THE LONG TRAIL
It was ‘betwixt the lights,’ as he would have said, when the miller
closed the door quietly behind him and made his way among the nut-bushes
to the ford where his search for the otter usually began. No track
marked the ground by the water’s edge, nor was there a sign on any of
the likely spots all the way to the stranded alder, where he sat to rest
awhile before resuming his beat. The pine-tops were then aglow and the
birds in full song, but they meant nothing to him in the mood he was in;
his thoughts, as his words showed, were all for the otter.
‘Not a trace. Pools full of fish, too, and everythin’ as keenly as can
be. Yet I’m sure he’s up, and sartin he’ll be spurred afore the day’s
much older. Wonder who’ll be the lucky man?’
At the thought of his rivals he sprang to his feet and soon had reached
the precipitous bank above the shelving strand where, though so many
landing-places were undisturbed, he had every hope of coming on the
tracks. Most carefully the eager eyes examined every foot of sand
visible between the rowan-trees as, slowly on hands and knees, the
miller advanced towards the bend which commands the likeliest spot of
all. There twenty feet below he saw a salmon lying and, with the same
glance, marked the tracks beside it. The descent of the scarp was nearly
as perilous as the crossing of the current, but he accomplished both
without mishap, and a few seconds later was crouching beside the
footprints.
‘By the life of me they’re his, and not many hours old.’
His face, no less than his agitated voice, showed the wild excitement
that possessed him as he rose and made down the wood as fast as he could
lay foot to ground. When he reached the mill he was almost at his last
gasp, but he bridled and mounted the pony, which he urged to a gallop
through the open gate and up the stony lane. He was on his way to the
squire.
As he rode through the hamlet, where the clatter of the hoofs brought
the villagers to door and window, his cries of ‘Tracked un!’ roused man
and boy to a fever of excitement, and sent the sexton in hot haste to
the belfry to apprize the country-side. The miller, however, leaving
them behind, was soon at the lodge gates. There he nearly frightened old
Jenny into hysterics by his shouts; but she took her revenge, for after
letting him through she shook the keys in his face and screamed after
him, ‘Mad as a curley! mad as a curley!’ until he rounded the bend where
the mansion comes into view. The whole house seemed asleep; but as the
miller crossed the bridge over the moat the squire appeared at a window
and, in a voice that betrayed the tension of his feelings, called out:
‘Where?’
‘Longen Pool, sir.’
‘Fresh?’
‘Last night’s.’
‘Rouse the men, Hicks; we shall need every hand we can muster.’
Before he had got through the plantation on his way to the kennels the
clang of the fire-alarm broke on the still morning air, and when he
returned from his round, squire, whipper-in and hounds were making their
way through the park with a small retinue of servants in their train. At
the hamlet they were joined by the parson, the parish clerk, the
landlord, two sawyers, and six or seven others, and between the pound
and the river by a few crofters, whom the church bell had summoned from
outlying homesteads.
They crossed the water below the pool, the squire examined the tracks,
the hounds were laid on, and the rocky gorge with all the wood about it
immediately resounded with their wild music, while the squire and every
man behind him thrilled at the prospect of at last coming up with the
creature whose movements had so long baffled them. The ground was very
rough, and in parts swampy, yet not a man turned back. That active,
hard-conditioned followers made light of the obstacles and the pace was,
of course, not surprising; but that the landlord, the clerk, and the
chef—short-legged, eleven-score men every one of them—should scramble
over rocks and fallen timber, flounder through thickets and boggy
places, and still hold on, bedraggled and breathless though they were,
testified to the fascination the pursuit of the giant otter had for
them.
Some two miles above Longen Pool the squire caught sight of spraints on
a boulder in the middle of the river, and knew at once from their
position at its upper end that the otter which had dropped them was
travelling down-water. At once he recalled the hounds and began drawing
anew the reaches he had passed. He tried every holt he came to, but
without result.
‘Do you think he’s gone down?’ shouted the squire to the miller across
the river.
‘I don’t, sir. I didn’t find a trace from the ford up, and, as you know,
the hounds didn’t give a sign.’
‘Well, there’s no holding worth the name between here and Longen. Where
can he be?’
The puzzling question was answered by the deep note of Dosmary from an
overgrown watercourse that served to drain the morass. No need was there
for the squire to cry out, ‘Hark to Dosmary’; for the hounds, on hearing
the summons they knew so well, flew to her where she threaded the
reed-bed before taking the steep leading to the moor. Then up the all
but bare face the twenty couple made their way in a long winding line.
