THE GAME-BIRDS AND “QUARRY” FLOWN AT BY FALCONERS.
Game-preserving, as we now understand the term, was probably unknown in
Shakespeare’s days, for sportsmen at that time had not the means of
making such large bags, and consequently the necessity for breeding and
rearing game artificially did not exist. Nature’s liberal supply
sufficed to satisfy the moderate demand, and the sportsman always
returned home well pleased. We take it, however, that this satisfaction
resulted more from an appreciation of sport than from the possession of
a heavy bag. What more enjoyable than the pursuit of partridges, “with
grey gos-hawk in hand,” as Chaucer hath it, or a flight at heron with a
falcon?
The skill, too, which was required to kill a bird or rabbit with a
single bolt from a cross-bow was far greater than that which is needed
to achieve the same result with an ounce of shot from a breech-loader.
Not that guns were unknown in Shakespeare’s day, for the old-fashioned
“birding-piece” was then in use, as we have already noticed.[118] But,
partly in consequence of its inferiority and cost, and partly because
its use was so little understood, the majority of folks preferred to
carry a weapon with which they were more skilled, and on which they
could consequently place more reliance. Gradually, as the fowling-piece
became more and more perfect, the long-bow and cross-bow were laid
aside, and hawking became almost forgotten.
[Sidenote: THE PHEASANT:]
Notwithstanding that the Pheasant (_Phasianus colchicus_) must have been
well-known in Shakespeare’s day, the poet has only once made mention of
this bird. The passage occurs in _The Winter’s Tale_, Act iv. Sc. 3, and
runs thus:--
“_Shepherd._ My business, sir, is to the king.
_Autolycus._ What advocate hast thou to him?
_Shepherd._ I know not, an ’t like you.
_Clown (jokingly aside to Shepherd)._ Advocate’s the court-word for
a _pheasant_: say you have none.
_Shepherd._ None, sir; I have no _pheasant_, cock nor hen.
_Autolycus._ How blessed are we that are not simple men!”
[Sidenote: ITS INTRODUCTION INTO BRITAIN.]
The precise date of the introduction of the pheasant into Great Britain
is uncertain, but there is evidence to show that it was prior to the
invasion of the Normans, and that we are probably indebted for this
game-bird to the enterprise of the Romans. The earliest record, we
believe, of the occurrence of the pheasant in this country will be found
in the tract “De inventione Sanctæ Crucis nostræ in Monte Acuto et de
ductione ejusdem apud Waltham,” edited by Prof. Stubbs from manuscripts
in the British Museum, and published in 1861.[119] In one of these
manuscripts, dated about 1177, is the following bill of fare prescribed
by Harold for the Canons’ Households, in 1059:--
“Erant autem tales pitantiæ unicuique canonico: a festo Sancti
Michaelis usque ad caput jejunii, aut xii. merulæ, aut ii. agauseæ,
aut ii. perdices, _aut unus phasianus_, reliquis temporibus aut
ancæ, aut gallinæ.”
Yarrell, in his “History of British Birds,” gives an extract from
Dugdale’s “Monasticon Anglicanum” to the effect that the Abbot of
Amesbury obtained a licence from the king to kill pheasants, in the
first year of Henry I. (1100).
Leland, in his account of the feast given at the inthronisation of
George Nevell, Archbishop of York, in the reign of Edward IV., tells us
that, amongst other good things, two hundred “fesauntes” were provided
for the guests.
[Sidenote: ANCIENT VALUE OF GAME.]
In the “Privy Purse Expenses of Elizabeth of York,” under date “the
xiiij^th day of Novembre,” the following entry occurs:--
“Itm̃. The same day to Richard Mylner
of Byndfeld for bringing a
present of fesauntes cokkes to the
Queene to Westminster vs̃.”
In the “Household Book” of Henry Percy, fifth Earl of Northumberland,
which was commenced in 1512, the pheasant is thus referred to:--
“Item, FESAUNTES to be hade for my Lordes own Mees at Principall
Feestes and to be at xijd. a pece.”
