is the practice of “stooping to the lure,” which is certainly an excellent means of exercising a hawk, although some very good falconers object to it on other grounds. For merlins and kestrels, however, it may be recommended without any reservation. To teach it, begin, as before, by calling your hawk off to the dead lure, and jerking it away from the ground in front of her. But instead of afterwards encouraging her to mount and wait on, produce the lure, and repeat the same trick by jerking it away. In order to make the most of this exercise you should rig up a soft lure, which can be struck in the air. Take a stout bag, padded on the inside, and into it put a smaller bag, with as much sand or shot in it as will three-quarters fill it. Sew up the mouth, and attach to it a strong leash or cord. The whole apparatus must weigh about two-thirds as much as the hawk which is to be flown to it. At the juncture of the leash and the bag attach on each side the wing of a bird, choosing by preference for each hawk a bird of the kind which is to be her particular quarry—a rook for a rook-hawk, a lark for a hobby, and so on. These appendages will have to be often renewed; and it is well to keep a stock of old ones, pickled or peppered to keep out the moths. There will be strings, of course, as in an ordinary lure, for attaching the food; and particular care is required in garnishing this kind of lure, as with the hard usage to which it is subjected, any food which is at all insecurely fastened on may come off; and if the hawk bolts with it a terrible disaster may be the result.
At this padded lure the hawk may be allowed to strike freely in the air as it is swung. Gers and merlins are all very clever at this work, and often seem to enjoy vastly this opportunity of exercising their muscles and their intelligence. Some of them are amazingly clever in getting hold of the lure. Not only do they foresee exactly where the swing you are giving to the lure will bring it the moment when they pass; but, if you are in thehabit of interrupting that swing by giving it a particular jerk or twist in another direction, they will discount, as it were, this trick, and anticipate your little plan. Considerable adroitness is required on the part of the falconer also. By the employment of some cunning, he can encourage his hawk to great exertions, and can very greatly increase both her speed and her footing powers. If the stoop is very narrowly eluded by this dead lure, working under your guidance, the hawk is not unlikely to think that it was her own slowness of flight which made her too late. If you can encourage this idea, she will strive to improve her pace, and fly to the lure almost as hard as she would at a wild quarry. I have repeatedly seen merlins with their mouths open after five minutes of this work. The best plan is to let the hawk touch the lure whenever she specially distinguishes herself, whether by a very hard down stoop, or a high throw-up, or as it may be. Let the lure be as small as it can be, consistently with sufficient weight and softness, and whenever the hawk touches it, whether by your leave or without it, immediately let it fall on the ground; and let the hawk come down to it, if she did not bind when she touched. This is a very important particular in the case of eyesses. It teaches them that a swift stoop which even grazes the quarry is better than all the slow ones which miss it. As for passage hawks, they need not to be taught this. But for them, in consideration of the hardness of their stoop, I have sometimes found it well to use a modification of the soft lure. I have diminished its weight and bulk, so that it can be struck without any fear at all of hurting the hawk’s feet; and at the end of the cord or leash to which it is attached, I have fastened the solid weight which is necessary to prevent carrying. This weight may be held in the left hand, while the lure is swung by the right; and when the successful stoop has been made, both can be allowed to fall on the ground.
I have said that some great authorities disapprove of this method of exercising hawks. They say that in the case of game-hawks it spoils them for waiting on, and that in the case of rook-hawks and gull-hawks, the habit of looking for the lure makes them less keen at sighting their wild quarry. There is a great deal in these objections; and I shall not presume to decide between the advocates and opponents of the practice. As regards game-hawks, however, where a hawk has once taken to mounting well, I should certainly not advise any stooping to the lure, for fear of spoiling her pitch. As regards other hawks, I think some part of the force of the objections is removed if the place where the hawks are stooped to the lure is altogetherdifferent from any place in which they are likely to be flown at wild quarry. In lark-hawking it is certainly very essential that the hawk should get sighted at once. But though I have habitually made my merlins stoop at the lure in the early morning, I have not found them in consequence slow in starting at quarry in the afternoon. It cannot be denied that, as far as the hawk’s condition is concerned, stooping at the lure is a grand resource. If you were always quite sure of giving your hawk a hard flight at wild quarry every day, that would doubtless be the best thing for her. But who can be sure of this? Bad weather, scarcity of quarry, and several other causes make it only too certain that there will be many interruptions. But even when you cannot give your hawk a real flight, you can generally stoop her to the lure, and ensure that she has at anyrate had a “breather” during the day. It is very rarely so windy during a whole day that a trained hawk cannot be put on the wing. A peregrine in good condition ought not to be excused by anything short of a whole gale from daily exercise, even if it amounts to no more than calling off or stooping three or four times at the lure.
