FOREST AND STREAM. 
11 
shfcaks oht at the side. of. the covert and flies flopping 
with hutch beating of wings, low across the plow; — 
often missed for all that! Bin what a glorious bird he 
is wlien he rises gradually above the trees, and conleS 
high, fast, motionless and straight over the forward guns 
and falls crumpled up, dead as a stone. And what a 
SjjJOrting, bird he . is when, standing back, but little more 
than a glimpse of iiihi is eattght as he passes swiftly over 
the interval between the trees. 
Pheasant shooting, as now practiced, is no doubt, front 
egg to larder, a somewhat artificial sport, and is much 
dependent for its pleasure and success on fine weather 
and some wind. Moreover, it requires no little care and 
management on the part of the master and keeper so to 
arrange the beats as to coax and coerce the covert-loving 
pheasant into obeying the directions conveyed to it up 
to the vefy fflofttent it exchanges its legs fof its wings. 
But lovely woods, aututnnal tints, and autumnal fresh- 
ness, giinting sun and ever-varying shades, 
"Where the infant frost has trodden 
With his morning-winged feet; 
Whose bright print is gleaming yet," 
good companionship and fast-flying birds, make a com- 
bination singularly attractive. 
Of course, ift its earlier days, like everything else, the 
miscalled "battue" came in fof its share of ridicule arid 
condemnation. But the ignorant objection" to the System 
has gradually diminished, and it has come to be recog- 
nized that the sport is one involving to a high degree 
both generalship and marksmanship. Indeed, a totally 
different view of game-preserving prevails to that which 
existed when "man-traps and spring guns" were legal, 
when men could be Setlt to Botany Bay for poaching, 
and when either to buy Of to sell gaflje was a penal 
offense. It is now recognized a§ a harmless amusement 
that gives pleasure in vaf ious ways to large ntifhbef s of 
persons; and -which adds appfeciablv and gives variety to 
the food supply of the country. The "village constable, 
the village shoemaker, the village baker," no longer^ 
as in the days Of Sydney Smith's philippics — poach or 
desife to poach, though often enough, as beaters or 
spectators; they enjoy the sport. The individual poacher 
has practically ceased to exist. The poaching gang — 
promoted and paid by some Fagin of a game dealer— 
may still remain; but such enterprise neither deserves 
nor receives any public sympathy. And I am convinced 
of this (I speak merely as a sportsman), that the "Hares 
and Rabbits Act of 1880," anathematized as it was at the 
time, has tended, whatever its intention, to the salvation 
of shooting at a minimum of loss to the sport; the last 
visible "and aggravating cause of hostility has disap- 
peared. 
In what does the pleasure of shooting consist? Not 
in the danger — though that is considerable sometimes. 
Nor much in the anticipation of the unknown — number 
. and size — which is a large part of the attractiveness of 
fishing. Nor, as in fishing, on the individual contest 
between the intelligence of the man and the sagacity of 
the creature. Nor does the pleasure of a particular 
day depend entirely on the personal skill evoked— on 
how one shoots, though this undoubtedly constitutes 
a large element in the satisfaction, or the reverse. The 
pleasure must be largely due to the irresistible attrac- 
tions of sport- — the aboriginal killing instinct, as White, 
of Selborne, has it. To this must be added the outdoor 
exercise, the varied surroundings, the sociability of the 
sport.* 
I doubt whether the art of shooting can be learned at 
all from text-books. "Shoot well ahead." you are told, 
an obvious truism. But Iioav much? There's the rub. 
Our mentors talk vaguely or dogmatically of an allow- 
ance of feet and of inches at varying distances of yards. 
One old author, writing sixty years ago, lays it down 
that for a certain side shot at 30 yards you should, with 
a common (detonating) gun aim 4 inches ahead; with a 
percussion gun, 2 inches! And similar, though not 
equally precise, instructions are profusely showered on 
the beginner. Quite useless, for you do not carry a 
measuring tape in your pocket. 
"I'm thinking you borrowed a good bit off that bird" 
— i. e., shot well ahead — is a cheering criticism to re- 
ceive. To kill of two fast birds not the one aimed at 
but the one behind is a shock, but a useful lesson. The 
converse does not often happen to one, though I have 
heard it related of one of our first-rate shots who had 
* been killing fast "Englishmen" in magnificent style in 
a high wind, that he missed successively three or four 
"Frenchmen" that followed — they were too slow, he shot 
ahead. On the other hand, I remember once being con- 
sulted out grouse driving by a man who could not under- 
stand why he always missed his birds. He gravely as- 
sured me that he had come to the conclusion that he was 
shooting too much ahead of them. That fault, at least, I 
was able confidently to assure him was not his nor any- 
one else's failing. 
