SUGGESTIONS TO SPORTSMEN.
The word “sport” has been more abused, ill-treated, and misapplied than
any other in our language; of a high, pure, and noble signification, it
has been debased to unworthy objects; of a restricted and refined
significance, it has been extended to a mass of improper matters; from
its natural elegant appropriateness, it has been degraded to vulgar and
dishonest associations.
The miserable wretch who lives on the most contemptible passion in human
nature, and with practised skill cheats those who would cheat
him--winning by the unfair rules of games, so-called, of chance--or,
with less conscience, converting that chance into a certainty, calls
himself a sporting man. The individual who, having trained a horse up to
the finest condition of activity and endurance, drives or rides him
under lash and spur round a course to win a sum of money, although he
may call himself a sportsman, is really a business man. The daring
backwoodsman of the Far West, who follows the fleet elk or timid deer,
and who attacks the formidable buffalo or grizzly bear, is less a
sportsman than a mighty hunter; the man who shoots with a view of
selling his game is a market-gunner; and he who kills that he may eat is
a pot-hunter.
The sportsman pursues his game for pleasure; he does not aspire to
follow the grander animals of the chase, makes no profit of his success,
giving to his friends more than he retains, shoots invariably upon the
wing, and never takes a mean advantage of bird or man. It is his pride
to kill what he does kill elegantly, scientifically, and mercifully.
Quantity is not his ambition; he never slays more than he can use; he
never inflicts an unnecessary pang or fires an unfair shot.
The man who, happening to find birds plentiful in warm weather, and,
after murdering all that he can, leaves them to spoil, is no more a
sportsman than he who fires into a huddled bevy of quail, or who
considers every bird as representing so much money value, and to be
converted into it as soon as possible.
The sportsman is generous to his associate, not seeking to obtain the
most shots, but giving away the advantage in that particular, and
recovering it if possible by superiority of aim; for although to be a
sportsman a person must naturally be an enthusiast, he should never
forget what he owes to his friend, and above all what he owes to
himself.
Boys and Germans need not imagine that killing robins or blackbirds on
trees, no matter how numerously, is sport. Robins and blackbirds, the
latter especially, if the old song is to be believed, make dainty pies,
but do not constitute an object of pursuit to the sportsman. Diminutive
birds shot sitting are as far beneath sport as gigantic wild animals
shot standing or running are above it. The only objects of the
sportsman’s pursuit are the game birds; not in the confined sense used
in old times by the English, when the very prince of all--the
woodcock--was excluded from the list, but embracing every bird, fit for
the table, that is habitually shot on the wing. Many of these, perhaps
the finest, gamest, and bravest, are shot over dogs, where the wonderful
instinct of the animal aids the intelligence of the human; but whether
followed by the faithful setter, or lured to bobbing decoy; killed from
points where, prone in the reeds, the eager sportsman, insensible to
cold or wet, at the grey of dawn or dusk of night, awaits his prey; or
from the convenient blind which the deluded birds approach without
suspicion, or pursued with horse and wagon on the open plain--these all
are game birds, and he who follows them legitimately is a sportsman.
Wild birds, like the tame ones, are given for man’s use, and the best
use that can be made of them is the one that will confer most health,
nourishment, and happiness on mankind. Fanatics imagine that although
birds may be killed, it must be done only to furnish food; as if there
was nothing beyond eating in this world, and as if contribution to
health were not as essential as supplies to the stomach. The two may and
should be combined; a man who is hungry may kill that he may be
satisfied, the man who is sickly may kill that he may recover--neither
may kill in excess; and a third may kill lest he become sick, provided
nothing is injured that is not used.
Death before the muzzle of a gun, in the hands of an experienced
marksman, when the body of the charge striking the object terminates
life instantly--and even when, in the hands of a bungler, the wounded
bird is not put out of his pain till he is retrieved--is far more
merciful than after capture in a trap, accompanied with agonies of
apprehension and perhaps days of starvation, till the thoughtless boy
shall remember his snare and awkwardly end life. The birds of the air
and beasts of the field are given for man’s use and advantage, whether
domesticated, or wild as they once all were; and if they serve to supply
him with food or healthful exercise, and especially if they do both,
they have answered their purpose. It is certainly no more brutalizing to
shoot them on the wing or in the open field, when they have a reasonable
chance to escape, than to wring their necks in the barn-yard, or knock
them on the head with an axe.