“Item, FESSAUNTIS for my Lordes owne Meas to be hadde at Principalle
Feistis ande to be at xijd. a pece.”[120]
[Sidenote: GAME-PRESERVING.]
In the year 1536, Henry VIII. issued a proclamation in order to preserve
the partridges, pheasants, and herons “from his palace at Westminster to
St. Giles-in-the-Fields, and from thence to Islington, Hampstead,
Highgate, and Hornsey Park.” Any person, of whatever rank, who should
presume to kill, or in any wise molest these birds, was to be thrown
into prison, and visited by such other punishments as to the King should
seem meet.
Some interesting particulars in regard to pheasants are furnished by the
“Privy Purse Expenses of King Henry VIII.” For example, under date
xvj^th Nov. 1532, we have:--
“Itm̃ the same daye paied to the
fesaunt breder in rewarde ixs̃. iiijd.
“Itm̃ the xxv daye paied to the preste
the fesaunt breder at Elthm in
rewarde ij corons ixs̃. iiijd.
And in December of the same year:--
“Itm̃ the xxijd. daye paied to the french
Preste the fesaunt breder for to bye
him a gowne and other necesarys xls̃.”
From these entries it would appear that even at this date some trouble
and expense was incurred in rearing pheasants. No allusion, however, is
made to their being shot. They must have been taken in a net or snare,
or killed with a hawk. The last-named mode is indicated from another
source[121]:--
“Item, a Fesant kylled with the Goshawke.
“A notice, two Fesants and two Partridges killed with the hawks.”
As a rule, they are only referred to as being “brought in,” the bearer
receiving a gratuity for his trouble.
“Jan^y. 1536-7. Itm̃. geuen to Hunte
yeoman of the pultry, bringing to
hir gc̃e two qwicke (_i.e._ live) phesants vijs̃. vjd.
“Ap^l. 1537. Itm̃. geuen to Grene the
ptrich taker bringing a cowple of
Phesaunts to my lady’s grace iijs̃. ixd.
“Jan. 1537-8. Itm̃. geuen to my lady
Carow’s s’uñt bringing a qwicke
Phesaunt ijs̃.
“Jan. 1543-4. Itm̃. geuen to Hawkyn,
s’uñte of Hertford bringing a phesant
and ptriches[122] iijs̃. iiijd.”
In a survey of the possessions of the Abbey of Glastonbury made in 1539,
mention is made of _a “game” of sixteen pheasants_ in the woods at
Meare, a manor near Glastonbury belonging to the Abbey.
[Sidenote: GAME-LAWS.]
According to Fynes Morrison (“Itinerary,” 1617), there was in Ireland
“such plenty of _pheasants_ as I have known readie served at one feast.”
The value set upon pheasants and partridges at various periods, as shown
by the laws fixing penalties for their destruction, seems to have
fluctuated considerably.
By a statute passed in the eleventh year of the reign of Henry VII. it
was forbidden “to take pheasants or partridges with engines in another’s
ground without license in pain of ten pound, to be divided between the
owner of the ground and the prosecutor.” By 23 Eliz. c. 10, “None should
kill or take pheasants or partridges by night in pain of 20_s._ a
pheasant, and 10_s._ a partridge, or one month’s imprisonment, and bound
with sureties not to offend again in the like kind.” By 1 Jac. I. c. 27,
“No person should kill or take any pheasant, partridge, (&c.), or take
or destroy the eggs of pheasants, partridges, (&c.), in pain of 20_s._,
or imprisonment for every fowl or egg, and to find sureties in £20 not
to offend in the like kind.” Under the same statute, no person was
permitted “to buy or sell any pheasant or partridge, upon pain to
forfeit 20_s._ for every pheasant, and 10_s._ for every partridge.” By 7
Jac. I. c. 11, “every person having hawked at or destroyed any pheasant
or partridge between the 1st of July and last of August, forfeited
40_s._ for every time so hawking, and 20_s._ for every pheasant or
partridge so destroyed or taken.” Lords of manors and their servants
might take pheasants or partridges in their own grounds or precincts in
the day-time between Michaelmas and Christmas. But every person of a
mean condition having killed or taken any pheasant or partridge,
forfeited 20_s._ for each one so killed, and had to find surety in £20
not to offend so again.
