My Friend the Partridge 
Memories of New Engl&nd Shooting 
By S. T. Hammond 
(Continued from page 15.) 
AND in hand with the shotgun came the 
dawn of the millenium for the sports¬ 
man, and it is a most interesting study 
> trace, step by step, the solution of the sports 
i the field from that period to the present day. 
/ithin the memory of man, what wonderful 
rides have been made toward perfection in the 
iplements accessory to our woodland sports! 
r hat a vast array of enthusiasts have enrolled 
lemselves under the sportsman’s banner until 
iere is scarcely a hamlet in all this broad land 
iat cannot boast one or many expert wing- 
■lots. 
I well remember that, when I was a boy, the 
jan who could “shoot flying” was looked upon 
■ a wonder, and pointed out to strangers as one 
jr above the common herd, but now “the woods 
fe full of them.” 
The noble sport of field shooting has done 
;uch for the men and boys of the last two gen- 
•ations. It has enabled them to store up a 
;ock of vitality that has done them good 
rvice in time of need. The forces of those 
T*° practice it will not be prematurely decayed, 
leir minds will not easily be warped by world- 
i cares; for there is a stimulus in the air of 
i ; e forest that fills their veins with a potent 
lower to withstand the debilitating effects of 
fe strenuous life. Not only this, but the aver¬ 
se boy must perforce, in some manner, work 
<.f the surplus steam that all boys are possessed 
<—at least, all boys that are worth while. It 
l;s been my experience that in many instances 
tese high-strung youngsters, who did not take 
t the woods, have worked off this surplus 
s:am in a manner that was very distressing to 
teir friends, and far from being conducive to 
teir own well being. 
So when your boy asks for a gun, thankfully 
[ice it in his hands and wish him good luck, 
tyou can, lead him to the chosen haunt of the 
frtridge and get him thoroughly interested in 
te pursuit of this beautiful bird. My word for 
i neither you nor the boy will ever regret it. 
1 he young sportsman—and, for that matter, 
e old one, too—when they first seek the haunts 
game, have a discouraging difficulty in re- 
nciling the results of their outing with the 
ght anticipation that illuminated their horizon 
ten with buoyant hopes and eager steps they 
~ forth to conquer the world of sport, of 
' 1 ich dreams and wakeful thought had, with a 
e hand, drawn such wonderful pictures. 
1 he tyro usually expects to flush game at 
cry step, and his nerves are keyed up to a 
ision that will nearly always snap when at 
last the bird is routed. Now this tension is all 
right; for one of the most important rules to 
observe when seeking the partridge is, to be 
always ready; but one’s nerves should also be 
ready, and when one has so schooled them that 
the sudden rise will not unsteady them, one has 
taken a long stride on the road to success. 
In seeking for the partridge, there is no rule 
that will surely lead you to them; for often a 
thorough search of the best places will fail to 
find them; and then in places that are most un¬ 
likely they will suddenly rise, and, if one is not 
ready, he will most assuredly score a lost op¬ 
portunity. 
A good day is indispensable for successful 
pursuit of this wily bird, and the better the dog 
the more satisfactory will be one’s share of the 
sport. Good dogs are fairly abundant; but the 
first-class partridge dog is very hard to find. I 
have owned and shot over hundreds, and have 
.seen many really good ones, but those that were 
strictly of the first class I can number on my 
fingers with room to spare. The reader may 
think my standard too high, but one day afield 
with an animal that comes up to the mark will 
convince one that it is no dream that prompts 
my estimate. 
It is a common belief that the partridge dog 
must be slow, with stealthy, noiseless footsteps, 
approaching his birds with a cat-like tread that 
will not frighten them. I once fully believed 
this, as the first really good dog that I saw pos¬ 
sessed these characteristics in a marked degree; 
but later I owned a dog whose style of hunting 
was most decidedly the opposite of this. He 
was fast as a ghost. He made nearly as much 
racket in going through the covers as would an 
ox team; but he found his birds and pointed 
them in grand style. He almost invariably held 
them fast, for they would lie for him like stones. 
Why it is that birds will lie for some dogs 
regardles of the manner in which they do their 
work, and will not do so for others that ap¬ 
parently have the same style, passes my com¬ 
prehension. I only know that something is 
wrong with the dog, but what it is I am unable 
to say. 
In selecting your partridge dog, do not 
hastily condemn the slow, stealthy action, nor 
the bold, speedy work, for either will show you 
satisfactory sport, provided the ability to hold 
the birds is a part of their accomplishments, 
and they have learned to work to the gun. The 
partridge dog must be born that way. This, 
with plenty of practice under proper tuition, is 
the whole secret of the matter. 
The partridge is often found in out-of-the-way 
places that the novice fails to discover. The 
thorn bush, perhaps a gunshot away from the 
cover, does not look a likely place for them; 
but they are often there nevertheless. The 
grapevine that covers a few low-growing bushes 
is a favorite place for them, although it may be 
some little distance from the cover. The white- 
oak tree that stands a short distance away in 
the open ground is a chosen resort for them 
when acorns are ripe, and I have frequently 
found from one to a half dozen birds in such 
places. The fence that leads from the cover is 
also frequented by them, especially when there 
is a hedgerow beside it; in fact, there are so 
many out-of-the-way places where they may oc¬ 
casionally be found, that it is worth while to 
look them all over. I have often at nearly the 
close of day flushed a bird from the'top of a 
wall or stump, log or other perch that would 
be three or four feet above the ground, but 
usually they would rise out of shot, as from 
their elevated position they could readily see 
when it was proper to take their departure. 
Investigation showed me that the bird would 
nearly always be found upon the same perch at 
about the same time, on successive days, and 
after this discovery the rest was easy; for all 
that was necessary was boldly to advance to¬ 
ward the place from the direction that they 
would naturally take, shaping one’s course so 
that it would appear that one was going to 
pass by some twenty yards to one side. Straight 
powder will do the rest, for one will usually 
have an easy shot. 
In October and November, upon still, sunny 
days, partridges may frequently be found by 
the side of the road that passes through the 
cover or upon the sunny side of a cart path or 
little opening in the woods, where they usually 
lie close until one is quite near them. One sea¬ 
son, some thirty years ago, I was entirely out 
of a dog. As I could only devote an occasional 
day to my favorite sport, “My days were sad, 
my nights were drear.” Although my nights 
and Sundays were devoted to making solemn 
resolutions that next season I would have 
matters arranged more to my satisfaction, I was 
far from being in my normal condition. In 
November when the beautiful Indian summer 
came to us I could stand the strain no longer, 
so upon a bright, balmy morning, with my wife 
seated beside me in the buggy, we took to the 
woods. My horse was well trained for this 
work, and my companion could handle the 
ribbons better than any one I ever met; for she 
had learned the lesson upon the broad open 
fields, when driving for plover. 
On this day we were fortunate; birds were 
very plentiful, and I was blessed with straight 
powder. We flushed sixteen birds and brought 
them all home, using the second barrel only 
twice. Every one was found within less than 
five miles from where I am now sitting; indeed, 
more than one-half of them were inside the city 
limits. This was a red letter day, never to be 
forgotten; and as I recall the very many 