To become a sportsman, the first thing to acquire--provided nature has
kindly furnished the proper groundwork of heart and body, without which
little can be done--is the art of shooting. A few, very few men become,
through fortuitous circumstances of nature and practice, splendid shots;
many shoot well, and some cannot shoot at all. The author of this work
has handled a gun from his twelfth year, and been out with thousands of
sportsmen, but he never yet saw a dead shot--one who can kill every
time.
Crack shots, however, are numerous; and include, according to Frank
Forester, those who, in covert and out of covert, the season through,
will kill three out of five of the birds that rise fairly within range;
but in the opinion of the author, the application should be extended to
any man who can kill two out of five on an average. This calculation,
however, has no reference to fair shots; every bird that rises within
twenty-five yards and is seen, though it be but for an instant, and many
that rise at thirty-five yards, are to be counted.
In our country there is so much covert, that the man who picks his birds
and only fires at open chances, is a potterer, unworthy even of the
common-place name of gunner; he has nothing of the sportsman and little
of the man about him. Afraid to miss, anxious to boast of his skill,
desirous of surpassing his friends, he unites the qualities of braggart
and sneak.
Be liberal in your shots; do not grudge ammunition, nor dread the
disgrace of a miss--the disgrace of eluding the trial is far greater;
and no man who waits for open shots, and acquires a hesitating manner,
will ever effect anything brilliant. If you miss, there are always
plenty of excellent excuses at hand--your foot slipped, the bird dodged,
a tree intervened; or, you hit him hard, cut out his feathers, or even
killed him stone dead, but he did not fall at once. If you doubt the
validity of these excuses, go out with the best shot you know and
observe whether he does not furnish you with ten times the number in a
week.
Now, the author cannot shoot, and never could; but he manages to bring
home as many quail, wood cock, snipe, rail, ruffed grouse, and ducks, on
the average, as any of his friends. He observes that most of them miss
as often as he does, with no better excuses, and some far oftener; but
still he never, to the best of his belief, saw the season during which
he killed--that is, bagged--one-half of the birds he shot at. Some
professionals, of course, shoot at one kind of game wonderfully; the
gunners of Long Island Bay are astoundingly accurate on wild-fowl, but
would not kill one quail in a week; while some men who could scarcely
touch a duck, handle their guns splendidly in the thickest cover.
Professionals, however, usually yield the best chances to their
employers, and may be more skilful than they seem; but among amateurs
the author claims a rank that will at least entitle him to judge of
others.
The majority of persons rarely consider how many birds escape, without
the fault of the marksman; at over thirty yards the best gun, especially
when a little dirty, will leave openings in the charge where a bird may
be hit with only one shot, if at all. Ducks, the larger bay-snipe,
ruffed grouse, and, above all, quail late in the season, will carry off
several shots--flying away apparently unhurt, although in the end they
may fall dead. If the gun was held perfectly straight this would happen
less frequently; but to so hold it is almost impossible, for no living
man could kill, once in a dozen times, a flying bird with a single ball;
and even then the probabilities are, that a yellow-leg snipe shot at
more than thirty-five yards off, would once in five times carry away the
few pellets that may strike him; and at forty yards escape entirely
untouched. If the reader will select the best target his gun can make
with an ounce of No. 8 shot at forty yards, and see how many spaces
there are entirely vacant large enough to contain a snipe, he will be
convinced that the above statement is correct; and at fifty yards, the
chances are three to one against the marksman. Sir Francis Francis, who
is a good authority in England, says, that to kill one bird in two shots
is good shooting; and there the grounds are almost always open, while
the reverse is the case with us.
Do not be discouraged, therefore, if the sun gets in your eyes, your
foot slips, the bird dodges, a few floating feathers are the only result
of your effort, or you make a clean miss; others do the same. Neither
lose your temper nor curse your luck, as by so doing you may excite your
nerves and injure your shooting, and cannot improve it. Be cool, never
shoot without an attempt at aim, if it is only where the bird
disappeared; take your disappointments pleasantly, strive to do your
best, and you will improve.
