POACHERS AND POACHING.--II.
The confines of a large estate constitute a poacher's paradise; for
although partridge and grouse require land suited to their taste,
rabbits and pheasants are common to all preserved ground. Since the
reclamation of much wild land these latter afford his chief spoil. And
then rabbits may be taken at any time of the year and in so many
different ways. They are abundant, too, and always find a ready market.
The penalties attached to rabbit poaching are less than those of game,
and the vermin need not be followed into closely preserved coverts. The
extermination of the rabbit will be contemporaneous with that of the
lurcher and poacher--two institutions of English village life which
date back to the planting the New Forest. Of the many modes of taking
the "coney," ferreting and field-netting are the most common. Traps
with steel jaws are sometimes set in their runs, and are inserted in
the turf so as to bring them level with the sward. But destruction by
this method is not sufficiently wholesale, and the upturned white under
parts show too plainly against the green. The poacher's methods must be
quick, and he cannot afford to visit by day traps set in the dark. When
the unscrupulous keeper finds a snare he sometimes puts a leveret into
it, and secretes himself. He then waits, and captures the poacher "in
the act." As with some other methods already mentioned, the trap
poacher is only a casual. Ferreting is silent and usually successful.
In warrens, both inequalities of the ground and mounds and ditches
afford cover for the poacher. A tangled hedge bank with tunnellings and
coarse herbage is always a favourite spot. There are generally two and
often half-a-dozen holes in the same burrow. Small purse nets are
spread over these, and the poacher prefers them loose to being pegged
or fixed in any way. When the nets are set the ferrets are taken from
the moucher's capacious pockets and turned in. They do not proceed
immediately, but sniff the mouth of the hole; their decision is only
momentary for soon the tips of their tails disappear in the darkness.
Now, above all times, silence is essential. Rabbits refuse to bolt if
there is noise outside. A dull thud, a rush, and a rabbit goes rolling
over and over entangled in the net; one close after it gets clear away.
Reserve nets are quickly clapped to the holes as the rabbits bolt,
these invariably being taken, except where a couple come together.
Standing on the mound a shot would stop these as they go bounding
through the dead leaves; but this would bring up the keeper, and so the
poacher practices self-denial. Unlike hares, rabbits rarely squeal when
they become entangled; and this allows the poacher to ferret long and
silently. Rabbits that refuse to take the net are sometimes eaten into
by the ferret, but still refuse to bolt. If a rabbit makes along a
blind burrow followed by a ferret, the former is killed, and the latter
gluts itself upon the body. When this occurs it is awkward for the
poacher; the ferret in such case usually curls itself up and goes to
sleep; left to itself it might stay in the hole for days; and so it has
either to be dug or starved out. Both processes are long, the burrows
ramify far into the bank, and it is not certainly known in which the
ferret remains.
The poacher's wholesale method of night poaching for rabbits is by
means of two long nets. These are set parallel to each other along the
edge of a wood, and about thirty yards out into the field or pasture.
Only about four inches divides the nets. A clear star-lit night is best
for the work, and at the time the nets are set the ground game is far
out feeding. The nets are long--the first small in mesh, that
immediately behind it large. When a hare or rabbit strikes, the impetus
takes a part of the first net and its contents through the larger mesh
of the second, and there hanging, the creature struggles until it is
knocked on the head with a stick. Immediately the nets are set two men
and a couple of lurchers begin to range the ground in front--slowly and
patiently, gradually driving every feeding thing woodwards. A third man
quietly paces the sward behind the nets, killing whatever game strikes
them. And in this way hundreds of rabbits may be, and are, taken in a
single night. Some years ago half-a-dozen young rabbits appeared in our
meadow-lot which were of the ordinary grey with large white patches.
Whilst feeding these stood out conspicuously from the rest; they were
religiously preserved. Of these parti-coloured ones a normal number is
now kept up, and as poachers rarely discriminate, whenever they
disappear, it is _primâ facie_ evidence that night work is going
on.
Of all poaching that of pheasants is the most beset with difficulty;
and the pheasant poacher is usually a desperate character. Many methods
can be successfully employed, and the pheasant is rather a stupid bird.
