Chapter 7

TRAINED MERLIN

There is another respect in which doubts may be entertained as to the truth of the opinion that merlins are easy to train. If by training is meant merely the qualifying them for driving moulting larks into covert, and killing them there, the saying is true enough. You may go to an enclosed country full of moulting larks. You may put one up and start the hawk. The lark, after a short flight, will go into a hedge; and there, if the merlin does not take him herself, you can either pick him up with the hand or drive him out for the hawk, which has taken perch on the fence; and he will be counted in the bag. But if by training you mean making the hawk fit to take ringing larks in open ground, the case is different. To do this a merlin must be in the pink of condition—quick, long-winded, persevering, and a good footer. How will you make her so? She will not wait on; no exercise is to be got that way to bring her into condition. If an eyess, she has had no practice at footing. How is she to learn that art? Then the dieting is a matter of extreme delicacy. If you give butcher’s meat, she will become dull and heavy; pigeon’s flesh will give her a sort of fever; in sheep’s heart, the food which most amateurs recommend, there is but poor nourishment; and she must be strong enough to go up half a mile, if required! Again, how are you to measure out the exact quantity that is good for her? If you give a peregrine or a goshawk an ounce too much or too little, the mischief done is slight. But give even half an ounce too much or too little to a jack-merlin, and he is straightway wrong in his condition. A big hawk is fed only once a day; there are about twenty-four hours on an average between each meal. If you fly the big hawk on a fast of twenty-two hours or of twenty-six, it matters little. But between the feeding-times of a merlin there is only an average of twelve hours. Therefore it matters a good deal whether you fly her early or late. She may be either too hungry or not hungry enough to do herself full justice.

The trainer who aspires to make a good score with ringing larks, and not to be content with mere hedge-row pot-hunting, must work pretty hard. He must not make many mistakes. He must observe very strictly the instructions already given for guarding against the besetting vice of carrying, never allowing a piece of food to be negligently fastened to the lure, or giving any bagged quarry that can be taken into a tree. He must find freshly-killed small birds almost daily for every merlin, so that her digestion and strength may be unimpaired. And in order to keep his hawk in wind, he must give her plenty of exercise. He can hardly do this without stooping her often to the lure. Ten minutes of this work, if the hawk is going all the time at her best pace, means a good many miles flying. Then the merlin must be taught to look principally to the fist for food. When feeding on the lure, whether it is garnished with a newly-killed sparrow or with a tiring, she must be provided with tit-bits from the hand, until, instead of fearing the approach of the falconer, she looks for it with pleasure. She must constantly be called to the fist. If there is a good-sized spare room available, she may be exercised there in coming often from one side of the room to your fist at the other. Some falconers advise keeping merlins loose in an empty room, where blocks and perches have been placed; and this is, no doubt, a very good plan when you have or can build for yourself the right kind of room. The sort of place recommended later on for moultingpurposes will sometimes do well enough. I have found that the roof or ceiling is the great difficulty, as the hawks, constantly flying round just underneath, rub off the outer web of the long flight feathers. Of course the windows must be guarded with vertical bars, upon which the little hawks can find no foothold.

For the worst cases of carrying I must refer the reader to the chapter on “Vices.” But even with a well-behaved merlin the trainer must be constantly on his guard, at least for a fortnight after the hawk has begun work in the field. He must beware, when she has killed, of shepherds’ dogs, of wandering crows or rooks, and of the fowls which are now often found colonising the open fields, far away from a village or farmhouse. All or any of these may attack the hawk, and by inducing her to carry away the lark, sow the seeds of the vile habit. “Once a carrier, always a carrier,” is not an entirely true maxim, but it is not far from the truth. I have known merlins carry badly, and afterwards abandon the practice; but such cases are not common, and the trouble involved in effecting the cure is sometimes more than the merlin is worth. Prevention is many miles better than cure; good, honest miles, too, measured over the stony hillsides of Wilts! As you approach your merlin on the ground, remember not to stare at her, and to give her plenty of time. On the first few occasions you must exercise the patience of a veritable Job. She is now, after her victory, more apprehensive than ever that her hard-earned meal may be ravished from her. As you walk about, pretending to look at anything rather than her, she is all the time wondering whether your intentions are honourable or the reverse. Instinct tells her that they are base. Her previous experience, on the other hand, is reassuring to her. Your attitude, as you stroll about, is indicative of no sinister design. “When in doubt do nothing,” is a hawk’s maxim, as well as a diplomatist’s. Meanwhile there is the quarry to be plumed. So with many lookings round, and many pauses, and with a rather misdoubting mind, she falls to at the work of picking off the feathers. Not greedily—unless she is a greedy hawk, or too thin—but with a provoking deliberation, and with intervals that seem interminable. At last the feathers are off; and the warm food—the best she has ever had—begins to engross more of her real attention. Now she is ten times easier to approach. If, thinks she, you had been going to claim the quarry for yourself, surely you would have interfered before this. When she is fairly busy, you may by degrees get nearer, but keeping a keen look-out, and on the least show of alarm retreating quietly, but quickly. At length you will be able to getyour hand, well garnished with a tempting morsel, within reach of her.

With a troublesome merlin you may employ, if you are sure of not bungling it, a very admirable device. You may resort to what may be called the “fishing-rod trick.” You will take with you into the field two joints of a fishing-rod, not including the top joint. On the thin end of the thinner of these joints, which must be stiff and stout, you will have fitted a brass hook or tooth, with its sharp point standing out an inch or so at right angles from the rod. This apparatus is sometimes invaluable. You may use one or both joints, as you find you can get nearer or less near. When you begin to be afraid to go any nearer, slide the thin end of the rod along the ground as you kneel until it is quite close to the dead quarry. If your hawk has had any decent manning at all, she will not be alarmed at it, even if she notices its stealthy approach. Having got the point on the lark’s body, steering clear of the hawk’s feet, turn the point downwards on it, and firmly but gently press it down and in. If you bungle, and the point slips, you are probably done; but if it holds you are safe. Proceed then with your making in, just as if there was no rod in the case. Always endeavour to take up the hawk with the hand alone, retaining your hold by the rod only as a last resort, in case of mischief. Each time that you can take her up without any trouble occurring, the easier the job will become. And even an attempt to bolt, which your firm hold with the rod renders unsuccessful, will tend to convince the evil-doer of the futility of her proceeding. Beware particularly of making in if a bagged lark is the victim. With bagged larks, easily taken, hawks are always inclined to bolt. On the other hand, if the lark has flown well, and the hawk is winded, there is less to fear.

