10 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
(Jan. 4, 1902. 
Shooting. 
From the Nineteenth Century. 
Some little time ago I ventured to dilate on the joys 
of fly-fishing, and now would fain attempt to appreciate 
the pleasures of shooting. 
But my paean must be in somewhat a lower key. 
Shooting and fishing have each their own peculiar 
charms; and fortunately it is not often that the two 
compete. Eut no shooting can, in my opinion, vie in in- 
terest or in skill with a really good day's dry fly-fishing, 
or compare in excitement or emotion with a day's sal- 
mon fishing, in which salmon are hooked, played, lost 
and landed — days the anticipation of which causes one 
"To go to bed and weep for downright sorrow 
To think the night must pass before the morrow." 
The fisherman is born, not made; few persistently fish 
unless they are keen. But among those who shoot every 
grade exists between' real keenness and intense boredom. 
I have heard of one < eminent statesman who, noblesse 
oblige, annually rearing his proper quota of pheasants 
and shooting his three heavy covert days, was on one 
occasion overheard near the end of the second day fer- 
vently thanking heaven that two days out of the three 
at least were over! On the other hand, it is related of 
another premier, Lord Derby, that having on one oc- 
casion gone down to Heron Court to shoot a wild swan, 
he was followed by a peremptory summons to town to 
deal with urgent dispatches relating to European con- 
vulsions. He, however, entirely declined to budge until 
he had shot his swan, a feat that was not accomplished 
until the third day. 
Fish swim arid feed in the same way that they did three 
or four hundred years ago; are caught to a large extent 
in the same way that they were half a century or more 
ago — the "dry fly" for certain trout, and some improve- 
ments in rod and tackle being the only innovations. But 
"shooting" as a science is scarcely more than a hundred 
years old. And during those hundred years the method 
of shooting, the weapon and its adjuncts, the system of 
cultivation, nay. even some habits of the game, have all 
radically altered. Thus the sport of shooting has no 
classic that can compare with that of fishing. Walton's 
masterpiece, published in 1653, remained a text book for 
three hundred years, and will be delightful reading for 
all time. Its nearest compeer is perhaps Col. Hawkers 
book "On Shooting," which came out in 1816. Brought 
up to date from time to time, this book was used and 
was useful as a text book for some forty years; but is 
now entirely superseded, and probably seldom read. 
And while much as regards fishing can still be usefully 
learned from Davey, Scrope and others of fifty or sixty 
years ago, for shooting we must go to the newest text 
book, to the Badminton Library, to the "Fur and 
Feather" series, to Payne-Gallwey's "Letters," or to the 
innumerable sporting books of the present day. These 
last have, however, one persistent fault, somewhat dis- 
couraging to a novice, namely, that the vicissitudes of 
sport are too* much ignored, blank days are non-existent. 
The author or the pupil under the eye of the master 
always (in print) gets his right and left and the difficult 
bird back; rises and lands his salmon and trout, many 
and large. And if the sportsman is after big game — 
Selous, and the author of "Short Stalks" excepted — 
when the crack of the rifle is heard the beast (like Fenni- 
more Cooper's Indian) invariably falls dead at his feet. 
Out of some fifty pages of the "Gentleman's Recrea- 
tion," published in 17 10, descriptive of "fowling," only 
four are devoted to the use of "the birding or fowling 
piece." This weapon, though manifestly far less effective 
than the calls, nets, springs, strings and snares which are 
elaborately described, is recommended as probably more 
effectual than "lime rods and intoxicating baits for 
taking of fowl." "In using this weapon you should," 
says the author, rather shoot "not. at a single fowl, if 
you can compass more within your level; and if on a tree, 
hedge or the ground, seek the convenientest shelter you 
can of hedge, bank, tree or the like, to be absconded 
from the fowls seeing you, which is very offensive to 
them; and being within shot and a fair mark lose no 
time, but let fly." 
Hawker's book and diary of a hundred years later give 
a very interesting description of the style of shooting in 
vogue during his earlier years, and the difficulties under 
which it was conducted. 
"Oct 1, 1817. Had again to contend with many strong parties 
in the lawless part of Wherwell Wood and manoeuvred so that 
I beat them all put together with only one brace of pointers. 
Considering the very bad breed of pheasants, this was one of 
the best days I ever enjoyed; bagged eleven pheasants, three 
partridges, and one hare. 
"Oct. 6, 1817. Two partridges and four snipes. Tried the effect 
of the detonating gun at birds which 'duck the flash,' and found 
it to answer admirably by killing dabchicks swimming at a con- 
siderable distance. 