Its one great characteristic is that of wandering, and this cannot be
prevented. Although fed daily, and with the daintiest food, the birds,
singly or in pairs, may frequently be seen far from the home covers. Of
course the poacher knows this, and is quick to use his knowledge. It by
no means follows that the man who rears the pheasants will have the
privilege of shooting them. In autumn, when beechmast and acorns begin
to fall, the pheasants make daily journeys in search of them; and of
these they consume great quantities. They feed principally in the
morning, dust themselves in the turnip-fields at noon, and ramble
through the woods in the afternoon; and when wandered birds find
themselves in outlying copses in the evening they are apt to roost
there.
It need hardly be said that pheasants are generally reared close to the
keeper's cottage; that their coverts immediately surround it. Most
commonly it is a gang of armed ruffians that enter these, and not the
country poacher. Then there are reasons for this. Opposition must
always be anticipated, for the covert should never be, and rarely is,
unwatched. And then there are the results of capture to be taken into
account. This effected, and with birds in his possession, the poacher
is liable to be indicted upon so many charges, each and all having
heavy penalties.
When wholesale pheasant poaching is prosecuted by gangs, it is in
winter, when the trees are bare. Guns, the barrels of which are filed
down so as to shorten them, are taken in sacks, and the birds are shot
where they roost. Their bulky forms stand sharply outlined against the
sky, and they are often on the lower branches. If the firing does not
immediately bring up the keepers, the game is quickly deposited in bags
and the gang makes off. It not unfrequently happens that a light cart
is waiting to receive the men at some grassy lane end. But the moucher
obtains his game in a quieter way. He eschews the preserves, and looks
up outlying birds. He always carries a pocketful of corn, and day by
day entices the birds further and further away. This accomplished he
may snare them; and take them in iron traps. He sometimes uses a gun,
but only when other methods have failed. A common and successful way he
has is to light brimstone beneath the trees in which the pheasants
roost. The powerful fumes soon overpower the birds, and they come
flapping down the trees one by one. This method has the advantage of
silence, and if the night is still need not be detected. Away from the
preserves time is no object, and so the moucher who works
systematically, and is content with a brace of birds at a time, usually
gets the most in the end, with least chance of capture. The pugnacity
of the pheasant is well known to him, and out of this trait he makes
capital. When the whereabouts of the keeper is known, he takes under
his arm a game cock fitted with artificial spurs. These are attached to
the natural ones, are sharp as needles, and the bird is trained how to
use them. Upon the latter's crowing one or more cock pheasants
immediately respond and advance to meet the adversary. A single blow
usually suffices to lay low the pride of the pheasant, and in this way
half-a-dozen birds may often be taken whilst the poacher's
representative remains unhurt.
The most cruelly ingenious plan adopted by poachers, however, is also
one of the most successful. If time and opportunity offer, there is
scarcely any limit to the depredations which it allows. A number of
dried peas are taken and steeped in boiling water; a hole is then made
through the centre with a needle or some sharp instrument, and through
this a stiff bristle is threaded. The ends are cut off short, leaving
only about a quarter of an inch of bristle projecting at each end. With
these the birds are fed, and are greedily eaten. In passing down the
gullet, however, a violent irritation is set up, and the pheasant is
finally choked.
The birds are picked up in a dying condition from beneath the hedges,
to which shelter they almost always run. The plan is a quiet one; may
be adopted in roads and lanes where the birds dust themselves, and does
not require trespass.
The methods here set forth both with regard to pheasants and rabbits
are those ordinarily in use. In connection with the former it might
have been remarked that the gamekeeper sometimes outwits the poacher by
a device which is now of old standing. Knowing well from what quarter
the depredators will enter the woods, wooden blocks representing
roosting birds are nailed to the branches of the open beeches. The
poacher rarely fires at these "dummies," and it is only with the casual
that the ruse works. He fires, brings the keepers out of their hiding
places and so is entrapped.