When you have taken up your hawk, if you intend to fly her again, contrive that the body of the lark is held in the palm of your hand, and the neck alone protrudes between the forefinger and the base of the thumb. Then, when the brain has been eaten, and you have thrown away the beak and as much of the rest of the head as you conveniently can, let her think, or try to think, that there is no more to be had. If, on the other hand, you intend to feed her up, let her eat the rest of the lark, or almost all, and, as she finishes it, slip on the hood, and let her pull through the last few mouthfuls. Or, as the remains of the lark may be too bony to pull through easily, you may substitute a morsel of sheep’s heart, which she can more easily dispose of. A jack which has had half a lark in the morning, and threeor four heads already in the afternoon, will be generally too much gorged if allowed to take the whole of his last lark. And some female merlins may, under like circumstances, be considered to have had enough before they have quite finished their lark. I have generally found that about a three-quarter crop in the evening is as much as it is wise to give.

Larks should always be flown up-wind; that is to say, when they get up to windward, and not to leeward of the hawk. A down-wind slip is very seldom satisfactory. If the lark is good you see nothing of the flight, and are dependent on your markers for finding the hawk, if she kills. The time lost is also often regrettable. It is not likely that with the first lark flown by any trained merlin you will have a kill. Only twice, I think, do I remember such a thing to have occurred. But the escape of several larks at first will do you no manner of harm. Even if your merlin refuses, you need not be at all discouraged. One of the most deadly merlins I ever had, when first taken out, refused seven larks in succession, and did not kill till her twelfth flight. But after that first kill she never refused again. If a trained hawk persists in refusing, or leaving the good larks, in hopes of getting a bad one, the case is serious. Possibly the reason may be that she is out of condition. But if it is her pluck that is wanting, you cannot expect to make much of her. In any case physic her, and give her two days’ rest. And the next time, if you can, fly her in company with a better merlin. If you should lose such a hawk for three or four days, and then take her up again, you may take her up cured. But you may take her up confirmed in her bad habit. When I took up Ruy Lopez, after three days out in a gale, he would not fly any but bad larks.

If, in the early days, your merlin puts in a lark, mark the place very exactly with your eye. You must consider whether you will drive him out for her or not. If the place is a thick hedge or big bush, I should be inclined not to attempt it. But if it is a place where you have a good chance of a second flight, as under the side of an isolated rick, or under a hurdle where there are no sheep, I should gratify the hawk by assisting her in the moment of need, when you can be so useful to her. If you can see the lark crouching and hiding himself, do not pick him up with the hand, but drive him out with your foot or the end of your rod. And do so when the hawk, from the top of the hurdle, or rick, or wherever she has taken perch, is looking the right way. A kill on such occasions will encourage her to wait on another occasion till you can help her in the same way. Theform shown by a lark that has been put in and routed out is generally not so good as before he put in. But there are many exceptions. A lark got up in the open down before Eva, probably the best hawk I ever had. But before she could get to him, he fell without a blow, right in the open. Eva was then young, and rather fat, and wanted a hard flight, so I was in two minds whether I would not leave this weak-spirited lark, and go on and find a better one. Either the lark got up of his own accord before I had decided, or else I resolved to fly him; anyhow, when he started for the second time he went right up into the sky. There was a ringing flight of immense height; and after a great many stoops the lark was bested, and came down into a field where there were stooks of wheat. Eva sat on the top of a stook with her mouth open; the lark underneath, doubtless in no better plight. I might have walked miles and not found a lark which afforded me so much sport, and the hawk such a lung-opener.

The first time your merlin puts in a lark, do not take her on your fist, unless she goes away from the spot. Let her take perch close at hand. Be very careful indeed to drive out the fugitive towards her, so that she sees it go away. By this means she will see that there is no deception; that it is really the same lark; and that you have done her the service to rout it out. But on subsequent occasions it is best always to call the hawk to the fist before you put up the quarry. Otherwise he may very possibly go off when she is not looking, especially if the hawk is on the ground, as she will be if the lark has put in to a tuft of grass, or in clover, or, as they will when hard pressed, in stubbles.À proposof putting in, remember always that the country for lark-hawking must be, if you are to have good flights, even more open than that necessary for rooks. It requires so small a shelter to conceal a lark. Even the high grass which often fringes a road across the downs, a patch of nettles or thistles, an old stone wall, or a waggon, will tempt a faint-hearted ringer to come down. He comes down to almost certain death; for the man is there, in alliance with the hawk. But the ringing flight is spoilt; and that is what you do not want to occur. The better the hawk, the more ready the lark is to put in. So that the mere length of flight does not prove much as to the excellence either of pursuer or pursued, unless you know from experience what is the ability of the former.

Larks, for hawking purposes, may be divided into three kinds. First there is the “ground” lark—generally deep in moult—who does not mount at all, but makes off as hard as hecan fly towards the nearest place where he thinks he can save himself. These larks are sometimes pretty fast, and take a good deal of catching, dodging the stoops by shifting to right or left, and sometimes avoiding a good many. But more often, especially in an enclosed country, they are wretched creatures, taken easily by a fast hawk, either in the air or by being driven into insufficient cover. These are the sort of larks that beginners are sometimes very proud of killing. The true falconer detests them as a sad nuisance. It is true that when they are fast and clever, they improve the hawk’s footing powers, and give her a sharp burst of hard flying. Such a flight serves as a short gallop at full speed does to a horse in training. But from the sporting point of view it is objectionable. Fortunately, on the open down, it is not common.

Secondly, there are the “mounting” larks, which go up and try to keep the air. The original ambition of these larks is to fairly out-fly the hawk, and never let her get above them. But at moulting-time they can seldom hope to accomplish this if the hawk is a fast one in really good condition. Sometimes, going wide of them, and making an upper-cut, she will bind to them at the first shot. But this is rare. Generally there are several stoops; and the whole business very accurately resembles a coursing match. The stoops are made from all sorts of distances,—short and long, upwards and downwards, with the wind and against it. I have seen a stoop by a trained merlin—a jack, rather—which was 300 yds. long, measured along the ground, to which must be added something for the height. Very often, when the lark has escaped one stoop by a hair’s-breadth, and feels a conviction that next time he will not escape at all, he drops headlong towards a place of supposed shelter, with the hawk close at his heels. The harder he is pressed, the more indifferent will be the hiding-place with which he is fain to be content. Before a first-rate hawk he will go to a bare hurdle, a flat-sided rick, or a tuft of grass, whereas if he has less trouble in shifting, he will pass over all these attractions, and continue to throw out the pursuer—though with exhausting efforts—till he can get to a thick hedge or a substantial spinny. With this kind of lark you may have more flights, more running, and more excitement with a moderate merlin than with those of the very first quality. The latter are a bit too good for the work, and make the flight too short. Strangers who come out hawking and see a mounting lark so taken, are apt to say: “What a bad lark to be caught so soon!” It is often not the badness of the lark, but the goodness of the hawk, which makesshort work of the flight. The mounting lark would always be a ringer if the hawk was not fast enough to get above him quickly.