Many ducks fly at least ninety miles an hour; that is, twenty-six
hundred yards a minute, or forty-four yards a second; if, therefore, a
duck starts at your feet with that velocity, and you require a second to
cover him, he will be out of range; or if he is flying across, and you
dwell one forty-fourth part of a second on your aim, you will miss him.
A quail, late in the season, flies as fast as this, and rises with a
rapidity equal to his flight. He is often found in coverts, dodges and
twists with remarkable skill and judgment, frequently flies off in a
direct line behind the thickest bush, and requires the perfection of
training to bring down with certainty. These are difficulties that
patience alone can overcome; for if shooting were simple, there would be
no art or pleasure in it.
All books on sporting tell you to fire ahead of cross shots, and in this
they are right; but the reason they give is, that time is necessary for
the shot to reach the object--in this they are wrong; shot moves
infinitely faster than the bird, and for practical purposes, reaches its
mark instantaneously. Human nerves and muscles, however, are imperfect,
and it requires an instant, an important one, to discharge the gun after
the aim is taken. The result, therefore, is the same, and you must
endeavor to shoot ahead of the bird; and if he is flying fast, far ahead
of him. If the motion of the object is followed and the gun kept moving
before the discharge, some writers allege no allowance need be made, but
it is so difficult not to pause slightly, that it is better in all cases
to allow some inches.
To follow the motion of a very fast-flying bird, is almost, if not quite
impossible, and the attempt to do so at all, is apt to create a popping
habit. When a broad-bill, driving before a strong north-wester, darts
past, the best plan is to try and fire many feet, even ten or fifteen,
ahead of him; and then you will rarely succeed in discharging your piece
before he is abreast of the muzzle, and frequently will lag behind him.
The aim must be taken on the line of flight, and a little attention will
convince you that the bird is up with the sight ere the trigger is
fairly pulled. A knowledge of this principle, and an ability to practise
it, may be said to be the art of duck-shooting; as in that there are a
vast majority of cross shots, and the birds fly rapidly.
There is an erroneous idea that the eye must be lowered close down to
the breech, in order to have a correct aim; but, while it is apparent if
the neck is not bent at all there can be no aim, a slight inaccuracy
will not only make no difference, but will give an advantage by throwing
the shot high. It will be perceived, on fastening the gun in an
immovable position, that the eye may be moved from near one hammer to
the other, and the aim altered but a few inches, on an object thirty
yards distant--an inaccuracy, considering the spread of shot, which is
utterly unimportant.
So also, although by the attraction of gravitation the charge falls
somewhat, the deflection is too inconsiderable to merit attention.
After watching himself carefully, reading what the best authors have
written, and comparing experiences with his friends, the author has
concluded that experienced sportsmen miss from hesitation in pulling the
trigger, dwelling on the aim, and nervously shrinking from the recoil.
The first fault arises from some temporary or permanent condition of
mind or body, the second from anxiety to make assurance doubly sure, and
the last from habit.
If a man is naturally slow he can never shoot fast-flying birds, but if
his fingers are stiff from cold he can warm them. A resolution to fire
boldly, and not to dread missing, will cure the over-anxiety that
destroys its own intent, but to meet the recoil without giving to it, or
pushing against it, which is the more common mistake, is often extremely
difficult. This unfortunate habit, occurring at the moment of highest
excitement amid the noise and smoke, is rarely noticed by the guilty
party, and some will at first stoutly deny its existence.
To mind the recoil of a gun seems pusillanimous, and few can believe,
till assured by actual experiment, that it equals sixty or seventy
pounds, and will crush the bones of the body if immovably fixed. Let the
reader observe the next time that his gun is unwittingly left at
half-cock, how far he will pull it out of aim, and how he will push
against it, when attempting to discharge it at game. An acquaintance of
the writer, who would scout the idea of being affected by the recoil of
his gun, and indeed would have sworn “it did not kick a bit,” was once
chasing a diver on a placid, sluggish stream, in a dug-out. When the
bird rose close to the boat, the sportsman was standing erect, poising
himself with care in the unsteady craft, but as he pulled the trigger he
instinctively pushed so hard, that, as the cap snapped, he lost his
balance, upset the canoe, and pitched forward head-foremost overboard!