It is a good thing, even after a hawk is fully made and is flying wild quarry daily, to call her off occasionally to the lure, though you have no need to do so. Sometimes a hawk will have a long run of kills without a miss. I have known such a run to last with a merlin to over thirty. During all the time while such a score is being made, there will have been no occasion to use the lure, except perhaps when a quarry has put in and has had to be routed out. She runs a risk, therefore, of forgetting all about that humble apparatus, to which a few days ago she trusted so confidently for her food. Let her memory, therefore, be refreshed occasionally, by interpolating a fly to the dead lure amongst the long series of uniformly successful flights. Otherwise, at the first unsuccessful one, you may find that the once loved object has lost all its attractions.
CHAPTER VII
Rook-Hawking
Eyesses, as well as passage peregrines, may be flown at the rook; but this quarry is more suitable for a falcon than a tiercel. Mr. O’Keefe used eyess falcons for this flight, and once killed with them on the Curragh of Kildare as many as 117 in three weeks. William Barr had an eyess which, when entered to rooks, took as many as seven in nine flights. Comet, belonging to Mr. Brodrick, took many rooks. It is only rather exceptionally that a tiercel can be got to fly them. But Mr. Newcome’s passage tiercel, Will o’ the Wisp, took them very well. The difficulty which is generally experienced in entering falcons to rooks is much greater in their brothers’ case. And the superiority of the passage hawk over the eyess is more marked in this flight than in game-hawking. Besides peregrines, several other kinds of long-winged hawks may be trained to take this quarry—gers of both sexes, lanners, and perhaps some lannerets, and the shaheen falcon, both black and red. No doubt the saker of both sexes would afford excellent sport with rooks. I am not aware that the training of any of these hawks for such a flight differs from that recommended for the peregrine.
For a rook-flight very open country is required. It would be no use to attempt it in what is called a well-wooded district, or where hedge-row trees grow as they do in the far greater part of cultivated England. A single tree, or even tall bush, will ruin a whole square mile of otherwise suitable ground. Nor is it sufficient that the land should be clear of trees and buildings. Many other obstacles, such as tall, stiff hedges, wire railings, and even sheep-folds, full or empty, are detrimental to the sport. A flock of sheep, a drove of pigs, or even a herd of cattle being driven along, is quite enough to utterly spoil a good flight. Thus in all England there are but few places where youcan carry on this sport with success. Amongst them are parts of the Berkshire and Wiltshire downs, and some of the South-downs, though these are usually too undulating. Parts of Norfolk, especially near Lakenheath, are good; and so are portions of the fen country, where there is not too much water. In the North of England and in several counties in Ireland there are moors and open spaces which do well.
It must not be supposed, however, that the passage peregrine, or any other of the big long-winged hawks, any more than the eyesses, take kindly to rook-flying. Some have so little fancy for this unattractive quarry, that they can never by any skill be induced to fly them with any zest. Generally it is necessary to use either a make-hawk or bagged quarry for entering the beginners. The way in which such quarry are used has been sufficiently explained in the last chapter. But, as everyone does not know how to catch a rook, a few hints borrowed from the sister art of bird-catching may not be out of place. The commonest way of entrapping a rook is to send a boy up to the top of a tree in a well-frequented rookery with the end of a string, with which he can make a noose or nooses, and set them on the old nests to which the birds resort before roosting for the night. At the moment when the noisy crowd come back to the rookery and settle on their accustomed perches, a simultaneous pull at several lines connected with properly-laid nooses will generally secure a victim or more. Another plan by which a rook is made to look even more foolish is to go round with a plough in a field where rooks come to pick up the worms which it turns up. The rook-catcher must be provided with a number of paper hoods made like large extinguishers, and these he will place upside down in the furrow with a tempting bait—grain, worm, or meat—in their inside. The rest of the inside of each cap is well smeared with bird-lime or some other very sticky matter; and the rook, in picking at the food, may be hoped sometimes to hood himself. Then while in his astonishment he struggles to get rid of this blinding fool’s cap, he may be picked up and carried off into captivity.