The third sort of lark is the veritable “ringer.” With the start he has, he keeps ahead of the hawk, climbing up in spiral circles. Why not in a straight line? I believe no one can tell the reason. Possibly he finds that he can get on more pace by having the wind now in front, now at the back, and between whiles at the side. The curious thing is that the hawk adopts the same tactics. The one bird may be circling from right to left, and the other in the contrary direction. Neither seems to guide the direction of his rings by any reference to those which the other is making. It is now a struggle which can get up the fastest. And it is astonishing to what a height such flights will sometimes go. Not in a bad country; for there there will always be cover available after the quarry has gone up a little way. And he will not be such a fool as to stand the racket of a shot in the air, when by dropping into a stout hedge or plantation he can make sure of his escape. As soon as a lark is 800 ft. high, he can drop, almost like a stone, into any covert within a radius of 200 yds. from the spot just under him—allowance being made, of course, for the effect of wind. But 800 ft. is not high for a ringing flight. At least there is nothing at all unusual in it. A lark does not go out of sight until he is much above that height; and it is no extraordinary thing for him to do this. I have heard it said that merlins go up after larks till they are themselves lost to sight. But it is very seldom that any man is directly below the hawk at the time when she is highest. I know one case, however, in which a jack-merlin came right over the markers as they were running down-wind, more than half a mile from the start. He must have been very nearly over their heads when he went up out of their sight. But that hawk was never seen again. It is, of course, quite possible that such a thing should occur. But I have never seen any country in England where it is at all likely. For from such a height—nearly half a mile high—there would always be a safe place into which the quarry might drop. And if hard pressed, he would do so. When a lark keeps up as long as this, it is generally because he knows that he is the better man of the two. And before that time the hawk will also have found this out.

Larks are in moult from the beginning of August, which is the earliest time that an eyess merlin can fly, till the middle of September—in some years till nearly the end. During this time, easy ones will mostly be found in the stubbles from whichthe corn has just been carried. Stronger and older larks may be found on the open down, but not in any great numbers. In years of drought, many will get to the fields where roots are growing. At these moulting larks, a merlin may be flown six or eight times in an afternoon. But what was said in the chapter on “Game-Hawking” about leaving off with a hard flight and a kill, is still more applicable to merlins than peregrines. These little hawks can in addition be flown in the early morning. But though I have done this occasionally, I doubt its being a good practice, and should prefer, if the weather is settled, to give stooping at the lure before breakfast, and wait till past midday for the field. But when the weather is bad you must go out when you can. The biggest score that I know to have been made in a day, flying both morning and evening, is ten, which Colonel Sanford killed with one of his merlins. I have myself killed ten in a day with a single hawk; but one of them was taken by her in a double flight, and therefore counts only for a half. Each of these hawks was a specially good-tempered and well-mannered hawk. For any merlin to take six larks single-handed in one day is a decided feat. The most I have known to be killed in any one year by a merlin single-handed is 106, the score of Jubilee in 1897; and the highest average I have known made is fifty-nine out of sixty-five flights—a percentage of more than 90 per cent. This was achieved by the merlin Sis, which made the extraordinary score of forty-one out of forty-two successive flights, the one miss being a ringer at which she was thrown off when the head of another lark was hardly down her throat—before she had shaken herself, or had time to look round.

As soon as the larks have moulted, they become practically all ringers. Such larks have never yet been taken regularly. Usually the merlins begin to refuse them in the latter part of September. The latest lark I have killed was on a 7th of November. To take winter larks it would be necessary to have a cast of very first-rate merlins, which had never, upon any pretext, left a moulting lark. With these it is possible that a few might be taken; but after very long flights. And what of the unsuccessful flights? They would go so far that I fear the hawks must certainly be lost. A merlin which is good enough to take even one moulted lark is good enough to find her living anywhere; and I doubt if she would trouble to come back after a long unsuccessful flight for any reason, sentimental or otherwise!

Double flights at larks are very pretty, and also very deadly.If you throw off together one merlin which mounts quickly, and another which is a good footer, you will rarely be beaten during the moulting season; and when you do meet with a first-rate ringer, will see as real a bit of sport as man can imagine. Occasionally you may have a double flight without intending to do so. Eva had made two stoops at a very high ringer, and brought him down some yards, when a wild female merlin joined in. Stoop for stoop they alternatively played their strokes, as if they had been trained together. After some twenty of these alternative shots, the lark was taken, high in the air. But not until we picked up Eva on the dead lark, half a mile away, did anyone in the field know whether it was she or the wild hawk that had made the fatal stoop. In other years I have had many joint flights in the same way; and on one occasion two wild merlins joined forces with a trained one, and the lark ran the gauntlet for quite a long time of the three chance allies. I confess, however, that there are objections to the double flight with merlins. It may be from stupidity, but I have never been able to keep the peace between the partners. After the take, but before you can possibly get up, there is a scrimmage on the ground, even if there has not been a chevy in the air, which is not only undignified, but also most trying to the temper of the hawk which has footed the lark. Of course when you do come up you can separate the combatants, and reward the one which has been worsted in the squabble. But in the meantime, how much mischief may have been done to the feathers? In heron-hawking, where two falcons are always flown, the empty-handed one is taken down to the pigeon, and, with good management, she accepts the situation pretty cheerfully. But merlins in high condition are exceedingly hot-tempered, and often violent. No doubt the double flight can be accomplished with them by the aid of patience and tact. Mr. Freeman was able to fly his merlins well in casts. And it is only with a cast that winter larks could be attempted. Any falconer who could succeed in taking them right through the winter would have accomplished a greater feat than that of which LouisXIII.was so proud.

CHAPTER X

Gulls, Heron, Kite, Duck, etc.