"Oct. 7, 1819. Heard a cock pheasant, which now-a-days is like 
a wild beast on my property, and in half an hour came home 
with two fine old cock pheasants, I having found another with 
the one reported, and bagged them both." 
Most of the shooting questions that troubled our 
forefathers have long ago been solved. For instance, as 
late as in his edition of 1844 the Colonel discusses at con- 
siderable length and with his wonted profusion of italics 
the question of whether or no "you should when a covey 
gets up, after firing the first barrel take down the gun 
and present it afresh." He recommends ''another way 
as more expeditious; it is never to take the gun from the 
shoulder, ti 11 both barrels are fired, and thus the first as 
well as the second bird may be suffered to fly to a proper 
distance." He also argues that it is more expeditious 
and really safer to advance on a point with the gun 
cocked rather than as the "old school" advocated^ "never 
allowing the gun to be cocked till after the bird has 
risen!" 
Indeed, what a marvelous change has occurred in the 
development of the sporting gun in little more than half 
a century. First, the flint fowling piece gave place to 
the "detonator," that to the percussion gun, which in its 
turn was superseded by the breechloader. And here the 
snap has taken the place of the lever action, the hammer 
gun has given place to the hammerless gun; the pin-fire 
cartridge has disappeared; black powder has been en^ 
tirely ousted by the numberless "nitrbs." Yet it. is evi-. 
dent that with their flint guns built by Manton, the 
"j?jng of gunmakerg/' their mplegKm w QQf4 trousers 
their blue or green coats, their stiff hats, their stocks 
and their shoes, their shot belts and their powder flasks, 
our ancestors enjoyed their limited sport as much as does 
the modern sportsman with his modified choke-bore 
hammerless ejector, his loader and his shooting stool, 
his knickerbockers, waterproof boots and tweed cap, his 
smokeless powder and his hecatombs of slain. 
But still, in all this, as in everything else, 
"The good of ancient days let others prate, 
/ think it lucky I was born so late." 
H eavy bags, formerly a rarity, are now a commonplace. 
White, of Selborne, a hundred years ago, considered it 
reprehensible and unreasonable that parties of sportsmen 
should kill "twenty and sometimes thirty brace of par- 
tridges in a day." The largest bag that Hawker, in 1814, 
had ever seen bagged by one gun was twenty-three brace, 
working four relays of dogs. From such maximum 
totals as these, and proportionate ones for grouse, driv- 
ing and preservation have developed the astonishing 
bags of 400 brace and more ©f partridges and 1,000 brace 
of grouse in a day, while pheasants have been multiplied 
a hundredfold. 
Large bags and heavy days are pleasant— very pleasant, 
I freely confess, but the fashion of "big days" has no 
doubt to a certain extent spoiled the taste for small days. 
All the same, I am not sure whether some of one's pleas- 
antest recolleetions are not connected rather with such 
days, in which companionship was not lost in a crowd, 
and in which the gratification derived from*each individ- 
ual shot was not instantaneously obscured by another. 
One special day, though long past, I still remember. 
An exquisite December day; a pleasant companion. A 
dozen driven partridges well killed, half that number of 
lovely cock pheasants, a rabbit and two woodcocks was 
all we shot. Curiously enough, I had seen both wood- 
cocks running toward me, an unusual sight, and shot 
them as they turned back over the wood. 
On the other hand, it is. I admit, pleasant to remem- 
ber a brief — all too brief — succession of "rights and 
lefts"; or (to be marked with a white mark) the five 
grouse that with two guns were got out of a straggling 
pack, firing as fast as one could aim. Indeed, it is not 
the heavy bags so much as the really difficult and sport- 
ing shots that give the pleasure. Thus boisterous 
weather, though it reduces the bag, will, if fine, probably 
add to the day's satisfaction. Wind in moderation is 
always an advantage out shooting; rain is always an 
abomination, especially to those of us who are unfor- 
tunate enough to have to shoot in spectacles. 
There are of course beastly days out shooting as well 
as delightful days. Fortunately, however, both fishing 
and shooting, one is disposed, I think, to recall the 
agreeable, to let the disagreeable fade from the memory. 
To forget the day when the rain poured, the chill wind 
blew, the birds went wrong, the beaters were possessed, 
and when one shot vilely; and to remember the lovely 
day, the masterly management, the obliging birds, the 
straight shooting. 
The grouse (wrongly, as Yarrell says, called "Scoti- 
cus"; it should be "Britannicus") is, as we know, found 
nowhere in the world except in the British Isles — thrice 
fortunate isles. The "nut-brown" partridge is a delight- 
ful bird — well groomed, natty, cheery, with a cheery call, 
sporting, intelligent and spirited. It is indigenous to 
Great Britain, and is found also in other parts of Europe. 