When the newly-entered hawk has taken his bagged rook, you must get up as quickly as you can and make in at once. Then seizing the “pelt,” or dead body of the quarry, you must contrive so that the hawk, instead of breaking in upon that unsavoury morsel, shall proceed by mistake to begin her meal upon a pigeon which you have just before killed, and which you surreptitiously substitute for by holding it side by side with the dead rook. The object, of course, is to induce in her ladyship’smind the belief that she is eating what she has killed, and finds it uncommonly good. Eyesses are naturally deceived very easily into this fallacious notion. As for passage hawks, it is quite possible that many of them have no more idea than eyesses what a rook tastes like. Unless they have ever been hard pressed for a meal, it is more than probable that they have never condescended to dine off a rook. Anyhow, they will not be at all unwilling to lend themselves to a deception fraught with such gratifying results. “Dear me,” may be the haggard’s inward reflection, “what a goose I have been all this time never to pay any attention to these vulgar black birds! Why, they taste as good as pigeon!” And the next time she has a chance of paying attention, she will. This “personation trick” is invariably used by Indian and Asiatic falconers in kite-flying with sakers. It is necessary, or at least advisable, in entering hawks at herons, gulls, and other coarse-fleshed birds. In the case of rooks it may be discontinued after a short while, if it is found on a cautious trial that the hawk will eat rook with any relish. Many falcons, when flying rooks almost daily, are habitually fed upon the last victim they have killed in the day. But it is not to be supposed that any hawk will be very fond of such coarse viands; and some will not eat them at all.
Supposing now that the rook-hawk is safely entered, and a suitable country found, the next thing is to also find a wild rook in a suitable part of that country. And this is not altogether an easy matter. In some very excellent districts, where the rooks are flown at every year, they become excessively wary, and quite clever at avoiding the chance of a good slip at them. The old birds, who have been spectators of many a battle in the air in which one of their comrades was worsted and lost his life, or who have perhaps even themselves done battle, and escaped with great difficulty, become suspicious of all mounted men. They remember very well and with a fluttering heart the appearance of the little squadron of horsemen which once brought with them Lady Long-wing, who made such a dreadful example of poor papa Caw-Caw. Who can say that they do not remember the very faces and the green uniforms of the murderous men to whom Lady Long-wing belonged? Anyhow, as they strut on the hillside or pick about along the furrows, they are on the alert directly a detachment of irregular cavalry comes in sight, which looks at all as if it might be accompanied by hawks. Very often their sentinels incontinently give the signal of alarm, and the flock scuds off summarily to safer feeding-grounds. At all events they do solong before they can be approached within what a beginner would consider a reasonable distance. The result is that in order to get within reach of such quarry it has sometimes been found necessary to resort to stratagem. Rooks have been stalked by a falconer on foot creeping along behind the shelter of a waggon, or actually disguised as a farm labourer. Sometimes the hawking party will lie concealed under the lee of a rick, waiting for a distant rook to cross within range, or to be driven by mounted beaters in the direction of the ambush. And after all precautions have been taken it is often useless to wait for a short slip. The distance at which good passage hawks are now thrown off at Wiltshire rooks will astonish a person who has never seen anything better than a moderate eyess. A quarter of a mile is not considered at all too long a start when a hawk is a fast one and in good flying order. But the longer the start the better the country must be if you are to score a kill.