It is very difficult to explain, I think, how one does 
shoot, for at least I speak for myself, I do not know 
exactly how I do shoot, or, speaking generally, why I 
kill or why I miss. As far as I can judge, except where 
the bird is coming straight at me, or is dropping abruptly 
•away from me — in both of which cases, I think, there is 
a certain amount of deliberate aiming — I do not con- 
sciously aim; that is, I see nothing but the bird, and do 
not see the gun or the rib of the gun at all. The eyes, fixed 
on the bird alone, direct the brain how to instruct the 
hand, and will brook no intervention. Thus it comes 
x-about that occasionally the eye, intent on the rapidly 
moving bird, does not notice some intervening object — 
a rock, a tree, a branch — and the trigger being pulled 
at the moment, the shot is lodged, not in the bird, but 
in the intercepting object. This seemingly dangerous 
absorption applies alone, however, I think, to unexpected 
inanimate objects. Experitsnce and memory are, or 
should be, sufficiently! strong safeguards to prevent the 
■ * - 'Tanuary SO, 1818. I had some very fair game shooting in 
Norfolk, though with parties (as is the unpleasant custom of this 
county and Suffolk'), 1 kept no account of what I killed, which 
I seldom do on such days. Though 1 have never yet been beat 
bv anyone in any country that I have ever seen, still, this style 
of shooting leads to a jealousy that I detest; and as I consider- 
more than two guns a party for fun and sojiiety^ and not a party 
for sport, I reckon all the game shot as much a general concern 
as a fox when killed by a pack of hounds, though gertainly J 
.killed for more \bm jwyoce §l8f,"^Ha\ v k?r',i Piary, ' ■ - 
gun "following found," of the trigger from being pulled 
at a risky moment. Indeed, it is wonderful how quick 
and unerring is the observation of the brain out shoot- 
ing. It is fnarvelous, fof instance, how the eye, now 
busy with another .bird, notes the fall of the first. Yet 
sometimes hand and ey« are not quite in accord. A bird 
a!: which ctfie is aiming may be geefi to receive its death- 
blow from another gun, or again, oiie may apprehend 
that the aim is not true; and yet in neither case is the 
bfaifl always able to instruct the hand sufficiently quickly 
to prevent the pull of the trigger. 
Less than a hundred yeflf§ ago, it was said of Norfolk 
—even then with a sporting reputation— that it contained 
but two good shots. Naturally the impeffections of the 
weapon rendered accurate shooting a matter of the very 
highest skill and calculation; and would probably have 
made the killing of the "driven" bird of the present day 
almost an impossibilty. "As far as I can learn at Man- 
ton's and Egg's,*' boasts Hawker in 1815, "my having 
this wild season bagged fourteen double shots succes- 
sively (walking), is the best shooting that has been 
accomplished in England." "The aft tif shooting," he 
says, however, in S latef edition, "has of late been so 
much improved that, although but little more than half a 
century ago, one who shot flying was viewed with wonder, 
we now frequently meet with schoolboys who ean bring 
down their game with the greatest dexterity." 
' Even within my own- observation — now extending 
ovef fliofe years than I care to remember — accuracy of 
shooting lias vefy much improved. A "gun" who a few 
years ago would have ben Considered a fine shot would 
now be but one of the fuck. Bad shots there still are; 
some so shockingly bad that they would be encouraged 
with the remark, "You're not exactly hitting 'em, but 
you're frightening 'em more nor you were." But such 
are a diminishing quantity, and one has not so often to 
Wonder "what on earth becomes of the shot." The fact 
is that more care is taken in the fit of the gun and the 
gun itself Is handier and shoots better. Then the modern 
explosive carries the shot more quickly up to the object 
than evef did the old black powder, thus simplifying the 
aim, while the smoke fio longer obscures the vision. 
The ordinary man gets, moreover, more shooting than 
he used to; and all these causes combined enable him 
to make better practice, though the bird itself has. in 
most Cases, been made a more difficult object to hit. 
What actually Constitutes a "fine shot"? The propor- 
tion between cartridges and game killed is but one of 
the elements— any decent shot who counts his cartridges 
and therefore picks his shots will probably do as well. 
It is much more than that. Such a one appears to have 
an intuitive knowledge of the sport. He is always on 
the alert; never flustered nor over-prepared; always 
cool and collected. He knows where the birds are most 
likely to come: he obviously judges his distances rightly 
and takes his birds exactly at the most killing moment. 