The flight at gulls is so similar to that at rooks, although much more difficult, that I should be tempted to say no more concerning it, were it not that I have been favoured by Mr. St. Quintin, who is the great authority on the subject, with some most interesting details of this sport. There can be no doubt, I think, that of all flights in which peregrines can now be flown out of the hood in England, gull-hawking is the best. It requires a cast of hawks; and these must be of special excellence, and in the height of condition, if any success is hoped for. Tiercels may be used as well as falcons; eyesses as well as passagers; but of course the probabilities of success are less with the smaller and less-experienced hawks. In the case of the herring-gull, indeed, the quarry falls so heavily, when taken, that a small hawk is apt to be badly shaken, and may thus become disgusted with the whole business.

Of the three kinds of gull, the largest, the herring-gull, is also the least difficult to take. He makes something of a fight of it on the ground when taken, and can, of course, bite hard if the hawk gives him a chance. Next to him in order of difficulty comes the common gull; and last in order is the black-headed gull, which will hardly be vanquished except by a cast of very first-rate hawks, and then on a calm day. All gulls have a great advantage when the wind is high, and usually escape, so that it is best not to fly them at such times, for fear of discouraging the hawk. Peregrines must be entered at bagged gulls, and fed after a kill on pigeon, or some very palatable food. It is also very advisable to use a make-hawk when available. On a very still day it is possible that a single hawk in good practice might take a common gull at the first stoop, if she had a good start; but if that failed, the quarry would most likely escape.

The best idea of gull-hawking will be given from a few quotations from the diary of Mr. St. Quintin, who considers it a very good day’s work to kill two such quarry. On one occasion an old tiercel, Destiny (who was flown for no less than eight seasons), was taken out with a very fast eyess tiercel called Kismet. Thrown off at a gull “on passage,” that is to say, passing on the wing, the hawks rattled off high in pursuit, when a flock of starlings got up under them, and Destiny, turning over, picked up one, while Kismet, getting above the gull, killed him at the first stoop. Later on Kismet was flown single-handed at a flock of gulls with a long slip, and again managed to kill with his first stoop. Destiny was also slipped single at a gull, but, after putting in stoop after stoop for at least three-quarters of a mile, was fairly beaten, the quarry apparently reaching the river Derwent. As the party hurried after him he came back quite flown out, and was, of course, not flown again that day. These hawks were at the time in first-rate condition. Another year, Gulliver, a very fast eyess tiercel, belonging to the Old Hawking Club, was taken out to be flown with Starlight, who had more experience and was a very high flier. The gulls were spread along a long furrow, and the two hawks went for different ones. After Gulliver had fetched his quarry and put in two stoops, Starlight, leaving his gull, came to the assistance of the other hawk, and went at the quarry with a smashing stoop. This, however, the gull avoided; and a long bout of good stooping followed, the eyess sticking to the work pluckily, but showing signs of fatigue, while the other hawk mounted high for a decisive shot. This, however, also failed, and the gull, showing once more above both hawks, went off scathless, leaving them both with “bellows to mend.” Destiny and Kismet on another occasion were thrown off together at a mixed flock of gulls. They again divided, Kismet singling out a very large but immature herring-gull, which he hit hard several times, and finally brought down almost on his owner’s head, while Destiny took after a common gull, and killed him three-quarters of a mile down-wind. In the winter of 1889-90 Mr. St. Quintin was so successful as to take forty-three gulls in seventy-seven flights.

Heron-hawking is a subject which, as far as England is concerned, belongs rather to history than to practical falconry. A great deal of nonsense, as well as a good deal of truth, has been written about it, but those who feel interested must be referred to the excellent account given in the work, already referred to, by Schlegel and Wulverhorst, of the proceedings of the LooClub in Holland.[3]I have talked with Mr. Adrian Möllen, the falconer of that club, and heard from him that the sport differed in no respect from rook-hawking, except that the heron was always flown “on passage,” when already high in the air, and that two passage falcons were flown together. He told me that he had very seldom found any real difficulty in entering a passage falcon, and never lost one of his own training by any accident except once, when the mischief arose in a strange way. The hawks were mounting, when the heron disgorged a good-sized fish. At this one of his falcons stooped as it fell, took it, and made off to an inaccessible place, where she devoured almost the whole of it, and afterwards died of indigestion. In India heron-hawking is still practised, but there is not the same enthusiasm about it as there was in Europe some centuries ago, or in the days of the Loo Club.

[3]This famous society was started by the Duke of Leeds and Mr. Newcome, with the assistance of the Dutch falconer Bots, and had as its president Prince Alexander of the Netherlands. In 1843, with forty falcons it took about two hundred herons, almost all of which were released with rings round their legs.

A much more favourite and exciting sport in India and other parts of Asia is the flight at kites. In England the fork-tailed kite was flown from very early times, and it is not a century ago since one afforded a flight six miles in length in the Eastern Counties. For this very fine flier gers were commonly used in the Middle Ages; and the kite was enticed within range by turning out an owl with a fox’s brush tied to its feet. In India the Brahminy kite and the brown kite are both very common, and are taken with sakers, as well as peregrines, and occasionally by shaheens. I hear that eyess sakers are preferred, and that they are never allowed to fly any other quarry until they are slipped first at bagged kites. It is also necessary to make sure that the hawk shall never taste the flesh of the kite when taken; as if once this has occurred the saker is useless ever afterwards for this quarry. It appears, however, that not many sakers are good enough to take the kite, even when physicked and flown two together; and when they have been made to it they command a very high price.

We must also now go to foreign countries, and especially to India, to see duck-hawking, which was formerly so favourite a sport in the British Islands. Duck are not now plentiful enough in England to induce one to keep a hawk for them alone, although occasionally one is taken by a game-hawk during the season. Hawking “at the brook,” as it was called, was conducted on very much the same principles as game-hawking inour own times. The hawk was thrown off and waited on at a high pitch, while the duck were put up by water-spaniels working in the water in concert with beaters on the bank. Much pains were taken to drive the quarry in the right direction. The first stoop would of course be the most dangerous to the rising duck, and if he avoided this, there would often be a fine chase, as the duck, when once fairly on the wing, is very swift, and severely taxes the powers of the best peregrine. Peregrines are very keen after this quarry, and indeed in some countries are commonly known by the local name of “duck-hawks.” In India the peregrine and the shaheens are both used for this flight, which is highly esteemed, and, no doubt, quite as good as grouse-hawking. It is certain that it was also a favourite sport in China and Japan, where it may still be had by any adventurous sportsman who travels so far.