Close after the hindmost pressed the squire, the parson and five others,
all sound of wind and limb, capable of holding on to the end of the
promontory, if need be. Not a word passed until the hounds had crossed
the stream where it was thought the otter might have laid up, and then
only ‘Liddens, men,’ and ‘Ay, sir!’ from the moorman in response. Even
the sight of the otter’s footprints in the next hollow drew no remark;
though it caused an unconscious quickening of the step up the long,
heathery slope, from whose brow the sea showed beyond the hazy outline
of the land. Wide on either hand rose grim piles of rock, where down
this avenue of cairns the seven, comrades on many a trail, sped in the
wake of the pack towards the Liddens, shimmering in the distance.
But if the seven were elated as never before, there was one on the far
side of the moor who was suffering a bitter disappointment. It was the
old marshman. He too had discovered the tracks of the otter and, full of
his tidings, had driven to the mansion as fast as his Neddy could cover
the ground, only to learn from the butler that squire and hounds had
already been summoned and gone off to the river. Staggering though the
blow was, he bore up till beyond the gates; but on the open moor he
broke down, said it was a judgment on him for tracking the varmint in
the snow, and let the donkey find the way home as best it could. When
they reached the cottage he set the animal loose, tried in vain to shake
off his trouble by overhauling the trimmers, and finally sat down on a
bench, with his back to the mud wall and his face to the marsh. It was
green and gold with the swords and banners of the iris; the air was
drowsy with the hum of bees and the sea murmured on the bar; yet the old
man noted nothing of it. His thoughts, too, were all of the otter; he
was busy trying to reconcile the seemingly contradictory discovery of
the tracks in two places so far apart. ‘’Tes a job to piece ’em together
with leagues—iss, leagues—of moor between. Why, look here. ’Tes all
eight miles from the revur to the Liddens, and a good three as the hern
flies from the Liddens to the ma’sh; a long journey, an unaccountable
long journey for a crittur that edn framed for travellin’. On a
midsummer night, too, and he more afeard of the glim o’ day than a
cheeld of the dark. And then to turn his back on the salmin for the
pike, and they poor as can be from spawnin’. Why, the thing edn in
reason. But, theere, what’s the use of wastin’ breeth when he’s done it?
For the prents are hisn and none other, and nawthin’ could be fresher.’
The marshman was right: the otter had crossed. At star-peep the creature
had slipped from his holt in the side-stream and floated down to Moor
Pool, where he killed a grilse, took a slice or two from its shoulder,
and left it on the pebbles. Thence, contrary to his habit, he passed
down-water, throwing the fish into a panic at every pool. Waves in the
shallows showed where the most timid fled at his approach; some however
remained and here and there, as the water favoured his purpose, he gave
chase. Twice the formidable marauder landed with victims which he left
uneaten on the bank where he laid them, for lust of slaughter, not
hunger or love of pursuit, possessed him, and he was moved by a
restlessness greater than he had ever shown. True, he climbed at times
on snag and boulder; but that was only for an instant before taking
again to the water or bank, as fancy led.
[Illustration:
HIS LAST SALMON.
_From a painting in oils by Edgar H. Fischer._
To face p. 173.]
At Longen Pool his coming caused a general exodus, but he singled out
one salmon, and by his wily tactics prevented it from fleeing with the
others to the rapids below. The long chase which followed was for a
while in favour of the fish; yet the otter, who was not to be denied, in
the end wearied it out and carried it to the bank, where he bit
viciously at the shoulder, as if to wreak his vengeance on the prey that
had caused him so much trouble. Presently he re-entered the water,
cleansed his blood-stained muzzle, and making upstream turned aside into
the wet ditch and traversed the morass.
On gaining the high ground above it he stood awhile, as if asking
himself whether at the late hour he might venture across the moor. The
instant his mind was made up he set out at a rapid pace, glancing at the
keeper’s lodge as he went by, and again at the sleeping hamlet before
crossing the road and entering on the waste, over which he held on his
way till nearly abreast of the cromlech. There he halted whilst he
sounded the call and listened. Twice he uttered the shrill cry, his mask
turned in the direction of the lone pool to the north; but there was no
answer in the mocking whistle of the curlew, so he moved on again under
the fading stars, and at last came to the Liddens.
