PARTRIDGE POACHING.
The bloom on the brambles; the ripening of the nuts; and the ruddiness
of the corn all acted as reminders that the "fence" time was rapidly
drawing to a close. So much did the first frosts quicken us that it was
difficult to resist throwing up our farm work before the game season was
fairly upon us. There was only one way in which we could curb the wild
impulse within. We stood up to the golden corn and smote it from the
rising to the going down of the sun. The hunters' moon tried hard to
win us to the old hard life of sport; but still the land must be
cleared. There was a double pleasure in the ruddy sheaves, for they told
of golden guineas, and until the last load was carried neither nets,
gins, nor the old duck-gun were of any use. The harvest housed the game
could begin, and then the sweet clover, which the hares loved, first
pushed their shoots between the stubble stalks. But neither the hares on
the fallows, the grouse on the moor, nor the pheasants on the bare
branches brought us so much pleasure as the partridge. A whole army of
shooters love the little brown birds, and we are quite of their way of
thinking.
A long life of poaching has not cooled our ardour for this phase of
woodcraft. At the outset we may state that we have almost invariably
observed close times, and have rarely killed a hare or game-bird out of
season. The man who excels in poaching must be country bred. He must not
only know the land, but the ways of the game by heart. Every sign of
wind and weather must be observed, as all help in the silent trade.
Then there is the rise and wane of the moon, the rain-bringing tides,
and the shifting of the birds with the seasons. These and a hundred
other things must be kept in an unwritten calendar, and only the poacher
can keep it. Speaking from hard experience, his out-door life will make
him quick; will endow him with much ready animal ingenuity. He will take
in an immense amount of knowledge of the life of the fields and woods;
and it is this teaching which will ultimately give him accuracy of eye
and judgment sufficient to interpret what he sees aright. To succeed the
poacher must be a specialist. It is better if he directs his attention
to "fur," or to "feather" alone; but it is terribly hard to resist going
in for both. There is less scope for field ingenuity in taking game
birds; but at the same time there is always the probability of more
wholesale destruction. This arises from the fact of the birds being
gregarious. Both grouse and partridge go in coveys, and pheasants are
found in the company of their own kind. Partridges roost on the ground,
and sleep with tails tucked together and heads outwards. Examine the
fallow after they have left it in a morning, and this will be at once
apparent. A covey in this position represents little more than a mass of
feathers. It is for protective reasons that partridges always spend
their nights in the open. Birds which do not perch would soon become
extinct were they to seek the protection of woods and hedge-bottoms by
night. Such ground generally affords cover for vermin--weazels,
polecats, and stoats. Although partridges roam far by day, they
invariably come together at night, being partial to the same fields and
fallows. They run much, and rarely fly, except when passing from one
feeding ground to another. In coming together in the evening their calls
may be heard to some distance. These were the sounds we listened for,
and marked. We remembered the gorse bushes, and knew that the coveys
would not be far from them.
We always considered partridge good game, and sometimes were watching a
dozen coveys at the same time. September once in, there was never a
sun-down that did not see one of us on our rounds making mental notes.
It was not often, however, that more than three coveys were marked for a
night's work. One of these, perhaps, would be in turnips, another among
stubble, and the third on grass. According to the nature of the crop,
the lay of the land, wind, &c., so we varied our tactics. Netting
partridges always requires two persons, though a third to walk after the
net is helpful. If the birds have been carefully marked down, a narrow
net is used; if their roosting-place is uncertain a wider net is better.
When all is ready this is slowly dragged along the ground, and is thrown
down immediately the whirr of wings is heard. If neatly and silently
done, the whole covey is bagged. There is a terrible flutter, a cloud of
brown feathers, and all is over. It is not always, however, that the
draw is so successful. In view of preventing this method of poaching,
especially on land where many partridges roost, keepers plant low
scrubby thorns at intervals. These so far interfere with the working of
the net as to allow the birds time to escape. We were never much
troubled, however, in this way. As opportunity offered the quick-thorns
were torn up, and a dead black-thorn bough took their place. As the
thorns were low the difference was never noticed, even by the keepers,
and, of course, they were carefully removed before, and replaced after,
netting. Even when the dodge was detected the fields and fallows had
been pretty much stripped of the birds. This method is impracticable
now, as the modern method of reaping leaves the brittle stubble as bare
as the squire's lawn. We had always a great objection to use a wide net
where a narrow one would suit the purpose. Among turnips, and where
large numbers of birds were supposed to lie, a number of rows or "riggs"
were taken at a time, until the whole of the ground had been traversed.