A very lively and amusing flight is that at the magpie, which was largely practised in Ireland until the middle of the nineteenth century, and is still occasionally to be seen. It partakes of the two characters of sport described in ChaptersVII.andVIII.In fact, just as the magpie is a parti-coloured bird, neither all black nor all white, so the pursuit of him is neither wholly by flying from the fist nor wholly from the pitch, but by a combination of the two. The magpie is seldom to be found in very open country. You must therefore get at him as you best can. A cast of hawks is flown; and often it is an even chance that their wide-awake quarry will get off to some shelter before either hawk has even had one shot at him. Then both hawks will wait on, when they have becomeau faitat the game, so as best to cut off his retreat to another covert. The falconer meanwhile has to use his best exertions to dislodge the fugitive from his place of rest. He should be assisted by a large field, which must hurry up with all speed to the spot, and by every imaginable device endeavour to rout out the quarry. Sticks and stones are discharged. Hunting-whips are cracked. Pistol-shots are even brought into requisition, and boys are deputed to climb the trees. The tiercels—for tiercels are most commonly used for this flight—wait on knowingly in advantageous places,—one sometimes close to the covert, ready for a sharp, quick stoop; and the other at a higher pitch, hoping for a long shot. The magpie is not a fast flier; but he uses his head as well as his wings, and is ready whenever a chance occurs to get back to covert. The beaters have often more to do than the hawks, with shouting, running, pelting, and contriving by their joint efforts to make thefugitive take to the open, where one of the hawks can get a fair shot at him. But the latter must be staunch at waiting on, good footers, and quick to take advantage of the efforts made by their friends below. There is not much in this business of what may be called the nobility of the noble sport,—none of the long dashing stoops out of the clouds which you see in grouse-hawking, or of the laborious mounting and ringing which you had with the gull or rook. It rather resembles the hedge-row driving described later on in the chapter on Sparrow-Hawks. But for those who like bustle and excitement, and hard exercise for the legs and voice, few things will beat magpie-hawking. And few things will demonstrate more clearly the marvellous adaptability of the peregrine to the exigencies of the case. A wild hawk would have no chance with a magpie, unless he caught him unawares, crossing from one bush or plantation to another. But the trained hawk, knowing that the men are working with him, joins his efforts with a good will to theirs, and does exactly that which you want him to do, and which it is best for him to do. As an example of co-operation between man and hawk, a magpie-worry is not to be excelled. Neither of the actors in the scene is any good without the other; and if either fails to do the right thing at the right moment, the whole play is spoiled, and both players disgusted. Tiercels, well assisted, and well worked at their quarry, make very good bags. Mr. St. Quintin and Colonel Brooksbank, with two tiercels, Meteor and Buccaneer, killed forty-five in one campaign; and several other capital scores have been made within recent years.

The green plover is such a common bird, and so easily found in open ground, that it is a pity, in one sense, that he cannot be flown. The unlearned may ask, Why not? The answer is, Because no hawk is good enough to take him. By which I do not mean that no peewit is ever taken by a peregrine. The wild peregrines take them not unfrequently; and trained ones have now and then succeeded in cutting one down. But the attempt to make trained hawks take them regularly, or even fly them for any length of time, has always failed. John Barr, amongst others, trained some picked tiercels specially for this quarry. When I saw him some time after he had made this experiment, he assured me that to kill peewits with trained hawks was impossible. Of course plovers of all kinds are not more exempt than other creatures from the ills that flesh is heir to. In fact, to judge from the tone of their cry, and considering the way they have of sitting in wet feetwithout changing their stockings, it may be supposed that they are often out of sorts. Sometimes, doubtless, like other birds, they are infirm and old. When labouring under any such disadvantage, even if it be only rheumatism or a cold in the head, a chance peewit may be cut off and reckoned in the hawk’s score. Otherwise these birds are too clever for even the best trained hawks. I have seen even bagged peewits make such a complete fool of a falcon that she was ashamed of herself. They did not exactly “fly round” the hawk, as the saying is, but they did almost as much. They made rings underneath her as she was ringing up, keeping in exactly that position where she could never get her head towards them at all. Then if the hawk did manage to put in a stoop they would face about so as to avoid the shot, and, with a great flop of one wing, start away like phantoms in an unexpected direction. If the hawk contrived to get at them from behind, they would take a sort of header downwards, and, making a kind of somersault in the air, come up behind the hawk with a manifest smile on their usually daft countenances.

On the downs in Wilts and Berks you will sometimes see a rook-hawk, or, for that matter, a game-hawk, when coming back from an unsuccessful flight, make a dash at a lapwing as he flounders about below. But the creature generally shifts from the stoop with almost contemptuous ease. Only in rare cases is he too slow. Mr. E. C. Pinckney once took a lapwing with a very young eyess tiercel; that is, the hawk put him in after a good flight, and he was picked up. But I do not think that tiercel ever took another. There is therefore a chance for anyone who wants to beat the record in the matter of plover-hawking. With two very first-rate passage tiercels, or perhaps, better still, two shaheens, the attempt might be made again. Whoever succeeded would thereby have carved for himself a prominent niche in the falconer’s temple of fame.

The Norfolk plover may be taken with a falcon or tiercel, generally without great difficulty. Golden plovers would, I think, always escape, unless they could be put up just under a hawk waiting on. Curlews and several of the common sea-fowl might also be taken, if found at a sufficient distance from the sea. The wild goose was formerly flown with success in England by gers. Landrails, if they can be got to rise, will, of course, fall an easy prey, and quail can also be taken, though the sparrow-hawk or the merlin is the right hawk for them. They are fast, but do not shift well. The jackdaw is faster than the rook, and a better shifter. He is sometimes killed bya rook-hawk, and may afford a very good flight. Pheasants, of course, will be caught by a falcon when they get up in open ground. Colonel Sanford knocked down a full-grown pheasant with a tiercel; but the little hawk could not hold him on the ground.

Woodcocks have been flown with a great deal of success in comparatively recent times, and have shown very excellent sport, requiring quite a first-rate peregrine to take them well, and that usually after a long and often high flight. Between 1823 and 1833 Mr. John Sinclair flew woodcocks regularly in Scotland, and captured in one season as many as fifty-seven with a falcon. Before this the Renfrewshire Subscription Club did good execution with the quarry, and Colonel Thornton also had some splendid flights. Sir Thomas Brown (cited by Harting,Bibl. Acc.p. 27) says that a hawk, probably a peregrine, made a flight at a woodcock nearly thirty miles in one hour. The mention of so long a time suggests the inference that the quarry “put in” several times, and was routed out. A famous account is extant in print of a woodcock very well killed after an unusually high flight by one of Major Fisher’s peregrines.

