134 ART AND PRACTICE OF HAWKING 



purposes 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 after- 

 wards 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 hill- 

 sides 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 retreat- 

 ing quietly, but quickly. At length you will be able to get 