A falconer on the look-out for rooks will often have to get over a good deal of ground in the day. Twenty miles—without counting in the flights—is probably rather under than over the average distance when any considerable number of hawks are to be flown. It is, of course, almost a necessity to be mounted; and it is well to have a horse under you which is not new to the business, especially if you are to carry a hawk yourself, or may be called upon to take one up. A horse which has never been out with the hawks before is likely to be very much put out by the ringing of the hawk’s bell, and still more if she also flutters her wings in a high wind. While following a ringing flight your eyes will naturally be directed more towards the realms above than to the ground over which you are galloping; and, as many of the downs on which this sport is most often pursued abound in ant-hills, if your animal stumbles over one of these obstacles you are likely to pay for your inattention by a severe cropper. If it falls to your lot to take up the hawk after she has killed, you must, of course, dismount. To enable you to do this and devote your whole attention to it, a special apparatus is provided. To the outside of your saddle will be attached a pocket, within which can be fitted a leaden weight secured by a leather, the other end of which can be attached to the horse’s head, so that by merely throwing the weight on the ground he is at once tethered. No one of course presumes to take up another man’s hawk unless it has been so arranged beforehand, or in case of urgent necessity, as for instance if the owner is not in sight, and there is danger that the hawk may be attacked on the groundby some deadly enemy. Of course rook-hawking may be attempted on foot. But unless markers are posted skilfully at the places where a hawk is likely to go out of sight, there is great risk of losing her. Moreover, it is impossible to see much of the best flights. A great deal of time will be wasted in moving about between each flight; and still more in shifting the markers from place to place, as well as in finding the hawk after a long flight which has ended in a kill. The rook-hawker on foot comes back footsore, and very weary. And he is lucky if these are the only ills of which he has to complain.
Rook-hawks which have been brought out to fly, but are not for the time actually engaged, either because their turn has not come, or because they have already flown and been fed up, are either carried about by a cadger on the cadge, or made fast to a field-block in a well-sheltered place, or consigned to perches rigged up in the inside of a van, which can be drawn by a cart-horse. The latter plan is adopted by the Old Hawking Club, by which more hawks are usually taken out than could be accommodated on one cadge. It has the great merit of serving to protect the inmates from the bitterly cold winds which often prevail in the rook-hawking season, and also from the rain. Such a van should be well provided with springs. Otherwise the jolting, while it passes over rough ground, as it needs must, would do almost more mischief than the wind or rain. In any case, whether you go singly with a single hawk on your fist or with a whole cadge full or van full of hungry peregrines, the hood will be worn. Nor will it be removed until the moment arrives when the wearer is to be thrown off. But when any hawk is being carried with a view to a flight the swivel will be detached from the jesses and the latter held tightly in the fingers of the left hand. Some falconers who use ring swivels in the field, take them off directly the hawk is taken on the fist for the purpose of being flown, and then slipping the leash through one ring of the swivel and afterwards through the loops in the two jesses, are ready to pull it out quickly when there is a rook in sight and it becomes possible that they may have to throw off at any moment. Some also, when a flight is pretty sure to begin shortly, loosen the hood’s braces without taking it off, so that there may be no delay in whipping it off at exactly the right moment. No one has ever been able to explain how it is that peregrines can emerge suddenly from utter darkness into the full glare of daylight, with eyesight as good as ever, ready in the very first moment to catch sight of a distant rook and to begin the chase. Thatthey have this faculty everyone knows who has ever seen a rook flown by a trained peregrine. Fortunate for the falconer that it is so, as he can choose his own moment for the throw-off.
If you are intending to fly a hawk for the first time at a wild rook, get some other person who is out with a made hawk to be also ready with her. Then, if the first chance at a rook is not an easy one, let that other person throw off his hawk and keep yours for a less difficult flight. Wait, if possible, until you can find a quarry which is not too far off and not high in the air. If you can get up within a hundred yards or so of one on the ground to windward of you, so much the better. The moment he jumps up, off with the hood, and with a steady movement of the left arm forwards, something like that of a left-arm slow bowler, launch your hawk into the wind. Use whatever cry of encouragement you like, or use none at all; at anyrate, not any cry which you may have used in calling off. And if, in the excitement of the moment you should not throw away the hood, but stuff it into your pouch or pocket, that will also be satisfactory. If you drop it you are not likely to find it on the open down without some hours’ search, if at all. Such presence of mind is, however, I am aware, rather too great to expect.