He kept awhile to the open water, cruising restlessly about, as he had
done before in the creek and mere, raising himself at times and gazing
round, as wild a looking creature as imagination can conjure up. Thence
he passed into the thick fringe of reeds, and remained hidden so long
that it might be thought that he had laid up there. Later however he
appeared on the far bank of the westernmost pool, and though the pale
primrose streak in the east warned him of coming day, the outlawed
animal, alarmed by the taint of human footprints he had happened on, at
once forsook the refuge and set his face for the marsh.
His hurried movements showed that he had full knowledge of the risk he
ran in the open, where he looked a monster as he crossed the patches of
sward amongst the bilberry. Indeed, so fast did he cover the ground that
no sprinter could have kept up with him, especially when he breasted the
long, boulder-strewn ascent to the Kites’ Cairn. There old Ikey must
have viewed him had he been on his way to the pools at his usual hour;
but he was late, and soon the otter was amongst the crags. His feet were
here delayed momentarily by the rising sun, whose light he dreaded as
much as did the witches of Crowz-an-Wra. But there was no staying where
he was: he must press on to marsh or sea, now both in his view; and at
panic speed he made his way down the bare slope and up the opposite rise
to the great furze brake that runs down almost to the margin of the
mere. Leisurely he threaded his way through the close cover to a point
where he stood and listened to the crowing of a cock before slipping
into the water and crossing to the old hover on the edge of the
reed-bed. He made his careful toilet as usual, and before the marshman
discovered his tracks he had curled up and fallen asleep.
But whilst the otter slept in untroubled security, heedless of his
enemies, they had passed the Liddens and come within earshot of the old
man, who had scarcely finished his soliloquy when he started to his feet
with the exclamation, ‘What’s that?’ and stood listening as intently as
the otter a little earlier had listened for a reply to his call. This
time, however, the reply came. ‘Surely theere ’tes again,’ and a few
seconds later, as the cry rose afresh, he shouted ‘’Tes they’ so loudly
that he attracted the child who joined him on the furze-rick he had
hurriedly climbed.
‘Do ’ee hear them, Mary? ’Tes the hounds. Hark! cheeld.’
‘I hear something, granfer.’
‘Wheere do ’ee make the cry to come from?’ and for answer she pointed
with her free hand to the Kites’ Cairn. ‘Now keep an eye on the rocks,
and tell me if you see anythin’.’
‘There’s something streaming through the Fairies’ Gap this minit. . . .
Now it’s like a shadow, a moving shadow on the down. . . . They’re dogs.
My word, such a passel of them, all in a bunch!’
Then they passed from sight and the weird cry almost died away; but
presently the chorus swelled, and swelled, and swelled, and then the old
man saw the hounds, like maddened things, come pouring over the brow and
enter the brake full in his view.
‘You’re tremblin’, granfer.’
‘Iss, cheeld, all of a quake, like the yallow furze where the hounds are
forcin’ a way. The moosic is ’most too much for me.’
‘Mary,’ said he, and the child raised her wondering eyes to the excited
face, ‘’tes the line of the King Oter they’re spakin’ to, and—who can
tell?—maybe the sun will shut down on a great day. But, lor me! what am
I doin’ here on this rick, with hounds about to take the water? My place
is in the _Mary Jane_.’ With that he scrambled down the rude ladder and
bustled towards the spot where he had left the boat in the early
morning.
As soon as he stepped in, the pack, which had been almost mute since
entering the mere, broke out into a babel of music, proclaiming a find.
The uproar so unnerved him that he was long in getting the oars between
the thole-pins; but when he did, he pulled with might and main till,
drawing near the hounds, he stopped rowing and kept a sharp lookout for
the quarry repeating as he scanned the water: ‘Ef ’tes only he, only
he.’ But not a sign of otter, big or small, met his eyes, either in the
mere or in the creek, to which the chase presently shifted. There the
fear that the game would land and reach the cliff suddenly possessed
him. So all at once he urged the boat past hounds and island to the
reedy corner, where he jumped to his feet and kept splashing the water
to drive the otter back. The nearer the hounds approached the more
frantically he wielded the oar, nor did he desist till they showed by
their movements that the otter had left the end of the creek and was
returning to the mere.
Whilst he watched them the squire and his followers came over the brow,
and all made for the beach except the squire, who came tearing down the
hill towards the boat.