Snipe are occasionally taken by peregrines that happen to be waiting on when they rise. The first stoop is, of course, dangerous for the snipe, but if he eludes that, a cast of the best tiercels will hardly catch him. I have seen a female shaheen hawking at snipe for her own pleasure, and saw her knock one down very close to me in the long grass, but she could not find it. Waiting for me to serve her, she remained for a while very near over my head, and even took a dead snipe which I threw up for her, but finding it cold dropped it after a yard or two’s flying. Mr. St. Quintin once flew a snipe hard with a good game-tiercel of his, which bested it in the air, but it got off by means of continually putting in to a deep ditch.

Many other birds are taken occasionally by peregrines when they get up under the hawk, either while waiting on or coming back from an unsuccessful flight. I saw a male kestrel taken in this way—and very easily too—by an eyess game-tiercel of Major Fisher’s. Larks, too, are now and then taken when the dog stands to them, and they are put up. Major Fisher had a long flight once with a peregrine at a wild merlin, which was very hard pressed, and at last put in to a thick hedge.

In some Oriental countries peregrines are commonly flown at hares; but the sport is not one which would ever be popular in highly civilised countries, for the falcon, or falcons, do not bind to the animal like a goshawk. They deliver repeatedstoops at the head of the unfortunate creature, which is, of course, no match for them in speed, and thereby in the long-run deprive it of what little wits it had to start with. In course of time this repeated buffeting reduces it to a state of utter bewilderment and exhaustion, so that it can be held by the falcons, or seized by the dogs which sometimes follow the flight as their allies. In England, of course, a hare may be put up by accident, and a falcon, waiting on, may stoop at it instinctively. Parachute, the very excellent eyess falcon already named, killed three hares in 1882. At one of these she was flown intentionally, to show what she could do with him. She kept striking him on the head till he was so exhausted that she thought she could safely catch hold. But when she did so a rough-and-tumble occurred, as it will in hawking with the goshawk; and before it was ended, the very steady setter which was out thought it time to run in and give thecoup de grâce. These were all Scotch hares; and the last-mentioned of them weighed a full 6 lb.

CHAPTER XI

The Goshawk

No distinction was made when we were talking about hack and the manning of hawks between the different species to which they happen to belong. Nor is it necessary to insist much upon the distinction even down to the time when they have been reclaimed and are on the point of being entered. But whereas all those which we have been considering are “hawks of the lure,” we have seen that the short-winged hawks, which remain now to be dealt with, are “hawks of the fist.” Let us see what modifications must be made in the system of training when it is the latter that we are preparing for the field.

In the first place, some authorities question altogether the utility of hack for eyess goshawks or sparrow-hawks. Others maintain that it is quite sufficient to let them loose in a shed or empty room until their feathers are strong. This latter plan seems a very poor sort of compromise between hack and no hack. The eyesses so turned loose get no real liberty, and nothing at all like the amount of exercise which they would if they were in the open. Yet as compensation for what they thus lose they get no advantage that one can easily understand. Without pretending to decide the point in question, I may perhaps venture to say that any hawk’s muscles and eyes, as well as her general health, are more likely to be improved by a free life in the open air than in a sort of big cage. If they are not hacked at all they may of course be very early made to the fist and the hood, and will be manned and in flying order much quicker than hack hawks. Whether this will be of advantage or not, circumstances alone can decide; but a short-winged hawk can generally be allowed a fairly long hack, and yet be ready for her trainer’s use as soon as the latter requires her services. Of course it is not safe if there are other hawks out at hack to let goshawks out anywhere in the vicinity; and I should be verydoubtful about the expediency of hacking sparrow-hawks in the same place as merlins or kestrels. In fact it is not safe even to peg out a goshawk in any place where hack merlins can come. I remember an unfortunate jack—the smallest I ever saw—to whom his owner had given the not very classical name of Jones. This hawk was out at hack in a rather promiscuous way, killing sparrows for himself occasionally, and at other times coming to the lure. I think he knew we laughed at him, and thought that life in general was a sort of joke. But one day the fancy seized him to go and fraternise with a big young goshawk which was out on her bow-perch, duly secured by the leash. The owner was absent at the time; and when he returned there was nothing left of poor Jones other than the feet and a sad litter of pretty brown and white feathers round about the bow-perch.

When your short-winged hawk has been taken up from hack, or at anyrate when she is to be taken in hand, her trainer must set to work very seriously and very promptly at the business of reclamation. This is not, it is true, different at first in character from that required for the long-winged hawks. But it is often different in degree; for personal attention and almost perpetual care are a necessity. Unless you can contrive to have her “waked,” you will have a tough job with her. Anyhow, she must be carried almost all day. Whether eyess or wild-caught, she should be treated very much like a haggard peregrine. Almost superhuman efforts will be required in some cases before she can be manned; yet manned she must be, and that more thoroughly than a long-winged hawk, before you can hope to do much with her. It required a Sir John Sebright to kill a partridge with a sparrow-hawk ten days after she was caught; and it would be still more difficult to kill a blackbird in that time. That is, at least, to first kill it, and then take up the hawk! For carrying is a vice to which the short-winged are naturally disposed, though they are not so bad in this respect as merlins or hobbies. In manning a short-winged hawk it will generally be found better to work very hard for a few days than to work only moderately hard for a much longer time. In fact, a less amount of attention, if concentrated upon the pupil at first, will do more than a much greater share applied to her in smaller doses.

It is not usual to hood sparrow-hawks much after the time when they are being reclaimed. But they should be kept, like all other hawks, accustomed to being hooded, and not by any means allowed to become hood-shy. And while the business of reclamation lasts it is a good plan to tie the tail. This isdone by making a half-knot round the shaft of the outer feather, nearly half-way down, passing the ends over and under the tail, and making a double knot of them on the shaft of the outer feather on the other side. When the hawk bathes the thread is nearly sure to come off; and when she is dry you can put on another. If it stays on, no harm is done. This simple device ensures the tail feathers against any accident which might otherwise occur while she is being handled by the trainer, and perhaps by more or less incompetent assistants. Later on it will be tried hard enough! Some falconers—and good ones, too—despair of saving it for long; but you need not sacrifice it sooner than you have any real occasion. The tail is just as much—or as little—use to the hawk while she is being manned—or, for that matter, when she is flying to the fist—whether it is tied up or not; and in the former state it can come to no harm. Let the hawk at least take her first quarry with undamaged feathers. A moderate degree of coping will be found permissible for short-winged hawks, although it is hardly orthodox to say so. No doubt blunt claws would be detrimental to these hawks in the field; but between bluntness and the needle-like sharpness of the uncoped claw there is a world of difference. The uncoped goshawk not only ruins the best glove in double-quick time, but sometimes in starting from the fist does not completely disengage all eight needles immediately from the buckskin, and so is impeded, and flurried, and vexed in that short temper of her own.