In some of these old statutes, however, it was expressly stated that
although pheasants and partridges could not be killed by any one with
impunity, no penalty should attach for killing such birds as crows,
kites, and buzzards, as these were well known to be destructive to the
game which the statutes were framed to protect.
[Sidenote: THE PARTRIDGE.]
In the second part of _Henry VI._ Act iii. Sc. 2, we find the Partridge
(_Perdix cinerea_) appropriately placed by Shakespeare in the nest of
the kite:--
“Who finds the partridge in the puttock’s nest,
But may imagine how the bird was dead,
Although the kite soar with unbloodied beak.”
_Henry VI._ Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Such was the beautiful metaphor uttered by the Earl of Warwick upon the
occasion of the Duke of Gloucester’s death. The unfortunate Duke was
discovered dead in his bed, with marks of violence upon his features,
and grave suspicion fell upon the Duke of Suffolk, who “had him in
protection.” This circumstance, coupled with the fact that Suffolk was a
sworn enemy of Duke Humphrey, placed a heavy weight in the balance
against him.
[Sidenote: PARTRIDGE-HAWKING.]
The provincial name of “puttock,” which occurs in the above quotation,
is sometimes applied to the kite, sometimes to the common buzzard. In
this case, as shown by the context, the kite is the bird referred to. A
greater enemy to the partridge than either of these birds is the
peregrine, whose skill in taking this game was early turned to advantage
by falconers. Partridge-hawking was formerly a favourite pastime, and is
still, to a certain extent, with those few who still maintain the
practice of falconry. For this sport either the peregrine or the goshawk
may be used. Aubrey has recorded a curious event which happened when he
was a freshman at Oxford in 1642. He frequently supped with Charles I.,
who then resided at the University; and on one of these occasions he
heard the King say that--“As he was hawking in Scotland, he rode into
the quarry, and found the covey of partridges falling upon the hawk.” He
adds that the King said--“I will swear upon the book that it is true.”
Mr. F. H. Salvin has been very successful in taking pheasants with the
male goshawk, which he found required no “entering,” but flew and killed
even old cocks, threading his way through the trees in a wonderfully
rapid manner.[123]
Those who made their living by fowling, and could not afford to hawk,
took their birds by springe and net; and partridge-netting was,
perhaps, as much in vogue in Shakespeare’s day as now.
[Sidenote: PARTRIDGE-NETTING.]
In _Much Ado about Nothing_, allusion is again made to the partridge by
Beatrice, who, referring to the ill-humour of Benedick, says,--
“He’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure, not
marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then
there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that
night.”--_Much Ado about Nothing_, Act ii. Sc. 1.
As we speak of a “covey” of partridges, so we say a “bevy” of quails:--
“And many more of the same bevy.”
_Hamlet_, Act v. Sc. 2.
[Sidenote: THE QUAIL.]
It was formerly the practice to keep Quails, and make them fight like
game-cocks. Solon directed that quails should be made to fight in the
presence of the Athenian youths, in order to inflame their courage, and
the Romans held quail-fighting in still higher estimation. Augustus
punished a prefect of Egypt with death for buying and bringing to table
a quail which had acquired celebrity by its victories.[124]
Shakespeare was doubtless alluding to this sport when he wrote:--
“Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves
quails.”--_Troilus and Cressida_, Act v. Sc. 1.
Even at the present day this sort of amusement is common in some parts
of Italy, and still more so in China. In Italy, the practice is to feed
up two quails very highly, and then place them opposite to each other at
the end of a long table, throwing between them a few grains of
millet-seed to make them quarrel. At first they merely threaten,
lowering the head and ruffling all the neck feathers, but at length they
rush on furiously, striking with their bills, erecting their heads, and
rising upon their spurs, until one is forced to yield.
In _Antony and Cleopatra_ (Act ii. Sc. 3), Antonius says of Cæsar:--
“His cocks do win the battle still of mine,
When it is all to nought; and his quails ever
Beat mine inhoop’d at odds.”