‘To the hounds, John!’ he gasped as he stepped into the crazy craft. At
the word the old man pushed off and bent to his work with wondrous
vigour.
‘Have you viewed the otter?’
‘No, sir, I haven’t, but I spurred un.’
‘You spurred him? When?’
‘Soon aifter break o’ day.’
‘You did?’
‘Iss, sir, sure as you’re standin’ on they starn sheets.’
‘What! the big otter?’
‘Iss, sir. The King Oter, I call him.’
‘Then why didn’t you bring word?’
‘I did, sir, fast as I could, but you’d gone off to the revur. ’Twas Mr.
Pugmore as told me.’
‘I see, I see! Pull with your right, or we shall be into the island.
That will do; now both together.’
‘Wind him, my lads! middy ho, wind him! Padzepaw, Troubadour, Rowtor,
wind him! Wind him, my lads!’
The cheery cry seemed to put fresh life into the hounds as they worked
the reeds, from which they presently drove the quarry to the mere.
The squire’s keen eyes searched the glittering surface to get a glimpse
of him, but in vain; the hounds might have been giving tongue to some
phantom quarry for all that he or the old man saw. And so the chase
continued for an hour, and another and another, whilst the otter led the
pack from reed-bed to reed-bed, where he rose and vented without
exposing himself.
At last the marshman, who at the moment was resting on the oars, pointed
to the surface beneath the right blade.
‘The chain, the chain!’ whispered the squire excitedly on sighting the
string of bubbles, and ‘There he vents!’ as the nose of the quarry
showed between two lily-leaves a few yards off. The otter remained where
he was until the hounds were almost upon him; then he sank as
noiselessly as he had risen, and made for another refuge.
‘You viewed him, sir?’
‘I viewed an otter, John.’
‘Then why didn’t ’ee tally him, sir?’
‘Because I’m not sure it’s him. I don’t want to raise false hopes in all
these people.’
For by this time many had arrived, some by boat, others in vehicles,
some on horses or donkeys, and had taken up stations round the mere.
There were at least a score on the point, as many near the inflow: there
was a tall thin man who had somehow found his way to the edge of the
reed-bed, and quite a little crowd on the bar.
‘Never see’d such a passel o’ people here since the wreck of the
_Triton_, and that was afore your time, sir. The casks of rum were all
over the beach, and men, too; and as for the cocoanuts, they were . . .’
The outstretched hand of the squire silenced him, for the otter had
risen within a few yards of the boat, and lay there showing its great
length. Both were tongue-tied by the sight, but no sooner did the otter
dive than the squire gave utterance to a ‘Tally-ho!’ the like of which
had never passed his lips before. It made the marshman jump: it sent a
thrill through the cordon of spectators: it made the child hurry again
to the furze-rick.
‘Did you see him?’ asked the squire excitedly.
‘I did, and I don’t wonder it fetched such a screech out of ’ee. Lor,
maister, ’twere enow to wake the dead.’
Two minutes later the otter was ‘gazed’ by the men on the point. Soon
after a shout came from Geordie at the end of the creek,—so soon that
the squire feared there must be two otters afloat. But he was wrong:
there was only one. Next the people on the bar saw him rise, with the
hounds close behind driving him towards the reed-bed, where he landed
within a dozen yards of the solitary figure there. To him it looked as
if the otter must be overhauled, and eagerly he watched the swaying of
the reeds as otter and hounds traversed the bed. Soon, in view of the
excited crowd near the inflow, the hunted beast managed to slip into the
mere as a hound was about to seize him. Four times he rose in crossing
to the farther shore, where he threaded the sags and, in his
desperation, sought the refuge of the furze-brake. The cover was all in
his favour; for he could run where the hounds, and even the terriers,
had to force a way. Yet to him as to them the atmosphere was
suffocating, so that he was glad to reach the upper edge and get a few
breaths of fresh air before the clamour of the hounds and the crackling
of the stems warned him it was time to move. Then he made his way down
to the creek to quench his thirst. The parson, by this time perched on
the willow, saw him lapping, but forbore to shout, and presently the
dark mask was withdrawn. Soon the hounds reached the spot. Thirsty
though they were, they thirsted still more for the otter’s blood. Not
one stayed to lap but, like infuriated creatures, went on after the
quarry whose distress they must have been conscious of.