The more gaudy Frenchman was first brought over at 
the time of Charles II. — perhaps one of the many Stuart 
intrigues with France. But it was not introduced in any 
profusion until near the end of the eighteenth century. 
Handsome is as handsome does, and it was soon found 
in those days when partridges sat to dogs that the pro- 
pensity to run on the part of the Frenchman was bad 
for the dog, bad for the temper and bad for the score. 
And even now, in these days of driving, he is a poor 
creature compared to the English bird. 
The pheasant, if not exactly indigenous, is certainly 
effectually naturalized; and though originally from the 
Caucasus, may, after a thousand or so years of ac- 
climatization, be looked upon as truly British. Tradi- 
tion has it that the pheasant was brought into Europe by 
the Argonauts! It was probably introduced into Eng- 
land by the Romans. It certainly preceded the Normans. 
"Pesant hen and pesant cock" appeared in King Harold's 
bill of fare. Thomas A'Beckett is popularly supposed 
to have dined off a pheasant the day he was murdered. 
In the time of Edward I. the price of a pheasant was 4d., 
while woodcock (it makes one's mouth water) were but 
three farthings a pair. Two hundred years later pheas- 
ants had risen to I2d. a piece and woodcock to id., 
while snipe could still be had at 3d. a dozen. As long 
ago as the time of Henry VIII. the pheasant, as it still 
does, apparently led to a "tip," though on a somewhat 
lower scale than now. "Rewardes for bryngyng of 
p'sents" appears in L'Estrange's "Household Book": 
"It'm to Mr. Ashley svnt for bryngyng of a fesaunt 
cocke and iiij. woodcocks ye XVIIJth daye of Octobre, 
in reward iiijd." 
Personally, I should put grouse driving at the head 
— and well ahead — of the forms of shooting with which 
I am here dealing. "The water fowl are the subtlest of 
birds, and have the greatest regard to their own safety:" 
and so a wild duck is perhaps the most sporting bird 
that flies; and the sudden drop of its long neck as it falls 
headlong from a great height sends a glow of satisfac- 
tion through the shooter. But then, alas! how seldom 
does a day at duck come in one's way. Woodcock 
shooting, as such, I have never experienced. But the 
occasional woodcock, 
" when first he comes, 
From his long journey o'er the unfriendly main," 
adds a distinct fillip to a covert day. Snipe, with their 
zigzag flight — "when I shot zig they flew zag, and when 
I shot zag they flew zig" — are good fun; but, though I 
don't exactly know why, they are not quite such fun as 
they ought to be. And, after all, in England snipe sel- 
dom or never constitute a whole day's shooting. 
Why is grouse driving so enchanting? Nerve, judg- 
ment, skill, observation, decision, are essential requisites 
to success; and if there be a prooer response, a call on 
any of these reserve forces has its distinct satisfaction. 
Keenness and desire h^ve not yet been blunted; good 
(shooting) re,$oJutioflS bavrj been. ' accumulating. Jfy 
dreary Londoh pavement and the exhausted London 
atmosphere have at last been left behind. The gentle 
exercise refreshes the body; the lovely, faf-stretching, 
bracing, limpid surroundings soothe the brain and rest 
the eye. 
There you Stand, Waiting fof the birds tp eofrie. At 
first somewhat careless and casual, the while guns afe 
loaded, cartridges and paraphernalia conveniently dis- 
posed, sods altered, foothold trodden level and specula- 
tion indulged in with your loader as to the likelihood of 
the particular butt being a lucky one. Far away on the 
distant hill a tiny white speck or two mark the line of 
beaters; but all is as yet still and motionles. Suddenly 
a shot from a neighboring butt at a bird or a covey 
prematurely flushed by a flanker, puts every sense and 
nerve on the alert. 
"But see OUf 'sportsman' when the steam is bfi, 
And languid Johnny flows to glorious John.' 1 
Soon some moving black dots afe distinguishable 
circling round in the distance or a flash of wings is 
caught as birds top a mound and disappear into the hoi- 
low. The heart beats rapidly, the gun is grasped mote 
tightly, the foothold is made friofe seCUfe. "Will they 
cottie to trle^yes— ho=— iio^-yfes^-ahd ho" again, as they 
curve up to the right and stream over a neighboring 
butt some way off. A grouse drops, and the quick eye 
takes in the fall of the bird an appreciable time before the 
slower sound of the shot reaches the duller ear. 
