"Hooha-ha-ha-ha!"
The cry of the falconer, followed by a whistle, as the hawks were
unleashed and cast-off.
Away went they, jesses trailing, and bells tinkling, in buoyant upward
flight. For the heron that had risen out of the sedge, intending
retreat to its heronry, at sight of the enemy after it, suddenly changed
direction, and was now making for upper air with all its might of wing.
The hawks were a _cast_ of "peregrines" of the best strain. In perfect
training, it needed no repetition of the _hooha-ha-ha-ha_ to encourage
them; for, as soon as their hoods were off, they had sighted the enemy,
and shot like arrows after it.
At first their flight was direct--a _raking off_--but in drawing nearer
the doomed bird it changed to gyrations as they essayed to mount above
it. The heron, in a phrenzy of fright, uttered its harsh "craigh,"
disgorged the contents of its crop, with a view of lightening itself,
and made a fresh effort to escape skyward. In vain! The falcons, with
quicker stroke of wing, notwithstanding their spiral course, were soon
seen soaring over it. Then the foremost--for one was ahead--having
gained the proper height, with spread "train," and quivering "sails,"
poised herself for the "_stoop_." Only a second; then down swooped she
at the quarry, "arm" outstretched and "pounces" set for _raking_ it.
The attempt was unsuccessful. Rarely is heron touched at the first
stoop. Unwieldy, and sluggish of flight as the creature may appear, it
has a wonderful capacity for quickly turning, and can long elude hawk or
falcon, if there be but one. When doubly assailed, however, by a
_cast_, of trained peregrines, it is at a disadvantage, not having time
to recover itself from the stoop of the one till the other is upon it.
So was it with this. In an instant after, the second shot down upon it
with a squeal, the heron again giving out its "craigh," and then the
two, hawk and heron, were seen clinging together. For this time the
bird of prey had not attempted to _rake_ but _bind_; and bound were
they, the pounces of the falcon stuck fast in the flesh of its victim.
Then followed a convulsive flapping of wings, the two pairs beating
against one another, soon to be joined by a third; for, meanwhile, the
first falcon having soared up again, once more poised herself and
stooped, she also binding to the common quarry.
The aerial chase was now at an end, but not the combat. Unequal as this
was, the heron still lived; and, when the three should come to earth,
might impale either or both its adversaries on that long lance-like beak
it but unskilfully wields in the air. To prevent this, the falconer
hurried off for the spot towards which they were descending. Slowly
they came down, upheld by the united fluttering of their wings, but
reached the ground at length, luckily not far off. And when the
falconer got up he gave out a loud "whoop," signal of the quarry killed.
For he saw that the heron was dead, and the peregrines had already
commenced depluming it.
Other voices joined in the _paean_ of triumph; one of sweet, silver
tones, accompanied by the clapping of a pair of pretty hands. They were
the same voice and hands that on the top of Ruardean Hill had hounded on
the dog Hector in his half-playful demonstration against the donkey.
"I knew my pair of `Pers' would do it in good style!" cried Vaga in
exultation, for she was the owner of the peregrines. "Did any of you
ever see a kill quicker than that?"
The interrogatory was put to a trio of individuals beside her, on
horseback as herself--one of them her sister, the other two Sir Richard
Walwyn and Eustace Trevor. There was an _entourage_ of attendants, the
falconer with his helps, mounted grooms, and dogs quartering the sedge--
in short, a complete hawking party from Hollymead House. For,
notwithstanding his gentle inclinings, Ambrose Powell was no foe to
field sports--rather favoured them when not unnecessarily cruel; and,
though rarely indulging in them himself, put no restraint on his
daughters' doing so. The younger was passionately fond of hawking, and
the elder also relished it in a more sober way--it being then regarded
as a proper pastime for ladies.
The hawking party, whose incidents we are chronicling, came off some ten
days after the arrival of Sir Richard Walwyn and Eustace at Hollymead;
the scene being a strip of marsh with a stream filtering through it,
here and there a pool where the moor-hen coquettishly flirted her tail--
a favourite haunt of the heron, as of teals, widgeons, and wild ducks.