Before this the crowd from the bar had moved to the bluff above the
creek, whence they could trace the windings of the otter by the
movements of the hounds. Breathless was their excitement when they saw
from the wild shaking of the bushes that the otter had been seized, and
great their disappointment when the resumption of the chase showed that,
after all, he had got away.
Twice more the gallant beast made the wide circuit of those ten acres of
furze in the hope of shaking off his pursuers before he made his way in
despair down to the sags and slipped unseen into the mere. He rose after
but a short dive, and swam with the pack in his wake straight for the
bar. Not one of those who watched dreamt he would dare to land; but he
did, a good score yards in front of the leading hounds. Then all could
see his distress as he laboured over the pebbly ridge he knew so well.
It looked as if he must be overtaken before he reached the tide; but the
hounds were nearly as exhausted as he, and though they gained on him, it
was not until they came to the calm water beyond the breaking wave that
they managed to hold him and worry his life out.
Then the squire waded into the sea almost to his armpits, took him from
the hounds, and holding the heavy carcass above his head, brought it
ashore. The ‘field’ closed round him in their eagerness to see and touch
the beast and examine the huge pads.
‘A little elbow-room, gentlemen, if you please. I can’t possibly weigh
the animal whilst you press me like this.’
His words had instant effect. The moment the crowd fell back he
suspended the otter from the hook of the spring-balance he carried, and
watched the index.
‘What does he scale, sir?’ shouted a score excited voices.
‘Twenty-nine pounds good.’
Then followed a tumult of conversation, amidst which could be
distinguished:
‘Now, Thomas ’Enery, what did I say all along?’
‘He’s a pound over and above your guess.’
‘Sandy was right.’
‘You said forty pound, Geordie, you know you did.’
‘You’m a liard; I——’
‘Silence, mates!’ roared the landlord, stepping into the ring; ‘the
squire wants to spake. Silence, I say!’
When the noisy groups of disputants at last quieted down, the squire,
hoarse from his efforts, said: ‘It is my custom, as you know, to
distribute the pads, mask and rudder, and fling the carcass to the
hounds. To-day, however, I mean to depart from the rule. I will tell you
why, and I hope every one of you will agree that I am right. My view is
that this fine beast’—and here he lifted the otter clear of the sand as
if to emphasize his words—‘which has excited so much interest and
afforded a hunt we can never expect to see the like of, ought not to be
broken up, but should be preserved for ourselves and others to look at
in the years to come. Now, if any man has got anything to say, let him
speak out.’
‘Say, sir,’ replied the parish clerk, after casting his quick eyes round
the circle of approving faces, ‘why, that we’re one and all of the same
way of thinkin’ as yoursel’! What’s a pad here or a pad there? To say
nawthin’ as to who’s to have ’em. By all manner o’ means let the otter
be set up, and let un be given pride of place again’ the wainscot; for
if ever wild crittur deserved the honour, this one do, if only for the
good he’s done the landlord.’
So the otter was set up in the hall in a handsome case, with a picture
of the marsh for background. Of the many trophies that adorn the walls
there is not one the squire was so proud of, none whose story he liked
so well to relate. It alone bears no inscription; for, as he always
said, ‘There is no need; my people will never let the record die!’ His
words have proved true.
Though the wild promontory is steeped in legend and romance, though
tales of giants, fairies, smugglers and shipwrecked sailors, abound,
there is no story the crofters so often repeat by the firelight as the
story of the otter, none the children listen to with closer attention.
Mary’s three boys never wearied of hearing their mother tell how she
stood on the rick and watched the hounds stream through the Fairies’
Gap; they always insisted on her giving the squire’s ‘Tally-ho!’ and
hung on every word when she came to the message brought by the steward,
that old John and his grandchild were to have their little place rent
free for the rest of their days.
‘Again, again!’ they would cry, clapping their little hands; and
generally Mary yielded to their entreaties. And when the time comes they
will repeat the tale to their own children, as indeed do the miller’s
and the moorman’s sons and daughters to-day. Thus the tradition of the
otter bids fair to be handed on by generation after generation for long
years to come, and to win an imperishable place amongst the hearthside
stories of the West.