The strength of a goshawk’s beak and feet is almost incredible; and, this being so, it is well to be provided with good store of useful tirings. Heads and necks of fowls will be acceptable; and the more elderly and bony these creatures are the better for the purpose. For during the long process of carrying you will want to give your goshawk plenty of hard morsels to pull at; and none but the toughest will withstand for long the attacks of her sharp-pointed beak. The frequent discussion of bony tirings will wear down that sharpness a little, but I think not quite enough. Goshawks should not be allowed to get at all thin, far less weak; on the other hand, they should not be too freely fed. Half a crop a day of beef or good fowl, or a little more of rabbit, is a very fair allowance, if she has once a week, or rather oftener, a good gorge, with plenty of castings, and the next day very short commons. As soon and as much as possible she must be made to work for her food. That is, she must earn it by showing every day some improvement in her behaviour. If yesterday she bated offtwenty times in ten minutes, you may call it an improvement to-day if she bates off only ten times in the same space of time. So when she has walked even two inches for her food, it is an improvement when she will walk four or five. Step by step you must coax her to do more for you, rewarding her the moment she has given way. And all the time you must be making friends with her. Stroking with the stick or a feather is always to be recommended. But you must be able also to stroke her with your hand as you like without any remonstrance or fear on her part. It is a troublesome job, do what you will, the manning of a short-winged hawk. But the harder you work, and the more patience you can exhibit, the better and quicker you will succeed. It is best to be content at first if very slow progress is made. In the later stages, if you make no mistake, there will be days of much quicker improvement, such as may even sometimes surprise your too desponding mind. Thus though it may be days before you can get her to exchange her walk to the fist for a jump, yet this feat once accomplished, you may have quite a short time to wait before she flies to you the length of the room. On the other hand, a hawk which has come well to you indoors will perhaps not come a foot, or even look at you, when first called off in the open air. Of course for all the early out-door lessons the hawk will be secured by a creance. It is well even to be a little extra-cautious in dispensing with this safeguard, for if a goshawk when only half trained does once make off, it is rather a chance if you ever come up with her again.

In time your goshawk will be manned, and at least partly reclaimed. She will look gladly on you when you come near, and jump or fly to you on small encouragement for a small reward. If you tease her with a morsel of meat, she will perhaps make that quaint crowing sound which sounds like a mild protest against your hard-heartedness. When you hold out your fist temptingly with a nice piece of food in it, she will fly fifty yards to you at once. If now you have carried her sufficiently throughout the process of reclaiming, she will not need much to bring her into “yarak”; that is, into a state of eagerness for killing quarry. A small dose of purgative medicine may be given, and after twelve hours’ fast, a small feed of very good food, without any castings, and on the next day she may be entered.

Female goshawks are now usually trained chiefly for hares or rabbits. Males should always be tried first at partridges or pheasants; and if they are not good enough for such quarry,may be degraded to water-hens and the like. The bagged quarry for entering should, in the one case, be a rabbit, and in the other, a partridge or house-pigeon. When a rabbit is used, a short, tough cane may be attached crosswise to the end of a very short creance, which will serve to prevent the quarry from disappearing bodily down a burrow. The partridge or pigeon should not, of course, be a first-rate flier; or, at least, he may have a longer creance to carry. Let the hawk take her pleasure on the first live quarry killed; and next day give a very light feed, not later than noon. On the third day she may be flown either at a better bagged quarry or at a wild one. She should have a very good start for her first real flight, and in a country free from burrows or impenetrable covert. Then, if she only starts, she ought to kill in the case of a rabbit. Nothing is more bloodthirsty than a young goshawk in yarak; nor, in proportion to its size, has so much strength in its grasp. When once the four long daggers with which each of her feet is armed are imbedded in the head or neck of a rabbit or leveret, it is generally all up with that unlucky beast. He may jump and kick and roll over in his frantic efforts to escape. He may by the latter tactics force the hawk to let go for a time, though this is by no means always the result even of a complete somersault. But if the grip is thrown off, the respite is short. Before the quarry can make use of what wits are left to him, the pursuer is on him again—this time probably with a still firmer hold than before. Though a rabbit is fast for a quadruped, and the goshawk slow for a hawk, yet the advantage in pace is always with the latter; and though she may be thrown out again and again by the doubles of the quarry, yet in an open space speed must tell, if the pursuer is in condition.

Nevertheless, as it is often difficult and sometimes impossible to find rabbits in open places, it is advisable to let the first flight for your beginner be as easy as you can. When she has taken an undersized rabbit or leveret, she may be advanced to a full-grown rabbit, and thence, after a few kills, to a full-grown hare, if your ambition is to fly hares. Very possibly it may be necessary to throw her off at the quarry and not expect her to start of her own accord. She may also refuse more than once, and yet be in the mind—that capricious and wayward mind of hers—to fly. I have seen a young goshawk, only just trained, taken out and thrown off at three or four hares in inviting places, and have seen her refuse them all; and yet, ten minutes later, I have seen her go at one like a whirlwind, and have it down and helpless within sixty yards from the start. The flightat hares rather overtaxes the powers of any except the strongest female goshawks; and many people think that the flight at rabbits is preferable, even in the quality of sport afforded. In fact, the difference between the two is not so much one of speed as of brute strength; and in quickness the rabbit will be found generally superior. A goshawk which will take hares is the more valuable; but it is doubtful if she shows any better sport. Gaiety Girl, whose portrait is given, changed hands at £20, and was well worth the money. This hawk, trained by Mr. A. Newall on Salisbury Plain, killed no less than fifty-five hares in one season, besides other quarry. Of course if goshawks are to be flown at hares, they must be left strictly to this quarry as far as possible, and not encouraged to ever look at a rabbit.

The goshawk has one great advantage over her nobler cousin, the peregrine; she need not necessarily stop when her quarry has gone into covert. Provided only that the covert is thin enough for her to see the quarry, and to get along, she will stick to him there as pertinaciously as in the open. She will naturally not be so likely to succeed; trees and bushes will impede her stoops, and give the quarry a far better chance of doubling out of the way. But it is astonishing how clever even an eyess goshawk can be in threading her way through covert, and choosing the moment when a dash can be made. The hare is not as well able to use her natural cunning in front of a hawk as in front of a hound. The whole affair is so rapid, and the danger behind is so pressing, that there is hardly time to devise, and still less to put in practice, those tricks which are so successful in hare-hunting. If one could only see it all, possibly the flight at a hare in a thin covert would be better worth seeing than a flight in the open. At any rate, the skill exhibited by the hawk must be greater. For she not only has to keep the quarry in view, and to make straight shots at him, but also in doing so to avoid breaking her wing tips, or even her neck, against an intervening tree.

