HARE POACHING.
The merry brown hares came leaping
Over the crest of the hill,
Where the clover and corn lay sleeping
Under the moonlight still.
Our hare season generally began with partridge poaching, so that the
coming of the hunter's moon was always an interesting autumnal event. By
its aid the first big bag of the season was made. When a field is sown
down, which it is intended to bring back to grass, clover is invariably
sown with the grain. This springs between the corn stalks, and by the
time the golden sheaves are carried, has swathed the stubble with
mantling green. This, before all others, is the crop which hares love.
Poaching is one of the fine arts, and the man who would succeed must be
a specialist. If he has sufficient strength to refrain from general
"mouching," he will succeed best by selecting one particular kind of
game, and directing his whole knowledge of woodcraft against it. In
spring and summer I was wont to closely scan the fields, and as
embrowned September drew near, knew the whereabouts of every hare in the
parish--not only the field where it lay, but the very clump of rushes in
which was its form. As puss went away from the gorse, or raced down the
turnip-rigg, I took in every twist and double down to the minutest
detail.
Then I scanned the "smoots" and gates through which she passed, and was
always careful to approach these laterally. I left no trace of hand nor
print of foot, nor disturbed the rough herbage. Late afternoon brought
me home, and upon the hearth the wires and nets were spread for
inspection. When all was ready, and the dogs whined impatiently to be
gone, I would strike right into the heart of the land, and away from the
high-road.
Mention of the dogs brings me to my fastest friends. Without them
poaching for fur would be almost impossible. I invariably used bitches,
and as success depended almost wholly upon them, I was bound to keep
only the best. Lurchers take long to train, but when perfected are
invaluable. I have had, maybe, a dozen dogs in all, the best being the
result of a pure cross between greyhound and sheepdog. In night work
silence is essential to success, and such dogs never bark; they have the
good nose of the one, and the speed of the other. In selecting puppies
it is best to choose rough-coated ones, as they are better able to stand
the exposure of cold, rough nights. Shades of brown and fawn are
preferable for colour, as these best assimilate to the duns and browns
of the fields and woods. The process of training would take long to
describe; but it is wonderful how soon the dog takes on the habits of
its master. They soon learn to slink along by hedge and ditch, and but
rarely shew in the open. They know every field-cut and by-path for
miles, and are as much aware as their masters that county constables
have a nasty habit of loitering about unfrequented lanes at daybreak.
[Illustration]
The difficulty lies not so much in obtaining game as in getting it home
safely; but for all that I was but rarely surprised with game upon me in
this way. Disused buildings, stacks, and dry ditches are made to contain
the "haul" until it can be sent for--an office which I usually got some
of the field-women to perform for me. Failing these, country carriers
and early morning milk-carts were useful. When I was night poaching, it
was important that I should have the earliest intimation of the approach
of a possible enemy, and to secure this the dogs were always trained to
run on a few hundred yards in advance. A well-trained lurcher is almost
infallible in detecting a foe, and upon meeting one he runs back to his
master under cover of the _far side_ of a fence. When the dog came back
to me in this way I lost not a second in accepting the shelter of the
nearest hedge or deepest ditch till the danger was past. If suddenly
surprised and without means of hiding, myself and the dog would make off
in different directions. Then there were times when it was inconvenient
that we should know each other, and upon such occasions the dogs would
not recognise me even upon the strongest provocation.
My best lurchers knew as much of the habits of game as I did. According
to the class of land to be worked they were aware whether hares,
partridges, or rabbits were to constitute the game for the night. They
judged to a nicety the speed at which a hare should be driven to make a
snare effective, and acted accordingly. At night the piercing scream of
a netted hare can be heard to a great distance, and no sound sooner puts
the keeper on the alert.