INDEX
Allotment of waters, 155
Badger, 15, 65, 74, 83
Bass, 36
Bittern, 140
Blunderbuss, 132
Boat, 67, 134, 178
Breathing-holes, 121
‘Burning the reed,’ 106
Buzzard, 4, 88, 91, 165
Cave, 37, 59, 117
Clitter, 72, 142, 145
Conger, 110, 149
Constable, 45
Cormorant, 66, 89
Couch, 23, 116
Creek, 35
Cubs taught to swim, 11
taught to fish, 21
Curlew, 92, 174
Deadman’s Pool, 42
Decoy, old, 72
Dragon-flies, 41
Druid’s Arms, 74, 155
Duchy, the, 157
Eels, 23, 122
Estuary, 40, 152
Fairies’ Gap, 176
Fight with terrier, 31
with rival, 115
Flintlock, 132
Fox, 16, 28, 47, 124
Frogging, 19, 153
Geese, 123
Gipsies, 61
Glow-worms, 50
Goldcrest, 18
Gull Rock, 58, 152
Gulls, 59, 148
Harbourer, 91
Haunted House, 62
Headland, 108, 152
Heron, 36, 40
Hounds, 77, 95, 169
Keeper, 9, 50, 74
Kennels, 65
Kestrel, 23
Kieve Pool, 86, 156, 165
Killick, 68
Landlord, 155, 164, 184
Liddens, the, 73, 126, 170
Limpets, 127
Lone Tarn, 26, 84
Longen Pool, 78, 168
Magpie, 33
Marsh, the, 60, 104, 118, 174
Marshman, 67, 123, 130, 159
Miller, 79, 102, 164, 167
M.O.H., duties of, 154
Moorhen, 48
Moorman, 25, 159, 170
Moor Pool, 86, 94, 106, 172
Mullet, 53
Mussels, 39
Night-jar, 51
Otter, the King, 179
Peel, 51, 85
Pillar Rock, 118
Pike, 69, 87, 122
Piskies’ parlour, 141
Plaice, 43
Poacher, 106, 159
Polecat, 130
Pollack, 112
Pollard, 137
Porpoise, 57
Quagmire, 1, 116
Rabbit-burrow, 27
Rabbiting, 47
Raftra, 155
Raven, 18, 33
Reed-bed, 25, 66, 71
Reeve, 156
Salmon, 55, 75, 173
Sanctuary, 63
Sea, 58, 142
Seal, 55, 117
Seal Rock, 110, 147
Shag, 118
Sharks’ fin, 108
Sheep-dog, 46
Snowdrift, 135
Spring, 18
Squire, 64, 98, 105, 161, 168
Stag, 83
Terrier, 17, 30, 78
Tide End, 152, 155, 164
Trackers, 154, 162
Trail, an old, 35
the long, 171
Trammels, 163
Traps, 51, 105
Trekking, 22, 29, 73
Trimmers, 123
Trout, 22
Water-bailiff, 106, 157
Water-mint, 72
Weasel, 34
Wild swans, 123
Will-o’-the-wisp, 73
Woodman, 29, 100, 160
Wrasse, 59, 112
THE END
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD
* * * * *
ALSO BY J. C. TREGARTHEN.
WILD LIFE AT THE
LAND’S END.
RECORDS AND OBSERVATIONS OF THE HABITS AND HAUNTS OF THE FOX,
BADGER, OTTER, SEAL, ETC., AND OF THEIR PURSUERS IN CORNWALL.
With Illustrations. Square demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.
‘Mr. Tregarthen not only knows what he is writing about, but he
knows how to write. The result is a singularly charming volume
which will be read with delight, not only by lovers of one of
the most fascinating of English counties, but by all who follow
the chase of the otter, the badger, and the fox.’—_County
Gentleman._
‘Mr. Tregarthen has written one of the best works about animals
that we remember. . . . Mr. Tregarthen describes the pursuit of
these creatures with the skill of an enthusiastic and
experienced sportsman.’—_Pall Mall Gazette._
‘We should say that his book has all the charm of the best
conversation; of a sportsman of the old school, mingled with
that of a gamekeeper and a poacher, men who knew the night as
well as they knew the day, a man as well as a fox.’—_Daily
Chronicle._
‘We feel a most uncommon admiration for such a piece of pure
Nature as Mr. J. C. Tregarthen’s “Wild Life at the Land’s End.”