This last method is one that requires time and a knowledge of the
keeper's beat. On rough ground the catching of the net may be obviated
by having about eighteen inches of smooth glazed material bordering the
lowest and trailing part of it. Some of the small farmers were as fond
of poaching as ourselves, and here is a trick which one of them
successfully employed whenever he heard the birds in his land. He
scattered a train of grain from the field in which the partridge
roosted, each morning bringing it nearer and nearer to the stack-yard.
After a time the birds became accustomed to this mode of feeding, and as
they grew bolder the grain-train was continued inside the barn. When
they saw the golden feast invitingly spread, they were not slow to
enter, and the doors were quickly closed upon them. Then the farmer
entered with a bright light and felled the birds with a stick.
In the dusk of a late autumn afternoon a splendid "pot" shot was
sometimes had at a bunch of partridges just gathered for the night. I
remember a score such. The call of the partridge is less deceptive than
any other game bird, and the movements of a covey are easily watched.
This tracking is greatly aided if the field in which the birds are is
bounded by stone walls. As dusk deepens and draws to dark, they run and
call less, and soon all is still. The closely-packed covey is easy to
detect against the yellow stubble, and resting the gun on the wall, a
charge of heavy shot fired into their midst usually picks off the lot.
If in five minutes the shot brings up the keeper it matters little, as
then you are far over the land.
Partridges feed in the early morning--as soon as day breaks, in fact.
They resort to one spot, and are constant in their coming, especially if
encouraged. This fact I well knew, and laid my plans accordingly. By the
aid of the moon a train of grain was laid straight as a hazel wand. Upon
these occasions I never went abroad without an old duck-gun, the barrels
of which had been filed down. This enabled me to carry the gun-stock in
one pocket, the barrels in the other. The shortness of the latter in
nowise told against the shooting, as the gun was only required to use at
short distances. The weapon was old, thick at the muzzle, and into it I
crammed a heavy charge of powder and shot. Ensconced in the scrub I had
only now to wait for the dawn. Almost before it was fully light the
covey would come with a loud whirring of wings, and settle to feed
immediately. This was the critical moment. Firing along the line a
single shot strewed the ground with dead and dying; and in ten minutes,
always keeping clear of the roads, I was a mile from the spot.
I had yet another and a more successful method of taking partridges.
When, from the watchfulness or cleverness of keepers (they are not
intelligent men as a rule), both netting and shooting proved
impracticable, I soaked grain until it became swollen, and then steeped
it in the strongest spirit. This, as before, was strewn in the morning
paths of the partridge, and, soon taking effect, the naturally
pugnacious birds were presently staggering and fighting desperately.
Then I bided my time, and as opportunity offered, knocked the
incapacitated birds on the head.
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One of the most ingenious and frequently successful methods I employed
for bagging partridge was by the aid of an old setter bitch having a
lantern tied to her neck. Being somewhat risky, I only employed it when
other plans failed, and when I had a good notion of the keeper's
whereabouts. The lantern was made from an old salmon canister stripped
of its sides, and contained a bit of candle. When the bitch was put off
into seeds or stubble she would range quietly until she found the birds,
then stand as stiffly as though done in marble. This shewed me just
where the covey lay, and as the light either dazzled or frightened the
birds, it was not difficult to clap the net over them. It sometimes
happened that others besides myself were watching this strange luminous
light, and it was probably set down as some phenomenon of the night-side
of nature. Once, however, I lost my long silk net, and as there was
everything to be gained by running, and much to be lost by staying, I
ran desperately. Only an old, slow dog can be used in this species of
poaching, and it is marvellous to see with what spirit and seeming
understanding it enters into the work.
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