And now it is "yes," and the fresh pack comes well 
over the butt, high and fast. A rapid and proper selec- 
tion is made, the aim is straight and true— pleasure and 
satisfaction reign supreme. Or it may be— darkness 
and despair— that, flustered and indecisive, too soon of 
too late, the shots afe taken, and 'the birds pass un- 
scathed; or, worse still, one is seen to be wounded, but 
not unto death. 
And so on through successive drives, each one differ- 
ing from the last; each one (let us hope) with its satis- 
faction; each one (we may fear) with its disappoint- 
ments. Yet we console ourselves by knowing that a 
fast-driven grouse is not an easy bird to kill; and that 
if it were always satisfaction and never disappointment, 
both shooting and fishing would lose much of their 
charm. After each drive comes the "pick up" — not the 
most attractive part of the day. Then comes luncheon, 
by no means the worst part of the day; and the little 
strip of paper is brought in on which is penciled by 
the keeper "Killed 179 grouse." 
Partridge driving, too, is very delightful, but never- 
theless it is tamer, roots instead of heather; more 
cramped, a scrubby hedge instead of a well built butt; 
less exciting, for the birds come swishing over you un- 
announced, and there is little of that preliminary view of 
the rapidly approaching bird, which adds so appreciably 
to the charms of grouse driving. On the other hand, 
while the grouse goes faster, he swerves less, and the 
partridge, as a rule, gives you a greater variety of shots. 
Further, it is less easy to judge where he will come; 
and when he does come, you have less time to make up 
your mind where you will take him. All this, and the 
fact that you are hampered with hedges, lanes, beaters 
and other guns, makes the average driven partridge, to 
my mind (though contrary to the prevailing idea), a 
more difficult bird to kill than the average driven grouse. 
In broken country, and in a high wind, it is another 
matter. 
Walking grouse is also most excellent sport with the 
scatter gun and spike-tailed dog, which latter, as the 
arm chair student observed, has "been taught to indicate 
the near presence of game by pointing at it with his tail." 
It is, to my mind, the most sociable form of shooting; 
there is plenty of time for rational conversation. It is, 
too, a fascinating sight to watch the dogs, especially if 
two are working together, ranging and quartering, or 
drawing up to running grouse, which, with heads down 
and bent backs, are rapidly but invisibly creeping be- 
fore them through the heather. Equally pretty is it to 
see the veteran drawing up to the doubtful point of the 
younger and less trustworthy dog; when, half hoping, 
half afraid, his tail instinctively stiffens, though the tip 
still dubiously vibrates. Then comes the definite poinf, 
the heart-beating pause, broken by the whirr of wings. 
Unless, however, the birds are very wild or the day 
stormy, the grouse rising to a point is, compared to the 
driven grouse, easy to kill. 
The distant view, the gorgeous heather bloom enchant 
the eye. It is a varied scene — the picturesque little cat- 
tle, the active mountain sheep swinging their undocked 
tails; the blue hare lolloping along till out of shot, and 
then sitting up to observe the proceedings. The wheat- 
ear adds its splash of white, the mountain lark rises 
abruptly from the heather and drops as abruptly further 
on, the hawk hovers and swings away, the peewit settles 
not far off and rises hastily out of shot, a flash of black 
and white, the wily curlew, utters its half indignant, half 
complaining, penetrating call. "But, Lord!" as Pepys 
would say, it is hard work sometimes on a hot day early 
in August, when still out of condition; and an occasional 
pause "to admire the view" is by no means unacceptable. 
Then there is the Covert day; and a revolution has 
taken place in the method of shooting the pheasant. In 
early days the pheasant was shot in the tree. "You must 
be provided," says one authority, "with a good spaniel 
that will range well about, and when he hath pearched 
the pheasant, to bay soundly, which will cause them to 
keep the pearch the better; then hearing whereabouts he 
is, make up to him as privately as possible, and having 
espied him (being at a reasonable distance) make your 
shot; and for your dog's encouragement, let him bring it 
you, and make much of him." Later, the pheasant was 
simply walked up in line in the woods or flushed with 
a dog out of the hedgerows and thickets. Hard work 
it was, too. with very little result; for instance, we read, 
"Breakfasted by candlelight, walked hard all day in a 
deluge of rain, bagged three cock pheasants; gloriously 
out-maneuvered all other shooters, came home very 
satisfied and dined off one of the birds." 
This is all very well, yet a pheagant is surely but a 
miserable beast when he flusters up in front of you in 
the covert, and who, if you needs must shoot, falls -before 
he has got under weigh, inert, a mass of feather shutter 
waste of good material', U$\$ fePttpr i§ t 1 ? Wl^f 1 ¥: 
