My Friend tHe Partridge 
Memories of New England Shooting 
By S. T. Hammond 
(Continued from page 54.) 
*ROM about the middle of October until When the job was finished we had eighteen 
early spring, partridges flock together, beauties laid side by side on the grass. Neither 
often in large droves; at least th'is is the of us had kept any count, but we knew that the 
case in country where they are not much dis¬ 
turbed. It is often the case that the hunter, late 
in the season, if not fortunate enough to find 
their gathering place, fails to find a tithe of the 
birds that he knows have occupied the ground 
only a short time previous. If he is not well in¬ 
formed as to the habits of the bird in this re¬ 
spect, a portion at least of his journey home is 
devoted to anathematizing hunters, hawks and 
foxes for the utter desolation that abounds. 
I was fox-hunting one day in November, 
when I ran into a pack of more than fifty birds, 
and the next day, with a chosen companion, 
we were early at the place but it was in vain 
that we searched every bit of cover, not a bird 
could we find. Finally, when it was past the 
middle of the afternoon we came out of the last 
cover, and stood in the open upon a steep hill¬ 
side trying to decide as to the best course to 
take. At the foot of the hill, sixty yards below 
us, lay the top of a large chestnut tree that had 
been cut down in the summer, for it was still 
covered with leaves, but we paid no attention 
to it until the dog stuck his nose in the air, and 
rising to his feet drew down the hill and came 
to a beautiful point not more than twenty feet 
from the tree. 
Without exchanging a word we picked our 
way down the steep hillside, my companion to¬ 
ward the butt of the tree, while I approached 
the top. Before I had reached the desired posi¬ 
tion a contumacious bird, with malice prepense, 
burst through the dead leaves, and at her best 
speed came straight at my head, apparently well 
knowing that of all shots this one was least 
liked by me because I nearly always scored a 
miss; and although how I tried my best, this 
one was no exception to the rule. I tried her 
again and saw her double up just at the edge of 
the cover, where to our surprise she struck in 
the crotch of a small beech tree where she re¬ 
mained until the battle was over. 
At the report of the gun several more flushed, 
and my companion scored a pretty double. As 
they appeared loath to leave the shelter of the 
old treetop, getting up one or two at a time, 
we had more sport than had ever fallen to our 
lot over one point; for the dog remained staunch 
until the last one was routed, when with a glance 
at me and an expressive wag of his tail he gal¬ 
loped up the steep hill to where the first bird 
was still hanging in the crotch and with a mighty 
spring secured it. Then he went for the others. 
dog had marked every one, and when he brought 
the last one and laid it in my hands and looked 
up at me with sparkling eyes and wagging tail, 
telling us in language that we well understood 
that this was glorious sport, we knew that it 
was useless to search for more, although my 
companion insisted that there must be more than 
fifty still ungathered. I soon convinced him that 
the dog was right by explaining that sport like 
this was not conducive to clear judgment. He 
modified the statement by saying that we had 
sport enough for a hundred, and in this I fully 
agreed. I have enjoyed very many delightful 
interviews with my peerless bird, but never be¬ 
fore or since have I been in quite so hot a cor¬ 
ner as that. 
A Curious Shot. 
My companion made a peculiar shot that caused 
us no little astonishment. He pulled for a bird, 
but the cap failed to explode, and as he gave 
her the other barrel a bluejay, that was flying 
along more than twenty feet beyond the bird 
and fully that distance out of range, shut her 
wings and came down stone dead. On exami¬ 
nation of the jay we found that a pellet had 
struck her in the head, and we finally decided 
that this shot must have become jammed out of 
true in some manner to cause it to diverge so 
widely from the straight line. 
While discussing what was the matter we 
were joined by a farmer friend who lived near, 
and after giving him the facts in the case he 
decided that there was nothing singular or out 
of the way, for all of 11s have to go when the 
time comes, and evidently the bluejay’s time was 
up. This started my companion. He was always 
wound up and only needed something of this 
nature to set him going, so he gave us a com¬ 
plete insight into all the secrets of nature and 
the working of immutable laws, finally wind¬ 
ing up with the statement that in accordance with 
what was ordained in the beginning the jay had 
met its fate. The conduct of our farmer friend 
was all that could be desired, and at the close 
he oracularly exclaimed, “Boys, it was ordained 
in the beginning that you should come over to 
the house and have some cider.” 
Autumn Habits. 
Late in the fall there is a gathering of the par¬ 
tridge clans that is not generally understood 
by many who are fairly well up in the knowl¬ 
edge pertaining to the successful pursuit of par¬ 
tridges. The hen partridge usually chooses a 
place, that suits her, in which to rear her brood. 
She does not consider the views or tastes of the 
human expert, who often wonders that so many 
ideal spots for this purpose are desolated. It is 
for this reason that valley and plain as well as 
hillside and summit are places chosen almost 
equally by these fastidious birds, in which to 
make a home while family cares hold their 
sway. In these strenuous times the lowland 
coverts as well as those that are on higher 
grounds, if they are not too difficult to work, 
are completely shot out early in the season, and 
after each hunter has beaten them out—perhaps 
several times—and found to his disgust that 
there is nothing there, he leaves the barren spot 
and seeks in distant localities for some elysium 
where some birds may be had. There is still, 
however, balm in Gilead, for, thanks to the wise 
old mother birds who have reared their broods 
in inaccessible places in the hills and mountains, 
these low lying coverts will soon again resound 
with the music of swiftly beating pinions, and 
again will the sportsman who is “up to snuff” 
revel in the joys of delightful days among the 
birds—the scenes he loves so well. 
At some period in late fall, many of the birds 
that were reared in places unvisited by gunners 
meander along the little brooks and runs that 
lead down the mountain, working their way to 
the more congenial scenes below, often if un¬ 
disturbed in their pilgrimage, arriving at the low¬ 
land coverts in a goodly covey. I have studied 
this matter for many years with a zeal that 
merits better result, but I am unable to give 
even meagre particulars of why the time of their 
coming is so uncertain. 
I only know that they come sometimes in the 
late fall; except in one instance when no birds 
had arrived in three of my favorite covers on 
the last day of the open season, which was then 
the last day of the year. I was much worried 
over this, and feared that the birds were dead, 
and when another month had passed, and I could 
not find them, I was sure that evil had befallen 
them. Two weeks later, however, which was 
past the middle of February, a friend told me 
his spaniel had flushed a number of partridges 
near the road in one of these covers, and I was 
again happy. The next day I drove to the place 
and my dog found more than a score. We then 
visited the other covers and found them abund¬ 
antly stocked. 
A Favorite Resort. 
There is a valley in one of the most pic¬ 
turesque sections of the Berkshire Hills that has 
been a favorite resort of mine for years. This 
valley is more than a mile in length and very 
irregular, from ten to one hundred rods in width, 
nearly covered with a rather sparse growth of 
alders and witch hazel, interspersed with numer¬ 
ous patches of green grass with a beautiful trout 
stream winding through it, making an ideal home 
for the woodcock and partridge. 
On a bright October day, in the early sixties, 
I first visited this beautiful spot, with a newly 
