64 Partridge Shooting 



very long shots is reduced to a minimum. A really bad shot is 

 practically harmless to driven birds, the shot going ten yards or so 

 behind or below the object he shoots at. In walking birds up, 

 " tinkering " is much commoner, and the total of birds that are hit 

 but not bagged is always considerable. Here, an absolute duffer 

 can do a great deal of harm with a gun, adding little more to the 

 bag than he would in a day's driving, but plastering every covey he 

 shoots at with stray pellets. 



In following this sport, the Frenchman is incomparably useful. 

 In many respects he gives better sport than the English bird ; he 

 flies hard, and high and straight, and I know few greater pleasures in 

 life than to pull two of these birds out of the skies as they pass at 

 top speed. The pleasure in my own case is all the greater by reason 

 of its rarity. 



Let me just sketch the outline of one drive, to show why I 

 think so highly of the French bird for the sport. It is a tine morning 

 early in October. The beaters have driven a number of stubbles 

 into a 40-acre field of root : at the far end of the field is a common, 

 and here the six guns are placed in suitable shelters. It is blowing 

 very strong from the west, making a dead fair wind for the birds. 

 A whistle sounds, and the drive has begun : for some time one hears 

 nothing but the tap-tapping of the beaters as they slowly advance. 

 In front of them, a covey of Frenchmen are separating up before 

 taking to flight ; there are twelve in all, but each one will take a 

 line of his own. They never keep bunched up together as the Grey 

 birds do. 



Now they are up ! " Over, over " cry the beaters, and away in 

 the distance you see them coming, extending themselves as they 

 get nearer, each bird choosing his own line. There is no vacillation 

 about a Frenchman. He has a very shrewd idea that there are guns 

 posted between him and the common he desires to reach, but little 

 he cares for that. He has decided to run the blockade, and trust to 

 his pace to carry him through. There may be other shots fired 

 before he reaches the line of guns. He only quickens his flight. He 

 set his course when he rose, and to that course he will stick or die 

 in the attempt. No unseemly wavering, no efforts to break back ; 

 on he comes straight, and high at a desperate pace, 70 or 80 miles 

 to the hour. Sometimes his fate meets him, and he dies, like the 

 gallant bird he is, in mid-air, neatly stopped by a well-judged shot ; 

 and often he goes on unharmed with a shower of lead and explosives 

 fruitlessly poured after him. Just one hoarse chuckle he gives, 

 as he passes over the discomfitted gun, and then flashes out of sight, 

 looking as though he never meant to stop. 



This one covey of twelve birds will very likely afford chances 

 to four out of the six guns waiting in ambush at the end of the field. 

 What will the grey birds do in the same field ? Some, at the 

 commencement of the beat, rise in front of the beaters, and fly three 

 parts of the way down the field, and settle in the neighbourhood of 