[Sidenote: QUAIL-FIGHTING.]
That there was some foundation for this assertion, we may gather from
the following extract from North’s “Plutarch”:--
“With Antonius there was a soothsayer or astronomer in Egypt that
coulde cast a figure and judge of men’s nativities, to tell them
what should happen to them. He told Antonius plainly that his
fortune (which of itself was excellent good and very great) was
altogether blemished and obscured by Cæsar’s fortune; and therefore
he counselled him utterly to leave his company, and get him as farre
from him as he coulde. Howsoever it was, the event ensuing proved
the Egyptian’s words true; for it is said that as often as they drew
lots for pastime, who should have anything, or whether they played
at dice, Antonius always lost. _Oftentimes when they were disposed
to see cock-fights, or quails that were taught to fight one with
another, Cæsar’s cocks or quails did ever overcome._ The which
spited Antonius in his mind, although he made no outward show of it,
and therefore he believed the Egyptian the better.”
In Kircher’s “Musurgia” the note of this bird is thus faithfully
rendered[125]:--
[Music: Bi-ke-bik, Bi-ke-bik, Bi-ke-bik.]
Quails have always been considered a delicacy for the table, and those
who may have the curiosity to visit the London markets in the spring of
the year, will see large boxes full of live quails, which have been
taken in nets and imported to this country for food.
[Sidenote: THE LAPWING.]
In the same way immense numbers of Lapwings (_Vanellus cristatus_), or
Green Plovers, as they are called, find their way into the London
markets. This bird has been noticed by Shakespeare chiefly on account of
a peculiar trait in its character, with which most naturalists are very
familiar. Like the partridge and some other birds, it has a curious
habit of trying to draw intruders away from its nest or young by
fluttering along the ground in an opposite direction, or by feigning
lameness, or uttering melancholy cries at a distance:--
“Far from her nest the lapwing cries away.”
_Comedy of Errors_, Act iv. Sc. 2.
Allusions to this habit are not unfrequent in our older poets. Lily, in
his “Campaspe,” 1584, says:--
“You resemble the lapwing, who crieth most where her nest is not.”
So also Greene, in the second part of his “Coney Catching,” 1592:--
“But again to our priggers, who, as before
I said, cry with the lapwing farthest from her nest.”
And in Ben Jonson’s _Underwoods_ we are told,--
“Where he that knows will like a lapwing flie,
Farre from the nest, and so himselfe belie.”
Hence the phrase “to seem the lapwing,” which occurs in _Measure for
Measure_, Act i. Sc. 4. So also in _Much Ado about Nothing_,--
“For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs,
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.”
Act iii. Sc. 1.
It is rather curious that Shakespeare has not alluded to this bird under
its popular name of “Peewit,”--a name which, derived from its cry, we
believe to be of some antiquity. Nor has he referred to it by another
name, which must have been commonly applied to it in his day, _i.e._,
“Wype.” In the old “Household Books” and “Privy Purse Expenses,” we
frequently meet with such entries as the following:--
“Item, it is thought goode that wypes[126] be hade for my Lordes own
mees onely and to be at jd. a pece.”
The young of this, and many other, species run almost as soon as
hatched, and Shakespeare has not overlooked this peculiarity:--
“This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head.”
_Hamlet_, Act v. Sc. 2.
We have before had occasion to make a passing allusion to the Heron, and
in the present chapter this bird deserves more particular attention,
from the fact of its being so frequently flown at by falconers.
Hawking at herons was thought to be “a marvellous and delectable
pastime,” and in all the published treatises upon falconry, many pages
are dedicated to this particular branch of the sport.
Not only were herons protected by Act of Parliament, but penalties were
incurred for taking the eggs,[127] and no one was permitted to shoot
within 600 paces of a heronry, under a penalty of £20 (7 Jac. I. c. 27).
[Sidenote: THE HERNSHAW.]
We should scarcely have thought it possible to find a man who would not
know a hawk from a heron when he saw it, and Hamlet evidently considered
that such an one would not be in his right mind, for he says of
himself:--
“I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly, I know a
hawk from a _handsaw_.”--_Hamlet_, Act ii. Sc. 2.