It is altogether an honest, bluff, happy record of observations
by one who loves the Cornish country with a genuine patriotism,
and knows it as well as he loves it.’—_World._
‘Mr. Tregarthen’s brightly written and exquisitely illustrated
book is absolutely redolent of the breezy uplands and the
surf-beaten beetling cliffs of the western duchy, and is
evidently the work of a sportsman-naturalist of the
old-fashioned and best type.’—_Nature._
‘All these varied features of the Land’s End region are
reproduced in Mr. Tregarthen’s book with the vividness and
absence of straining after effect which only comes of long and
intimate knowledge, and his descriptions of sport in their
picturesque surroundings are some of the freshest and most
vigorous which have appeared during recent years.’—_Evening
Standard._
‘Not for a long time have I read a more fascinating
book.’—_Tatler._
‘A volume which most readers will lay down with real regret. Is
certain to become one of the classics of its county. It deserves
a place on the bookshelves of every lover of nature and
sport.’—_Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News._
* * * * *
CREATURES OF THE NIGHT.
A BOOK OF WILD LIFE IN WESTERN BRITAIN.
By A. W. REES.
_With Illustrations._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 6_s._ _net._
‘No one with a love of wild creatures can resist the charm of
such a work, every page of which shows knowledge, insight, and
sympathy . . . a fascinating work.’—_Daily Telegraph._
* * * * *
IANTO THE FISHERMAN.
By A. W. REES.
_With Illustrations._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 10_s._ 6_d._ _net._
‘The “Old Fisherman” is an absolutely delightful
character.’—_Standard._
‘A very excellent and fascinating work, which no lover of nature
should fail to read.’—_County Gentleman._
* * * * *
FIELD PATHS AND GREEN LANES IN
SURREY AND SUSSEX.
By LOUIS J. JENNINGS.
_With Illustrations._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
* * * * *
A COTSWOLD VILLAGE;
OR, COUNTRY LIFE AND PURSUITS IN GLOUCESTERSHIRE.
By J. ARTHUR GIBBS.
_With Portrait and many Illustrations._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 6_s._
‘It is a delightful work.’—_Pall Mall Gazette._
‘It has been a real pleasure to read it.’—_Guardian._
* * * * *
THE WILD SPORTS AND NATURAL
HISTORY OF THE HIGHLANDS.
By CHARLES ST. JOHN.
_With Illustrations._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
* * * * *
THE LION HUNTER OF SOUTH AFRICA.
FIVE YEARS’ ADVENTURE IN THE FAR INTERIOR OF
SOUTH AFRICA.
By ROUALEYN GORDON CUMMING.
_With 16 Woodcuts._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
‘It is many years since I first read Gordon Cumming’s “Lion
Hunter”—_the_ Lion Hunter of South Africa, as he was called.
With much of the old delight I have been reading Mr. Murray’s
new edition of this entertaining work. . . . Language fails to
communicate the thrill it excites.’—_Westminster Gazette._
* * * * *
FISHING AND SHOOTING.
By SYDNEY BUXTON, M.P.
With Illustrations by ARCHIBALD THORBURN.
_Second Edition._ _Demy 8vo._ 10_s._ 6_d._ _net._
* * * * *
DOG BREAKING:
THE MOST EXPEDITIOUS, CERTAIN, AND EASY METHODS,
WITH ODDS AND ENDS FOR THOSE WHO LOVE
THE DOG AND GUN.
By GEN. W. N. HUTCHINSON.
_Cheap Edition._ _With Numerous Illustrations._ 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
‘The last word in everything that concerns the training of
dogs. . . . The great beauty of General Hutchinson’s style is
that in every line the writer’s practical experience is plainly
visible, and the reader feels as if he were personally present
in all the scenes which are so graphically described. . . . The
best book of reference on training dogs.’—_Kennel News._
* * * * *
PARTRIDGE-DRIVING.
SOME PRACTICAL HINTS ON INCREASING AND PRESERVING
A STOCK OF BIRDS AND ON BRINGING THEM
OVER THE GUNS, WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE
‘EUSTON’ SYSTEM.
By CHARLES E. A. ALINGTON.
_With Diagrams._ _Crown 8vo._ 5_s._ _net._
‘One of the most complete and convincing of treatises on the
fascinating subject of Partridge-driving that we have yet met
with. Very few men, keen on providing and shooting a few head of
partridges, can afford to miss Mr. Alington’s clearly written
account of his own experiences.’—_County Gentleman._
* * * * *
THE SCIENCE OF DRY FLY FISHING
AND SALMON FLY FISHING.
By FRED G. SHAW, F.G.S.,
Amateur Champion Trout Fly Fishing International Tournament, 1904.