Consequently, when "puss" puts her neck into a wire, or madly jumps into
a gate-net, the dog is on her in an instant, and quickly stops her
piteous squeal. In field-netting rabbits, lurchers are equally quick,
seeming quite to appreciate the danger of noise. Once only have I heard
a lurcher give mouth. "Rough" was a powerful, deep-chested bitch, but
upon one occasion she failed to jump a stiff, stone fence, with a
nine-pound hare in her mouth. She did not bark, however, until she had
several times failed at the fence, and when she thought her whereabouts
were unknown. Hares and partridges invariably squat on the fallow or in
the stubble when alarmed, and remain absolutely still till the danger is
passed. This act is much more likely to be observed by the dog than its
master, and in such cases the lurchers gently rubbed my shins to apprise
me of the fact. Then I moved more cautiously. Out-lying pheasants,
rabbits in the clumps, red grouse on the heather--the old dog missed
none of them. Every movement was noted, and each came to the capacious
pocket in turn. The only serious fights I ever had were when keepers
threatened to shoot the dogs. This was a serious matter. Lurchers take
long to train, and a keeper's summary proceeding often stops a whole
winter's work, as the best dogs cannot easily be replaced. Many a one of
our craft would as soon have been shot himself as seen his dog
destroyed; and there are few good dogs which have not, at one time or
other, been riddled with pellets during their lawless (save the mark!)
career. If a hare happens to be seen, the dog sometimes works it so
cleverly as to "chop" it in its "form"; and both hares and rabbits are
not unfrequently snapped up without being run at all. In fact,
depredations in fur would be exceedingly limited without the aid of
dogs; and one country squire saved his ground game for a season by
buying my best brace of lurchers at a very fancy price; while upon
another occasion a bench of magistrates demanded to see the dogs of
whose doings they had heard so much. In short, my lurchers at night
embodied all my senses.
Whilst preparing my nets and wires, the dogs would whine impatiently to
be gone. Soon their ears were pricked out on the track, though until
told to leave they stuck doggedly to heel. Soon the darkness would blot
out even the forms of surrounding objects, and our movements were made
more cautiously. A couple of snares are set in gaps in an old thorn
fence not more than a yard apart. These are delicately manipulated, as
we know from previous knowledge that the hare will take one of them. The
black dog is sent over, the younger fawn bitch staying behind. The
former slinks slowly down the field, sticking close to the cover of a
fence running at right angles to the one in which the wires are set. I
have arranged that the wind shall blow from the dog and across to the
hare's seat when the former shall come opposite. The ruse acts; "puss"
is alarmed, but not terrified; she gets up and goes quietly away for the
hedge. The dog is crouched, anxiously watching; she is making right for
the snare, though something must be added to her speed to make the wire
effective. As the dog closes in, I wait, bowed, with hands on knees,
still as death, for her coming. I hear the brush of the grass, the trip,
trip, trip, as the herbage is brushed. There is a rustle among the dead
leaves, a desperate rush, a momentary squeal--and the wire has tightened
round her throat.
Again we trudge silently along the lane, but soon stop to listen. Then
we disperse, but to any on-looker would seem to have dissolved. This dry
ditch is capacious, and its dead herbage tall and tangled. A heavy foot,
with regular beat, approaches along the road, and dies slowly away in
the distance.
Hares love green cornstalks, and a field of young wheat is at hand; I
spread a net, twelve feet by six, at the gate, and at a sign the dogs
depart different ways. Their paths soon converge, for the night is torn
by a piteous cry; the road is enveloped in a cloud of dust; and in the
midst of the confusion the dogs dash over the fence. They must have
found their game near the middle of the field, and driven the hares--for
there are two--so hard that they carried the net right before them;
every struggle wraps another mesh about them, and, in a moment, their
screams are quieted. By a quick movement I wrap the long net about my
arm, and, taking the noiseless sward, get hastily away from the spot.
In March, when hares are pairing, four or five may frequently be found
together in one field. Although wild, they seem to lose much of their
natural timidity, and during this month I usually reaped a rich harvest.
I was always careful to set my wires and snares on the side _opposite_
to that from which the game would come, for this reason--that hares
approach any place through which they are about to pass in a zig-zag
manner. They come on, playing and frisking, stopping now and then to
nibble the herbage. Then they canter, making wide leaps at right angles
to their path, and sit listening upon their haunches. A freshly
impressed footmark, the scent of dog or man, almost invariably turns
them back. Of course these traces are certain to be left if the snare be
set on the _near_ side of the gate or fence, and then a hare will refuse
to take it, even when hard pressed. Now here is a wrinkle to any keeper
who cares to accept it. Where poaching is prevalent and hares abundant,
_every hare on the estate should be netted_, for it is a fact well known
to every poacher versed in his craft, that an escaped hare that has
once been netted can never be retaken. The process, however, will
effectually frighten a small percentage of hares off the land
altogether.