He never "dandles" his gun. as does the poking shot, but 
handles it gracefully and swings free and loose. He fires 
rapidly, yet with judgment. He kills his birds clean and 
dead. He marks his birds accurately, and often those 
of his neighbor. Nay, he actually understands when the 
guns draw for places how to move up one or even two 
places, after each drive, without getting himself befogged 
in an arithmetical puzzle. He seems to vary but little 
one day compared with another, or one part of the day 
compared to another part — and, to be free of that dis- 
heartening dry rot that sometimes overtakes and de- 
presses one. It is a real pleasure to see him shoot and 
to shoot with him. 
There is much legitimate and laudable ambition in 
shooting as in other sports — to like to do well, to like to 
do better than another, to wish even to excel. Unfor- 
tunately, in shooting, perhaps more than in any other 
sport, rivalry often leads to jealousj r , selfishness and 
want of consideration.* To "wipe the eye" of your 
neighbor — in earlier days less elegantly if more ex- 
pressively described as "wiping the nose" — unless in the 
case of a bird coming directly from him to you, is best 
not done. To take other people's birds — unless done 
accidentally, and followed by a suitable apology— is a 
pernicious and temper-destroying habit. To kill birds 
(either inside the covert or elsewhere) which if left will 
obviously make a more sporting shot for another gun, 
may be within the letter, but is outside the spirit of the 
sportsman convention. And let us hope that, whatever 
may be your sins, at least the damning cry of "Let 'em 
rise!" will never be directed at you. 
There is (to paraphrase the saying) a great deal of 
human nature in the sporting man. He is a wise man 
who knows his own birds; both to kill and pick up. He 
is a sensible man who is generous rather in leaving than 
in taking a bird. He is a companionable man who is 
content with the place assigned him, and who does not 
persistently suffer from "cursed bad luck" with the birds. 
If the sportsman be all this, he will also certainly be a 
safe shot, for he has observed much and learned much. 
And, speaking of danger, it is a matter of wonder that 
far more accidents do not occur out shooting. It has 
been calculated that in the British Isles some 300.000 per- 
sons (of whom a quarter of a million take out either 
"game" or "shooting" licenses) shoot more or less in 
the course of the year; and it has been estimated that no 
less than fifty to sixty millions of cartridges are annually 
fired. Yet the accidents are few and far between. We 
have all had escapes; others perhaps may have had 
escapes from us. I have myself seen one fatal accident; I 
was nearby when another one occurred; the two within 
four days of one another. But the actual accidents, 
great or small, that have come within one's own obser- 
vation or knowledge are, I think, extraordinarily and 
providentially few. 
And yet we have, on the one hand, our dangerous and 
our careless shots among us; and. on the other, we have 
the loitering beater and the ignorant "stop." who so 
often manage to occur in the unexpected spot. "He 
shot round me." was the graphic description given me 
of a reckless shot— "he shot round me. he shot above 
me, he shot below me, he shot at me; I was, as J may 
"Jealousy and rivalry are certainly sometimes carried to excess, 
The only remark— a fact — made l;y a "gun," who, in the middle 
of a splendid partridge drive, badly shot his neighbor, was. 
"Wfoat nmsfrnne, { sbfitflf! have b^n cock, score this 
say, like the Burning Bush, 'in the midst of fire, yet not 
consumed.' " Lord Cardigan, of Balaclava fame, was 
once heard abusing his keeper for extravagance in using 
men instead of b»ys for "stops." "Beg pardon, my 
lord." was the matter-of-fact reply, "but your Lordship 
will remember that last year you shot down all the boys." 
The biggest authenticated bag secured at one shot of 
which I have ever heard, consisted of one rabbit (the 
cause of the shot), one beater, one onlooker (a French 
cook), a boy and a dog. I once shot nine snipe at a shot 
— but this was in South America — they were on the 
ground, and they were shot for the pot. I have read of 
a sportsman (not Baron Munchausen) who shot a bum- 
blebee and a butterfly, right and left; and indeed some- 
times a large bumblebee does, for an instantaneous sec- 
ond, look uncommonly like a distant advancing grouse; 
just as. when on the alert for partridges, the fieldfares, 
breasting the hedge, often cause a nervous twitch of the 
gun. 
Curious circumstances sometimes occur out shooting. 