The wild rush of the falconer—or ostringer—and his friends after a flight at a hare in covert is also a thing to be seen. It is unique of its kind. In magpie-hawking there is a lot of hurrying up, much tumbling about, much laughter, and any amount of shouting and noise; but there is not the same necessity for headlong racing through the thicket. If you want to be “in it” with a goshawk, you must go at a break-neck speed over or through all obstacles; you must be able to see through screens of interlacing boughs, and dash through almost impervious places. You must cut off corners by instinct and follow by inspiration.There is something in the impetuosity of a goshawk which is contagious; and the ostringer, who has perhaps not marched at the double for years farther than the length of a platform to catch a train, may sometimes be seen tearing along with his very best leg foremost, through bramble, thorn, and quagmire, in hope of being in at the death. The whole sight is certainly worth seeing. Artists are fond of depicting the goshawk as she stands with outspread wings and half-open mouth with the hare paralysed in her terrible foot. No better personification could, indeed, be found of the pride of victory. The hare weighs commonly three times as much as his captor; yet the victor hawk must not only vanquish the hare, but also hold him fast. It is almost as if a strong man were expected to hold a wild zebra in his clutches. But the strength of a goshawk’s grasp, like that of the eagle’s, must be tested by experience to be properly understood.

The female goshawk, besides being flown at ground game, may be trained to take many other quarry, both big and little. At pheasants she may be expected to do good execution. Partridges will sometimes be captured in fair flight when a good start is made. Herons may be caught before they have gone any distance on the wing. Wild geese, wild duck, and wild fowl of various kinds in the same way. Land and water rails are available; and water-hens are perhaps the favourite objects of pursuit by a hawk that is not quite first-rate. Stoats, weasels, and squirrels may be taken; and the harmful, unnecessary rats will be picked up almost as fast as they can be driven out. When ferrets are used there is a danger that one of them, emerging from below, may be nailed and finished off by his winged ally. In the old days goshawks were generally assisted by spaniels; and it was pretty to see how eagerly and cleverly the dogs backed up the chief actor in the play, while she in turn trusted to them to drive the quarry in the right direction. The conditions of modern game-preserving do not lend themselves much to the use of spaniels; and perhaps they are not so often of service to the gos, but they are frequently used. A good retriever is often useful, especially if you are flying pheasants, and the hawk should always be on the most amicable terms with him.

Male goshawks are thought by some to have more speed than their sisters. When they are good, they will take partridges, with a good start, but not otherwise; and many of them will tackle a pheasant. It is said that in some countries quails are taken with the male. Very strong males will sometimes hold afull-grown rabbit; but the effort is rather beyond their strength. The flight of a gos is very peculiar. After a few fast flaps of the wing she often spreads them a moment or two, and sails along, giving to the falconer, who is accustomed to long-winged hawks, the appearance of having left off. Almost immediately, however, she begins moving her wings with greater vigour than ever, and, gaining quickly this time on the quarry, comes at him, sometimes with an upper-cut, if it is a bird, before you think she can have had time to reach him.

Goshawks may be flown repeatedly the same day. In fact, it is almost difficult to say when they have had enough flying. But in this, as in all kinds of hawking, it is well to remember that an extra good flight with success means an extra good reward. If, therefore, after some indifferent or unsuccessful flights, the hawk has flown hard and killed cleverly, I should advise feeding her up, and not flying her again merely for the sake of making a bigger bag. Under this system she may go on improving indefinitely; and you will be rewarded for your pains and labour at the beginning by possessing a hawk which perhaps for years will give a good account of herself. I have said that a goshawk which is intended for hares should be kept to them alone. So, likewise, a male which is meant for partridges should not be thrown off at pheasants or anything else. But, as a general rule, there is no such necessity with the short-winged hawks, as there is with the long-winged, of keeping them from checking at odd quarry. The bag of a goshawk has often been known to include four or five very different items, such as a rabbit, a rat, a weasel, a pheasant, and a water-hen. These sanguinary creatures are not particular as to what they kill when they are in the humour for killing. They commit murder, as foxes do, for the mere pleasure of it; and this you may easily prove if you put out a number of fowls where a gos can get at them. If you keep one in the same room where other hawks are, and by any mischance her leash comes unfastened, she is as likely as not to go round and massacre the whole lot.

Live fowls should never be given on any account to a goshawk. If you can, you should prevent her from ever supposing that they are good to eat, otherwise she may take a liking to poultry, and seize every opportunity of helping herself to the hens and chickens of your neighbours. The attraction of poultry-yards is a great objection in places where there are many of them, and some very good falconers have actually felt themselves obliged on this account to discontinue keeping hawks.

I am indebted to Mr. John Riley, of Putley Court, Herefordshire,for the following most interesting records of scores with trained goshawks, and the notes which are annexed. They illustrate this department of hawking in the most vivid and practical way:—

Enid (eyess female goshawk)—

In 1888-89, took 82 rabbits.” 1889-90, ” 59 rabbits, 1 pheasant, 1 water-hen.” 1890-91, ” 67 rabbits, 1 water-hen, 1 partridge,1 stoat, 1 mole.” 1891-92, ” 52 rabbits, 1 mole.

Isolt (eyess female goshawk)—

In 1885-86, took 110 rabbits, 2 pheasants, 13 water-hens,5 ducks, 1 rat.” 1886-87, ” 130 rabbits, 1 pheasant, 4 ducks, 3 water-hens,1 stoat.” 1887-88 (to 26th Dec.), took 70 rabbits.

Sir Tristram (eyess male goshawk)—

In 1886-87, took 26 partridges, 10 pheasants, 16 rabbits, 5 landrails, 12 water-hens, 1 stoat.

Geraint (eyess male goshawk)—

In 1888 (to 4th Oct.), took 11 partridges, 5 pheasants, 2 landrails.

Tostin (haggard male goshawk), caught 15th July, flown 9th September—

In 1891 (to 17th Oct.), killed 21 partridges, 3 pheasants, 1 landrail, 1 leveret, 1 wood-pigeon, 1 water-hen = Total, 28 in 38 successive days.

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