_With 40 Plates and numerous Diagrams._ _Price_ 10_s._ 6_d._ _net._
‘Contains the fullest possible information and instruction in
the art of fly fishing, set forth by one of the greatest living
masters of the art.’—_Daily Express._
* * * * *
MAST AND SAIL IN EUROPE AND ASIA.
By H. WARINGTON SMYTH.
_With numerous Illustrations by the Author._ _Medium 8vo._
21_s._ _net._
‘Mr. Smyth is one who loves the sea and ships. One sees in every
sentence that a sail, a mast, a spar, are to him things of
delight. He rejoices in the texture of ropes, in the smell of
tar, and in the ring of deck planking underfoot; and it is just
his love and understanding of these things that enables him to
make close on 400 pages dealing with the different rigs and
builds of boats of every kind, pages of real interest to the
most ignorant of land-lubbers. . . . Full of interest and
charm—the charm of the sea.’—_County Gentleman._
* * * * *
SMALL BOAT SAILING;
OR, PRACTICAL HINTS FOR PRACTICAL YACHTSMEN.
By E. F. KNIGHT,
Author of ‘Where Three Empires Meet,’ ‘The Cruise of the Falcon,’ etc.
_With numerous Diagrams._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 5_s._ _net._
‘. . . A most valuable work for young yachtsmen who wish to
become proficient in handling their boats.’—_Yachtsman._
‘Yachtsmen of all classes should learn much from this skilled
and interesting handbook. . . . It will at once take rank as a
first authority on its subject.’—_Scotsman._
* * * * *
THE ENGLISH FLOWER GARDEN AND
HOME GROUNDS.
By WILLIAM ROBINSON.
_Illustrated._ _Tenth Edition._ _Medium 8vo._ 15_s._ _net._
* * * * *
THE VEGETABLE GARDEN.
English Edition published under the direction of W. ROBINSON.
_Numerous Illustrations._ _Demy 8vo._ 15_s._ _net._
‘“The Vegetable Garden” is a complete and an authoritative work
upon all that concerns vegetables, and stands unique among works
on the subject. It should be on the bookshelf of everyone
interested in vegetables, for it is not a work for the grower
alone.’—_Garden._
* * * * *
THE SOIL.
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE SCIENTIFIC STUDY OF THE
GROWTH OF CROPS.
By A. D. HALL, M.A. (Oxon.).
President of the Rothamsted Station (Lawes Agricultural Trust).
_With Diagrams._ 5_s._ _net._
‘An excellent and up-to-date textbook. . . . The complete
knowledge of the soil and the part it plays in the nutrition of
the plants requires investigation along three lines, which may
be roughly classed as—chemical, physical or mechanical, and
biological. It is exactly these with which the author deals, and
although it is in no sense an exhaustive treatise, a general
outline has been given of all the recent investigations which
have opened up so many soil problems, and thrown new light on
difficulties that are experienced in practice.’—_Gardeners’
Chronicle._
* * * * *
FERTILISERS AND MANURES.
By A. D. HALL, M.A. (Oxon.).
_Crown 8vo._
* * * * *
A HANDY BOOK OF HORTICULTURE.
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE THEORY AND PRACTICE
OF GARDENING.
By F. C. HAYES, M.A.,
Lecturer in Practical Horticulture in Alexandra College, Dublin.
_With Illustrations._ _Crown 8vo._ 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
‘Not so big that it need frighten the ardent amateur, nor so
much of a primer that it may be disdained by the fairly
accomplished gardener, it has a good scheme. The first part,
consisting of eight chapters of general principles, in simple
non-technical language, is a model of useful information in a
small space; the second part deals with departments of
gardening; the third, with types of flowers, and the fourth is a
calendar to work by.’—_Daily Chronicle._
* * * * *
THE CULTURE OF FRUIT TREES
IN POTS.
By JOSH BRACE.
_With Illustrations._ _Large Crown 8vo._ 5_s._ _net._
‘Brief, clear, and well-founded in the practical wisdom born of
life-long experience in the kind of gardening it describes, the
work cannot but be serviceable.’—_Scotsman._
* * * * *
Transcriber’s Notes:
Punctuation and obvious type-setting errors have been corrected without
note. Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Some
illustrations have been relocated slightly to keep paragraphs intact.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's The Life Story of an Otter, by John Tregarthen