It need hardly be said that our poacher is a compound of many
individuals--the type of a numerous class. The tinge of rustic romance
to which we have already referred as exhibited in his character may
have been detected in his goings. And we may at once say that he in
nowise resembles the armed ruffian who, masked and with murderous
intent, enters the covert at night. Although his life is one long
protest against the game laws, he is not without a rude code of
morality. He complains bitterly of the decrease of game, and that the
profession is hardly now worth following. Endowed with marked
intelligence, it has never been directed aright. His knowledge of
woodcraft is superior to that of the gamekeeper, which personage he
holds in contempt. He quietly boasts of having outwitted the keepers a
hundred times. The "Otter" is chary as to those he takes into
confidence, and knows that silence is essential to success. He points
to the "Mole,"--the mouldy _sobriquet_ of a compatriot--as an
instance of one who tells poaching secrets to village gossips. The
"Mole" spends most of his time in the county gaol, and is now
undergoing incarceration for the fifty-seventh time. Our "Otter" has
certainly been caught, but the occasions of his capture form but a
small percentage of the times he has been "out." He is a healthy
example of pure animalism, and his rugged nature has much in common
with the animals and birds. As an accurately detailed reflection of
nature, his monograph of any one of our British game-birds would excel
even those of Mr. Jefferies himself; yet of culture he hasn't an idea.
He admires the pencilled plumage of a dead woodcock, and notes how
marvellously it conforms to the grey-brown herbage among which it lies.
So, too, with the eggs of birds. He remarks on the conformation to
environment--of partridge and pheasant, the olive colour to the dead
oak leaves; of snipe and plover to the mottled marsh; of duck and water
fowl to the pale green reeds.
As to his morality with regard to the game laws, it would be difficult
to detect exactly where he draws the line. He lives for these to be
repealed, but his native philosophy tells him that when this time comes
game will have become well nigh extinct. Upon the Ground Game Act he
looks with mingled feelings, for, after all, are not rabbits and hares
the chief product of his nights? The farmers now get these, and the
poacher's field is limited. They engage him, maybe, to stay the ravages
upon clover and young wheat, or to thin the rabbits from out the
pastures. He propitiates the farmer in many ways. Occasionally in the
morning the farm lad finds half-a-dozen rabbits or a hare dropped
behind the barn door. How these came there no one knows--nor asks. The
country attorney is sometimes submitted to a like indignity. In
crossing land the poacher is careful to close gates after him, and he
never breaks down fences. He assists cattle and sheep which he finds in
extremity, and leaves word of the mishap at the farm. Is it likely that
the farmer will dog the steps of the man who protects his property, and
pays tolls for doing it?
And it frequently happens that the poacher is not less popular with the
village community at large than with those whose interests he serves.
It is even asserted that more than one of the county Justices have, in
some sort, a sneaking affection for him. The same wild spirit and love
of sport take him to the fields and woods as his more fortunate
brethren to the moor and covert. It is untrue, as has been said, that
the poacher is always a mercenary wretch who invariably sells his game;
he as frequently sends in a brace of birds or a hare to a poor or sick
neighbour. He comes in contact with the law just sufficient to make him
know something of its bearings. When charged with being in possession
of "game," he reiterates the old argument that rabbits are vermin.
Being committed for four months "for night poaching," he respectfully
informs the presiding Justice that at the time of his capture the sun
had risen two hours, and that the law does not allow more than half the
sentence just passed upon him. The old clerk fumbles for his horn
spectacles, and, after turning over _Stone's Justices' Manual_
solemnly informs the Bench that defendant in his interpretation is
right. He remembers this little episode and chuckles over it. There is
another which is equally marked in his memory. The "Otter" poached long
and successfully ere he was caught, and then was driven into an
ambuscade by a combination of keepers. Exultant at his downfall, the
men of gaiters flocked from every estate in the country-side to witness
his conviction. Some, who had only seen a vanishing form in the
darkness, attended to see the man. This wild spirit of the night was
always followed by an old black bitch. She, too, was produced in court,
and was an object of much curiosity. The "Otter" had been taken in the
act, he told the Bench. "He deserved no quarter and asked none.
Poaching was right by the Bible, but wrong by the Law." One of the
Justices deigned to remark it was a question of "property," not
morality. "Oh!" rejoined the "Otter," "because blue blood doesn't run
in my veins, that's no reason why I shouldn't have my share." And after
a moment's pause: "But it's a queer kind o' property that's yours in
that field, mine in the turnpike, and a third man's over the next
fence."