A rook with any self-respect about him will begin to mount as soon as he is aware that he is being pursued. And of this fact he will not be long in ignorance. Seldom does a trained hawk make half a dozen strokes of her wing before the quarry espies her and knows exactly what she means. With this knowledge the black-a-moor of the air wakes up, and then, if never before, he is on his mettle. Few people know how a rook can fly until they have seen him in front of a peregrine which means business. His wings are broad and strong, and not much worse shaped than a hawk’s. His muscles are good; and by reason of much daily exercise in all weathers he is in good condition—better far, perhaps, than your passage hawk, which was cooped up inactive for weeks, and only during the last fortnight or so has had a modicum of exercise while flying to the lure. The two birds will breast the wind as they mount; but not necessarily taking the same line. Sometimes the two lines will diverge so much that from your point of view behind, the birds seem to be flying away from one another. Generally speaking, the better the hawk the less slavishly will she follow the course taken by the quarry. She flies “with her head,” and, trusting for victory to the long, powerful stoop, concentrates her efforts on attaining to a position from which she can deliver it to best advantage. Thus if, the wind being north, and the safest shelter west, therook shapes his course to the north-west, the falcon may very probably steer due west. By doing so she makes sure that she will soon be almost between the quarry and that desirable place of refuge. To make it he must come right past her and under her. Or else he must keep away and make for another covert, and in that case he will have a long way to go; and there will be time to catch him up, and get between him and that other haven. To passage hawks, especially haggards, this finessing is the A B C of scientific flying. Moreover, an experienced hawk does not always choose to stoop exactly up-wind, but prefers, for some reason of her own, to come at her victim sideways. There are mysterious laws and principles of aërial steering, which no man understands, but which sometimes make a stoop more telling when made in a direction unexpected by the riders down below. Eyesses are generally some time before they learn the art of utilising the wind to increase the force of their stoop, and of using their heads to help their wings. Some, it is true, seem to be born good tacticians, or at least to have instinctively learnt to be so while flying at hack. But these are quite the exceptions. Not only do eyesses as a rule begin with an inferior style, but very few of them ever attain to the perfection of form which long practice in all weathers at all sorts of different quarry has taught the old wild hawk.
As the two birds mount, the hawk naturally gains on the rook. She is the quicker flier; sometimes, perhaps, by a hundred per cent., but generally much less than this. Going down-wind there is not so much difference between them, when both are at the same height. But the start at a rook should always be up-wind. To throw off at a down-wind rook is bad falconry. When a rook means to “keep the air,” or beat the hawk in fair flying, he will, after a while, begin to ring, that is, to ascend spirally in circles. Why he should do this, instead of continuing in a straight line, no one, I think, has properly explained. But the road upwards for most birds when they are exerting themselves—be they kites, herons, rooks, or larks—is in spiral circles more or less regular, a very obliging dispensation of nature for those who want to look on at a high flight! For while the ringing lasts the horsemen down below need not hurry themselves. Only, if there is anything of a wind they should always keep moving, so as to be well to leeward of the flight, shifting their ground to right or left according as the circles seem to tend in one or the other direction. The higher the quarry goes the faster and farther will be the headlong dash down-wind if he is beaten in the air. After a while, if the hawkperseveres, her superior flying powers will take her above the quarry. At what time and height this desirable result is brought about depends, of course, partly upon the speed of the one bird and partly on the speed of the other. There is a saying among falconers that a good hawk makes a bad quarry, meaning that a rook or other bird which might give a fine flight when only a moderate hawk was behind him very often makes quite a poor show against a first-rate performer. It may also be said with some truth that a good quarry makes a bad hawk, inasmuch as hawks which have flown many a good flight and killed many a fairly fast-flying rook may sometimes find themselves pitted against such exceptionally strong ones that they seem unable to get above them, and give to the stranger an appearance of being slow themselves.
A good and experienced falcon or other rook-hawk will not be content with merely getting above her quarry before she makes her first stoop. She will go on ringing until she is so far above that the first stoop will be a good one. That is to say, that she may be able to get such an impetus upon her in the dash downwards as to rush up to the rook hand over hand, or, as the racing men say, as if he were standing still. And, having so run up to him, that she may, if she misses him, utilise the remainder of her impetus in shooting up again in preparation for a second stoop. The rook, on his part, when he finds the falcon above him, has to choose between two courses. Either he will persevere in trying to keep the air—and in that case must trust to quick turns and twists to elude the foe—or he will adopt the less valiant but almost equally dangerous alternative of a race to the nearest covert, with the necessity of eluding a certain number of stoops on the way. In the first case the flight will become a sort of improved version of coursing. Improved, because a bird has so much more varied chances of throwing out his pursuer than the hare, which can turn only either to the right or the left. He must always be on what the mathematicians call the same plane. The rook, on the other hand, may, if he likes, double simply to right or left. But he may also, if he prefers it, duck downwards or shoot upwards, allowing the hawk to pass over him or under him. Or he may turn partly upwards or downwards, and partly to either side. Thus there are an unlimited number of angles at which he can swerve away to avoid the stroke.