A friend walking in line down a turnip field, saw a 
startled hare running fast and straight toward him up a 
furrow. He stood still, waiting for her to turn, but the 
hare, with its peculiar vision, did not see him and ran 
her head plump against his shin, killing herself and very 
seriously bruising his leg. We have all seen a hen 
pheasant (never a cock) frightened and confused, kill 
herself against a tree; and two flustered partridges out of 
a covey often bang blindly against one another, to the 
destruction of one or both. I once saw two tront do 
much the same thing. They darted simultaneously al 
my dry fly from opposite sides, knocked blindly against 
one another, and darted back each its own way. fright- 
ened and perhaps hurt. The same day I walked into a! 
brood of half-grown pheasants. Up they got all round! 
me. and the old mother hen, blundering along in a ter- 
rible fluster, knocked against one of the chicks and 
broke its wing. 
I do not want to dwell on the dark side — and unfor- 
tunately there is a dark side to shooting. The sport may 
be "fun." but it has also its element of cruelty. A well- 
killed bird, it is true, suffers no pain; it has lived its little 
life, and its death is sudden and painless — a death to be 
envied. But the poor wounded bird — it is saddening to 
see. and horrible to think of. 
It may be fairly said that the better the shot the less 
the cruelty; the worse the shot the greater the cruelty; 
and, humanly speaking, no one ought to shoot until he • 
can shoot well. The good shot — unless wickedly tempted 
by his proficiency to fire very long shots — kills far more 
often than he wounds: the bird flies into the center of 
the charge. The bad shot, on the other hand, wounds as 
often as, perhaps more often than, he kills, for he catches 
the bird with the outside pellets, he hits it behind and 
below, and not in a vital spot. Moreover, he is more 
likely to misjudge distances, cr on the off-chance of 
killing, to indulge in that gratuitous form of cruelty — 
the long shot. This comparison holds true, I verily be- 
lieve, except when birds are coming at a terrific rate 
down wind: then, while the bad shot does not touch a 
feather, the good shot wounds a larger proportion than 
usual. 
But though there be some cruelty in connection with 
sport, it tends rather to preservation than to destruction. 
The wild beasts of Africa — it is good news — are being 
brought under judicious and sportsmanlike regulations. 
And. thank heaven! however futile may have been the 
crusade directed against the thoughtlessness of feminine 
fashion, public interest has been awakened, and healthy 
public opinion has been directed toward the preservation 
of ' our rarer birds; and the wanton slaughter of the 
migrants and even of the hawks, the owls and the jays 
is becoming less gratuitous and less possible. 
Though no doubt the aim and end of shooting is to 
kill, the sportsman ought not only to be a -"shot." but 
an observer as well, a bit of a naturalist, a lover of birds. 
"What does the pony boy think about all day," asked a 
friend of mine of his keeper, struck with the figure mo- 
tionless for hours, and wondering how the livelong day 
was passed. "Thinking aboot?" in a tone of surprise, 
"aweel he's just thinking how best to lead his pony.'* 
But. while shooting, one can be thinking about some- 
thing else besides how best to shoot — and will shoot 
with the greater skill and the greater pleasure from the 
powers of alertness and observation thus engendered. 
And what interesting touches of nature come under 
observation. The wonderful instinct of self-preservation 
given to birds is seen to advantage. One notes the imi- 
tative coloring; the power of creeping invisibly and 
hiding unseen, where apparently nothing could be con- 
cealed, and any movement would betrays. I once saw a 
striking instance of the power of concealment in a 
wounded bird. Shooting in Uruguay. I shot a duck, 
which fell wounded into some shallow reed-girt water. 
I had no dog, and diligent search failed to find the bird. 
Suddenly, by mere chance, my eye caught sight of the 
beak, the color of the reed, laid flat up against a reed 
stalk, exposed only as far as the nostrils, the whole of 
the rest of the bird being kept sunk under water. Then 
nothing is more graceful to watch than the flight, the 
soaring, the hovering and the swoop of one of the hawk 
tribe. I was told by a friend who witnessed the incident 
— and I would have given much to have been there— of 
an eagle which was seen bearing aloft a leveret. On- a 
sudden, startled by the noise of a shot, it dropped the 
quarry, but before the leveret reached the ground, the 
eagle, swooping down like lightning, recovered its prey 
in midair. 
Then the behavior of the game birds themselves; the 
varying calls and flights of the larger birds; the twitter 
of the smaller birds, their original and delightful little 
ways, give much to notice and to enjoy. The migrants, 
some coming, more going, induce speculation on the 
mysteries of migration, and on the fabulous rapidity of 
flight. 
But an end of this. Old Burton, in his "Anatomy of 
Melancholy." truly remarks that, though sport may, on 
occasion help to "ease one of a grievous melancholy." 
yet that "some dote too much after it; they can do 
nothing else, discourse of nought else." So it .was 
three hundred and seventy years ago— it stands true 
TO now, " ; . \' • §YW£WQSv 