The end of it was, however, a fine of £5, with an alternative. And so
the case ended. But that day the keepers and their assistants had
forgotten the first principles of watching. The best keeper is the one
that is least seen. Only let the poacher know his whereabouts, and the
latter's work is easy. It was afterwards remarked that during the trial
of the "Otter" not a poacher was in court. This fact in itself was
unusual--and significant. It became more so when he was released by
reason of his heavy fine being paid the same evening. More than one
woman had been seen labouring under loaded baskets near the local game
dealer's, and these were innocently covered with mantling cresses, and
so at the time escaped suspicion. Upon this memorable day the pheasants
had been fed by unseen hands and had vanished. The only traces left by
the covert side were fluffy feathers everywhere. Few hares remained on
the land; these had either been snared or netted at the gates. The
rabbits' burrows had been ferreted, an outhouse near the keeper's
cottage being entered to obtain possession of the ferrets. It need
hardly be said that had the "Otter" been aware he would not have
countenanced these lawless doings of his _confrères_. He claimed
to "poach square," and drew the line at home-reared pheasants, allowing
them "property." Those he found wild in the woods, however, were
_feræ naturæ_, and he directed his engines accordingly.
Every poacher knows that the difficulty lies not so much in obtaining
the game as in transporting it safely home. Their dogs are always
trained to run on a couple of hundred yards in advance, so as to give
warning of anyone's approach. If a police constable or keeper is met on
the highway the dog immediately leaps the fence, and, under its cover,
runs back to its master. Seeing this the game-bag is dropped into a
dry ditch, and dog and man make off in different directions. County
constables loiter about unfrequented lanes and by-paths at daybreak.
The poachers know this and are rarely met with game upon them. Ditches,
stacks, and ricks afford good hiding places until women can be sent to
fetch the spoil. These failing, country carriers and morning milk carts
are useful to the poacher.
In one sleepy village known to us both the rural postman and the parish
clerk were poachers. The latter carried his game in the black bag which
usually held the funeral pall. The smith at the shoeing forge was a
regular receiver, and there were few in the village who had not poached
at some time or other. The cottage women netted fish, and shut the
garden gates on hares and rabbits when they came down to feed in
winter. Upon one occasion a poacher, taking advantage of a country
funeral, had himself and a large haul taken to the nearest market town,
the hearse disgorging its questionable corpse behind the nearest game
shop. Another of the poachers, nicknamed the "gentleman," was wont to
attire himself in broad-brimmed hat and frock coat similar to those
worn a century ago by the people called Quakers. In the former he
carried his nets, and in the capacious pockets of the latter the game
he took. These outward guarantees of good faith away from his own
parish precluded him from ever once being searched.
Of late years egg poaching has been reduced to a science; and this is
one of the worst phases of the whole subject. In certain districts it
is carried on to a large extent, and comes of artificial rearing. The
squire's keeper will give six pence each for pheasants' eggs and four
pence for those of partridges. He often buys eggs (unknowingly, of
course) from his own preserves, as well as from those of his
neighbours. In the hedge bottom, along the covert side, or among gorse
and broom, the poacher notices a pair of partridges roaming morning
after morning. Soon he finds their oak-leaf nest and olive eggs. These
the keeper readily buys; winking at what he knows to be dishonest.
Plough-boys and farm-labourers have peculiar opportunities for
egg-poaching. As to pheasants' eggs, if the keeper is an honest man and
refuses to buy, there are always London dealers who will. Once in the
covert, pheasants' eggs are easily found. The birds get up heavily from
their nests, and go away with a loud whirring of wings. In this species
of poaching women and children are largely employed. At the time the
former are ostensibly gathering sticks, the latter wild flowers. A
receiver has been known to send to London in the course of a week a
thousand eggs--probably every one of them stolen.
When depredations are carried on nightly, or game disappears in large
quantities, warrants are obtained, and search made for nets. Except for
immediate use the poachers seldom keep their nets at home. They are
stowed away in church tower, barn, rick, or out-house. Upon one
occasion it got abroad that the constables would make a raid upon a
certain cottage where a large net was known to be. The dwelling was a
disused toll bar on the turnpike, and commanded a long stretch of road.
The good woman of the house saw the constables approaching, and made
the most of her time. Taking off her gown, she fastened one end of the
net, which was long and narrow, to a projecting crook in the wall; then
retiring to the further side of the kitchen, she attached the other end
of it to the whalebone of her stays, and by turning round and round,
wound the net about her capacious person. When the constables arrived
she accompanied them into every corner of the cottage, but no net could
be found.