[Illustration]
The human scent left at gaps and gateways by ploughmen, shepherds, and
mouchers, the wary poacher will obliterate by driving sheep over the
spot before he begins operations. On the sides of fells and uplands
hares are difficult to kill. This can only be accomplished by swift
dogs, which are taken _above_ the game. Puss is made to run down-hill,
when, from her peculiar formation, she goes at a disadvantage.
Audacity almost invariably stands the poacher in good stead. Here is an
actual incident. I knew of a certain field of young wheat in which was
several hares--a fact observed during the day. This was hard by the
keeper's cottage, and surrounded by a high fence of loose stones. It
will be seen that the situation was somewhat critical, but that night my
nets were set at the gates through which the hares always made. To drive
them the dog was to range the field, entering it at a point furthest
away from the gate. I bent my back in the road a yard from the wall to
aid the dog. It retired, took a mighty spring, and barely touching my
shoulders, bounded over the fence. The risk was justified by the haul,
for that night I bagged nine good hares.
Owing to the scarcity of game, hare-poaching is now hardly worth
following, and I believe that what is known as the _Ground Game Act_ is
mainly responsible for this. A country Justice, who has often been my
friend when I was sadly in need of one, asked me why I thought the Hares
and Rabbits Act had made both kinds of fur scarcer. I told him that the
hare would become abundant again if it were not beset by so many
enemies. Since 1880 it has had no protection, and the numbers have gone
down amazingly. A shy and timid animal, it is worried through every
month of the year. It does not burrow, and has not the protection of the
rabbit. Although the colour of its fur resembles that of the dead grass
and herbage among which it lies, yet it starts from its "form" at the
approach of danger, and from its size makes an easy mark. It is not
unfrequently "chopped" by sheep-dogs, and in certain months hundreds of
leverets perish in this way. Hares are destroyed wholesale during the
mowing of the grass and the reaping of the corn. For a time in summer,
leverets especially seek this kind of cover, and farmers and
farm-labourers kill numbers with dog and gun--and this at a time when
they are quite unfit for food. In addition to these causes of scarcity
there are others well known to sportsmen. When harriers hunt late in the
season--as they invariably do now-a-days--many leverets are "chopped,"
and for every hare that goes away three are killed in the manner
indicated. At least, that is my experience while mouching in the wake of
the hounds. When hunting continues through March, master and huntsman
assert that this havoc is necessary in order to kill off superabundant
jack-hares, and so preserve the balance of stock. Doubtless there was
reason in this argument before the present scarcity, but now there is
none. March, too, is a general breeding month, and the hunting of
doe-hares entails the grossest cruelty. Coursing is confined within no
fixed limits, and is prolonged far too late in the season. What has been
said of hunting applies to coursing, and these things sportsmen can
remedy if they wish. There is more unwritten law in connection with
British field-sports than any other pastime; but obviously it might be
added to with advantage. If something is not done the hare will
assuredly become extinct. To prevent this a "close time" is, in the
opinion of those best versed in woodcraft, absolutely necessary. The
dates between which the hare would best be protected are the first of
March and the first of August. Then we would gain all round. The recent
relaxation of the law has done something to encourage poaching, and
poachers now find pretexts for being on or about land which before were
of no avail, and to the moucher accurate observation by day is one of
the essentials to success.
Naturalists ought to know best; but there has been more unnatural
history written concerning hares than any other British animal. It is
said to produce two young ones at a birth, but observant poachers know
that from three to five leverets are not unfrequently found: then it is
stated that hares breed twice, or at most thrice, a year. Anyone,
however, who has daily observed their habits, knows that there are but
few months in which leverets are not born. In mild winters young ones
are found in January and February, whilst in March they have become
common. They may be seen right on through summer and autumn, and last
December I saw a brace of leverets a month old. Does shot in October are
sometimes found to be giving milk, and in November old hares are not
unfrequently noticed in the same patch of cover. These facts would seem
to point to the conclusion that the hare propagates its species almost
the whole year round--a startling piece of evidence to the older
naturalists. Add to this that hares pair when a year old, that gestation
lasts only thirty days, and it will be seen what a possibly prolific
animal the hare may be. The young are born covered with fur, and after a
month leave their mother to seek their own subsistence.
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