My Friend the Partridge 
Memories of New England Shooting 
By S. T. Hammond 
(. Continued, from page 94.) 
I HAVE made and mentioned many queer 
shots. Upon several occasions I have 
gathered in birds that were never touched 
by a shot. I was once shooting with the late 
Ethan Allen when I flushed a partridge that flew 
directly toward him. As he was not more than 
fifty yards away I could not shoot, and a second 
later another bird flushed wild, and as she would 
give him a fair chance I remained quiet and 
watched the proceeding. When he fired at the 
second bird, the first one was nearly over his 
head. At the report of the gun, it dodged and 
blundered into the top of a birch and came into 
the jaws of his dog. He took it and wrung its 
neck, supposing that I had wounded it, and it was 
not until I showed him that my gun was 
still loaded that he would believe I had not 
shot it. 
Strange Shots. 
Perhaps the most remarkable shot of this nature 
that ever came to me was while working up a 
run through a strip of woods, when I heard a bird 
rise some distance to my right. When looking 
in that direction I saw it coming my way. When 
it was nearly overhead, I fired. To my intense 
wonder, two came fluttering down. One of them, 
however, at once took wing, but I brought it 
down with the second barrel. Then came per¬ 
plexity and doubt. I well knew that one of them 
had been sitting in the treetop, and that the other 
had blundered into the branches of the tree and 
came down, but which one? Had I been unwit¬ 
tingly guilty of the grievous sin of potting the 
innocent bird perched on the limb, or had I 
really made a beautiful shot at the ghost over¬ 
head as well as scoring the easy one? 
In vain T pondered over the tangle. I could 
come to no satisfactory conclusion, until finally 
the cheering thought came to me that the noise 
of the impact of the bird upon the body of the 
tree that I had plainly heard could only have 
been made by the phantom, while the bird so 
quietly sitting upon the limb, confused by the 
uproar, had blundered into the branches and thus 
came down to add one more pleasing memory 
for me to store against time of need 
I was once standing on guard at the edge of 
a run that wound along the foot of a steen hill¬ 
side. when my comr-'nion. who was working to¬ 
ward me. flushed a bb'd that came down the run 
at lightning speed. I missed clean: there was 
no excuse. Just then a bird came fluttering down 
the hillside. As I listened to its death flutter 
T rea'iaed that T had rotted it on the ground and 
so bad did T feel over *he unsportsmanlike deed 
that T said nothing to my companion, who soon 
joined me. His pride for the wonderful shot 
and evident enjoyment sealed my lips, for I had 
not the heart to hurt his feelings by dispelling 
the illusion. 
Birds that Slip Away. 
In sections of country where the partridge is 
frequently disturbed by the hunter, it is often 
the case that they will take flight while you are 
two or three gun shots away. No matter how 
staunch your dog, or how nicely he has done 
his point and has them sure, this practice will 
often bring to naught one’s fondest hopes; for 
at the first sound indicating one’s presence, the 
intended victim is away. In much of this rough 
country it is nearly useless to try to follow; but, 
given a fair country, the proper thing to do is 
to mark well the direction of the bird and try 
for it again. 
For many years it has been a hard and fast 
rule with me to shoot at every bird that rises, 
even when a long distance away. I have a well 
grounded belief that the whistle of the shot in 
their vicinity exercises an influence that causes 
them to lie better when one again finds them. 
If one can succeed in keeping on their course, and 
routing them a few times, he will, in nearly every 
instance, meet the reward of perseverance by 
obtaining a satisfactory rise. 
Pleasant memories of many events of this 
nature often come to me to cheer my lonely 
hours, and I again am threading the mazy aisles 
of some old-time favorite cover. Again I view 
with pride the scene where by patient perse¬ 
verance I outwitted the sly maneuvers of the wise 
old patriarch. Again my cup of joy is full, and 
gone are worldly cares. My wild shooting, as 
one of my companions termed it, has also brought 
me more than a hundred fold for the price of 
the ammunition expended. I have in this man¬ 
ner made quite a number of wonderful shots that 
I recall with supreme satisfaction. 
Perhaps the most remarkable of these is. on,* 
that I made at a bird that had risen wild several 
times. Its finish came at last; for when it aeraii 
rose from a clump of alders, a long distance 
away, I held some two feet above it and fired, 
when she tumbled to the ground stone dead. 
When we picked it up, its head was entirely miss¬ 
ing, for the shot had bunched and cut it of? as 
clean as could have been done with an axe. 
I was once shooting with a friend who was 
noted for takim? lone- chances; in fact, he usuallv 
shot at anything in sight. Occasionally, he 
brought one down from a long distance, greatly 
to his delight; for he dearly loved to boast aboul 
the shooting qualities of his gun, which he be¬ 
lieved to be just a little ahead of any gun ever 
made. ' ! 
We came out of a cover to a pasture that ex¬ 
tended quite a distance, to a heavy growth of 
timber. A bird rose a long distance ahead, and 
started for the woods, when I let go at her and 
she came down like a stone. As this was a 
good bit further than my long distance friend 
dared to boast, I was interested to see how he 
would take it; but the performance did not startle 
him a particle. He simply turned to me with a 
supercilious smile, and in a pompous manner re¬ 
marked, “If you had my gun, you could have 
waited until she had got to the edge of th ■ 
woods.” 
I once bagged a bird that I put safely in my 
pocket, and a good half hour later, just as I had 
emptied both barrels, this bird burst out from, 
my pocket, and with phenomenal speed betook 
herself to parts unknown. I never saw her, 
again, although I carefully searched for her for, 
more than two hours. 
I was once shooting with a friend who took 
along a young dog that had never been out. We 
had been in the cover but a short time, when a 
partridge flushed near us and my companion 
brought it down. Then, standing his gun against, 
a tree, he took the puppy to the bird to see how 
he would perform. The dog behaved very nicely 
and pointed it in good style. After petting and 
praising him awhile, my companion went for the 
bird, but as be stooped to pick it up. the “dead, 
bird” rose like a rocket and disappeared in the 
forest. I will not repeat the language of my 
companion, nor do I feel competent to give any¬ 
thing like a truthful description of the very ex¬ 
pressive workings of his countenance. 
I was once standing at the edge of a" dense 
thicket of tall pines awaiting my companion, who 
was some distance below, when I heard a bird 
rise and sv v it coming directly toward me well 
up in the air. Now, one of the most necessa^ 
attributes of the successful sportsman is a rapid 
thinking 'capacity. As I had had considerable 
experience in such cases, and well knew that if 
I should try to bring this bird down in the ortho¬ 
dox manner by letting it pass and then trying 
for it. it would be safe among the pines before 
it was fifteen feet beyond me. So. instinctively 
I fired when it was about twenty yards distant 
and doubled it up, but as the emnse tumbled T 
saw that it was coming straight for me. I tried 
to dodge, but there was a dense bunch of bushes 
that would not admit of my moving, and tangled 
me up and held me fast until the bird, with a 
force that until that moment T wo”'d not have 
believed possible, struck me on the hip and com¬ 
pletely knocked me out. It was sever'd days 
before I recovered from my lameness sufficiently 
to again take the field. 
There was one old cock p f ro -, «e that lived in 
an alder run adioininsr a kr^c +’">ct of timber 
He had always been too smart for although 
on several occasions we had co r nerod him where 
he could not eet away; b”t ev»rv time somethin? 
went wrong for ns, and right for the bird, as 
he always came off from the encounter with fly- 