Probably one half of the fair shots that are missed escape on account of
this unfortunate nervousness; and it is a habit that can only be cured
by incessant care and unrelated watchfulness. Anything that affects the
nerves, as smoking or drinking, increases the difficulty, and the sudden
flushing of a bird will cause it. Unhappily it is apt to be most
prevalent when the shooting is good and the sportsman excited, thus
ruining many of his best days. With heavy loads, or what is known as a
kicking gun, the error will be aggravated; and most persons have no idea
of the proper proportions of powder and shot, putting in immense
quantities of the latter and sparing the former.
The true load for a gun not exceeding eight pounds in weight, regardless
of its size or bore, is one ounce and a quarter of shot and three
drachma of the strongest powder, or three and a half drachms of common
powder. The same proportion should be retained if the gun is heavier or
the charge increased. Where more shot is used power is lost and recoil
aggravated; and if the powder is not augmented one ounce of shot will do
better execution than two.
Many persons who have ascertained this fact and practise upon it, will
inform you that they drive their shot through the birds, and
consequently kill them instantly. This is a mistake; small shot are
rarely, if ever, driven through a bird; but where the force is
increased the blow is much harder, and stuns. It is the velocity rather
than the size or number of the shot that tells. A soldier in battle was
struck on the belt-plate by a spent minié bullet not a half inch in
diameter, and he described himself as feeling that he had been torn to
pieces, and that a cannon-ball had gone directly through his body.
The size of the shot is to be proportioned to the size of the
bird--weight, of course, being an element of power and telling on each
individual pellet--but the more the aggregate amount can be reduced the
less the recoil. Six drachms of powder and one ounce of shot, will not
occasion as much recoil as three drachms of powder and an ounce and a
half of shot.
The gun should always be held firmly to the shoulder, and the shoulder
never rested against a solid substance; indeed, the collar-bone may be
broken by simply firing directly upwards. Therefore, never fire in the
air while lying on your back upon the ground, and be careful when
shooting at ducks from a boat not to support yourself upon the latter.
If the reader still doubts the universally disastrous effects of
cringing at the moment of discharge, let him have an assistant to load
the gun out of sight, who without his knowledge shall vary the load, and
occasionally put in none at all. Then let the reader fire at a mark, and
in spite of the efforts which he will naturally make, he will find when
there is no load, and consequently nothing to distract his attention,
that he does shrink, and pull the muzzle somewhat off the object.
This book is not written for beginners; there are plenty of works with
every variety of instruction in them, and the reader is supposed to have
read them, digested their contents, acquired a knowledge of the gun, and
some skill in its use, and to have been frequently in the field, but to
be perfect neither in the use of the gun, nor the practice of the
sportsman’s art. There are, however, a few simple suggestions that may
prove valuable, not only in acquiring the ability to shoot, but in
restoring it where, from want of practice, it has diminished.
The sportsman must be as quick and ready in handling his gun as the
juggler in handling his tools; he must be able to bring it to his
shoulder and point the muzzle at a stationary mark simultaneously, to
aim in every direction with equal facility, and to follow a moving
object accurately. This is merely mechanical, and is acquired, like
every other mechanical art, by dint of practice.
Some writers recommend firing at turnips tossed through the air by an
assistant, and this is well; but an equally advantageous plan is to
throw a soft ball about a room and take aim at it, pulling the trigger
every time, with an unloaded and uncocked gun. The sole, but important,
recommendation of this idea is, that it may be carried out anywhere and
at all seasons, and if the reader will try it daily for a week before
going into the field, he will perceive the effects.
So also, to acquire quickness: if the reader will throw two small
objects--pennies, or the like--into the air, and endeavor to aim at or
hit them both before they reach the ground, he will in a short time
obtain such facility that he will be able to lay down his gun, and after
throwing the pennies, to pick it up and hit them both twice out of three
times.
To shoot at pigeons from a trap, robins from trees, and even swallows on
the wing, although the practice differs greatly from shooting at game,
is useful to a certain extent; but steady and long-continued practice of
this nature is injurious rather than beneficial. It is somewhat
notorious that the celebrated pigeon-shots are generally poor marksmen
in the field, and entirely at a loss in thick covert.