That the knight was still sojourning at Hollymead House need be no
matter of surprise; but why the son of Sir William Trevor had not long
ere this reported himself under the parental roof, by Abergavenny, may
seem a very puzzle. Its explanation must await the record of after
events; though; an incident occurring there and then, with speech that
accompanied, may throw some light upon it.
Vaga's question was rather in the way of an exclamation, to which she
did not expect reply. Neither waited for it; but giving the whip to her
palfrey trotted off to where the falconer was engaged in releasing the
dead heron from the pounces of the hawks. She went not alone, however;
Eustace Trevor having pricked his animal with the spur, and started
after, soon overtaking her. The other pair stayed behind as they were.
A hundred yards or so round the edge of the marsh, and the two who had
ridden off came to a halt. For, by this, the falconer having rehooded
the hawks, and retrieved the quarry, met them, heron in hand, holding it
out to his mistress; as would one, first up at the death of a fox,
present Reynard's brush to some dashing Diana of the field.
A splendid bird it was; the white heron or great egret, a rare species,
even then, though not so rate as now.
"Give it to the pers, Van Dorn!" she directed, after a short survey of
it; despite its rarity, showing less interest in it than under other
circumstances she might have done. "Unhood again, and let them have it.
We forgot to bring the doves for them, and they deserve reward for the
way they both _bound_ it--so cleverly."
Van Dorn, a Hollander from Falconswaerd--whence in those days all
falconers came--bowing, proceeded to execute the command, by removing
their hoods from the hawks.
"Before he surrenders it to their tender mercies, may I ask a favour?"
It was Eustace Trevor who interrogated, addressing himself to the young
lady.
"Of course you may. What is it, sir?"
"Leave to appropriate a few of the heron's feathers."
"Why, certainly! The falconer will pluck them for you. Van Dorn, pull
out some of its feathers, and hand them to this gentleman. I suppose
you mean those over the train, Mr Trevor?"
"Yes, they."
"You hear, Van Dorn."
Without that the man knew what was wanted; the loose tail coverts so
much prized for plumes; and, drawing them out one by one, he bound them
into a bunch with a piece of cord whipped round their shanks; then
handed them up to the cavalier. After which he went off to attend upon
his hawks.
There was a short interregnum of silence as the falconer turned his back
on them, and till he was out of earshot. Then the young lady asked,
with apparent artlessness,--
"But, Mr Trevor, what do you intend doing with the heron's feathers?"
"Pluming my hat with them."
"Why, it's plumed already! and by far showier ones!"
"Showier they may be; but not prettier, nor so becoming. And certainly
not to be esteemed as these; which I shall wear as souvenir of a
pleasant time--the pleasantest of my life."
There was a pleased expression in her eyes as she listened to what he
said; still more when she saw what he did. This, to whip the hat from
his head, pluck the _panache_ of ostrich feathers from its _aigrette_
and insert those of the heron in their place. Something he did further
seemed also to give her gratification, though she artfully concealed it.
Reproach on her lips, but delight in her heart, as she saw him tear the
displaced plume into shreds, and toss them to the ground at his horse's
feet.
"How wasteful you are, Mr Trevor?" she exclaimed, reprovingly. "Those
foreign feathers must have cost a great deal of money. What's worse,
you've spoiled the look of your hat! Besides, you forget that those now
on it came from a conquered bird?"
"All the more appropriate for a plume to be worn by me."
"Why so, sir?"
"Because of my being vanquished, too."
"_You_ vanquished, Mr Trevor! When? where? By whom?" she asked, at
the same time mentally interrogating herself. Could he be alluding to
that combat in which he received the wound brought with him to
Hollymead, the story of which had leaked out, though not told by either
combatant. Or, was he hinting at conquest of another kind?
There was an indescribable expression on her countenance as she sat
awaiting his answer--keen anxiety, ill-concealed under an air of
pretended artlessness.
"Vaga!"
It was not he who pronounced her name; though "Vaga," with "Powell"
adjoined, were the words nearest to his lips. She would have given the
world to hear him speak them. But it could not be then. Her sister had
called to her, at that moment approaching with Sir Richard. Most
ill-timed approach, for it interrupted a dialogue which, allowed to
continue, might, and likely would, have ended in declarations of love--
confessions full and mutual.