After all, however, the best place to learn the use of the gun, while it
is by all odds the pleasantest, is in the field; where, amid the
thousand beauties of nature, and under the excitement of the presence of
game, the sportsman by slow degrees overcomes the innumerable
difficulties that surround the art of shooting flying.
Closely allied to skill in killing the right object is the ability to
avoid killing the wrong one. A gun is extremely dangerous--how much so
is known only to those who have handled it long; in spite of the best
care it will occasionally go off at unexpected times, and in careless
hands is sure, sooner or later, to do terrible damage. Every possible
precaution must be taken, vigilance must never be relaxed, the muzzle
must under no circumstances point towards the owner or his companions;
if two men are crawling through thick brush, the gun of the first must
point forwards, and of the last, backwards; the caps of muzzle-loaders
should be removed on getting into a wagon, and when the loaded weapon is
left in a house the hammers ought never to be left down on the caps;
but, above all, no man who is not in search of an early grave should
pull a gun towards him by the barrels.
These rules are simple, and the reasons for them apparent; if the hammer
is on the cap, a blow on it, or its catching on a twig, will discharge
the load; if a horse runs away, as horses have an unpleasant habit of
doing, even if the lock is at half-cock, the tumbler may be broken down;
if a gun is capped in a house, every one but an idiot knows it is
loaded; and if it is drawn towards a person--as will be often done by
thoughtless people in taking it from a wagon or lifting it from a boat
or from the ground--it is almost sure to go off.
In the field it should be earned either at whole or half-cock;
authorities differ as to which of these two modes is the safer. If the
hammer is at full cock, a touch on the trigger will set it loose; if it
is at half-cock, in the excitement of cocking it when a bird rises
unexpectedly, it will often slip unintentionally. I prefer the former
method, believing that the sense of danger makes the person more
careful, and that the risk of a twig’s touching the trigger in spite of
the trigger-guard is very slight, while the weapon is ready for instant
use, and only has to be pointed at the object and discharged. Moreover,
I have twice seen a gun that was at half-cock discharged when the
sportsman was in the act of cocking it hastily, and twice when putting
it back to half-cock; but the piece should never for a moment be trusted
out of the sportsman’s hands without his first putting it at half-cock;
nor should he ever cross a fence without the same precaution. In
changing from whole to half-cock, pass the hammer below the first notch,
so as to hear a distinct click when it is drawn back.
Countrymen when about to walk a log over a rapid stream, will usually
carefully put the hammers down on the caps, and placing the butt on the
log, steady themselves by it, thus insuring their destruction if they
should happen to slip; and if they stand on a fence they do the same
thing, and rest the stock on the upper rail. Not only should such
follies be avoided, but the gun should never be leaned against a tree,
as thoughtless people are apt to do when they stop at a spring to drink,
and never placed where it can slip or roll.
When you desire to reload a muzzle-loader, put the hammer of the loaded
barrel at half-cock, and if the right barrel has been discharged, set
down the butt so that the hammers are towards you, and the contrary way
if the left barrel is to be loaded; in this manner you will avoid
bringing your hand over the loaded barrel, and in case the other charge
should go off you would lose the end of your thumb, perhaps, but save
most of your fingers.
From the foregoing rules, which apply mainly to muzzle-loaders, it will
be seen how much safer are breech-loaders; with them the entire charge
can be withdrawn on entering a house or getting into a wagon, and there
is absolutely no danger to fingers or thumb in the process of loading.
And in carrying the weapon on long tramps in the woods, where it is
frequently removed from boat to shoulder, from shoulder to boat, and
from wagon to case, and when it has to be ready at any instant, with the
muzzle-loader the only possible precaution is to leave the nipples
without caps, which are to be carried in the vest pocket, and must be
removed after every vain alarm; while with the breech-loader, the charge
itself is not inserted till needed.
With these few suggestions, which are applicable not merely to the kinds
of sport treated of in this volume, but to every species of shooting, we
leave the young sportsman to his own resources and to the knowledge that
he will acquire in the field, hoping that he may find something in them
that will aid him to kill reasonably often the game he points at, and to
avoid the dreadful misfortune of injuring a friend or companion.