He referred here to an old proverbial saying, originally “he does not
know a hawk from a hernshaw,” that is, a heron; but the word was thus
corrupted before Shakespeare’s day. (See _ante_, p. 75.)
[Sidenote: HERON-HAWKING.]
John Shaw (M.A., of Cambridge), who published a curious book in 1635,
entitled “Speculum Mundi,” tells us therein that “the heron or _hernsaw_
is a large fowle that liveth about waters,” and that “hath a marvellous
hatred to the hawk, which hatred is duly returned. When they fight above
in the air, they labour both especially for this one thing--that one may
ascend and be above the other. Now, if the hawk getteth the upper place,
he overthroweth and vanquisheth the heron with a marvellous earnest
flight.” This old passage contrasts quaintly with the animated
description of heron-hawking in Freeman and Salvin’s modern
treatise.[128] Those who have taken part in the sport cannot fail to be
interested in a truthful narrative of what they must so often have
witnessed; while those who have never seen a trained falcon on the wing
will learn a good deal from the following excellent description:--
“‘Well, then, here goes,’ says the falconer; and having let the heron
get a little past, off go the hoods. For a moment one hawk looks up, and
is cast off; the other a moment or two afterwards. They both see him;
now for a flight. The heron was about 250 yards high, and perhaps a
quarter of a mile wide. The hawks had gone up about a quarter of the way
before the heron saw them in hot pursuit. ‘Now he sees them!’ is
exclaimed; and the riders rattle their horses as hard as they can, over
deep sand-hills, down wind. The heron, in the meanwhile, vomits up his
fish to lighten himself, and begins ringing-up down wind. It is a
curious thing to see the different manœuvres of the birds. With his
large wings, the heron can mount very fair, and has a far better chance
of beating off the hawks than if he flew straight forward. This he knows
full well by instinct, and puts on accordingly all sail for the upper
regions, generally in short rings. Hawks make larger rings as a general
rule, if, like these, they are good ones. Those have but a bad chance
with a good heron if they adopt the same tactics that he does in
mounting. This the two old hawks know full well. So far they have been
pretty near together, but, seeing the prey beginning to mount, they
separate, each their own way, now taking a long turn down wind, and then
breasting the wind again. ‘De Ruyter’ makes the best rings, and after
having gone a mile, there is a shout--‘Now “De Ruyter” is above him!’
and the hawk is seen poising herself for a stoop; down she comes, with
closed wings, like a bullet, and hits the heron; it is too high to see
_where_, but the scream the quarry gives is tremendous. Hurrah! there’s
a stoop for you! Both hawk and heron have descended some yards; the
former, from the impetus of her stoop, much beneath the heron, but she
shoots up again to a level. In fact, it was a perfect stoop. Though so
near the heron, she does not attempt a _little_ stoop, but again heads
the wind so that the heron appears to be flying the hawk. ‘Sultan’ is
now above both, and makes her stoop, but not so good as her partner’s.
However, she makes two quickly, and is within an ace of catching; but
the good heron will not give an inch, and ‘Sultan’ will have to give
another ring for another stoop. But where is ‘De Ruyter’ all this time?
She has made a long ring, and is now a long way above them. She makes
another full stoop, and this time there is no mistake about it, for she
hits the heron so hard that he is nearly stupefied. ‘Sultan’ joins in
the fray and catches. Whoo-whoo-o-p! down they come. Down they all
three go together, till, just before reaching the ground, the two old
hawks let go of their prey, which falls bump. Before he has had time to
recover himself, in a moment the hawks are on him, ‘De Ruyter’ on the
neck, and ‘Sultan’ on his body. Hurrah for the gallant hawks! and loud
whoops proclaim his capture. ‘Wouldn’t take £100 for them,’ says their
owner, who has ridden well, judiciously as well as hard, and has got up
in time to save the heron’s life. He gives the hawks a pigeon, and puts
the heron between his knees in a position so that he can neither spike
him nor the hawks with his bill. He has two beautiful long black
feathers, which are duly presented to Prince Alexander--alas! now no
more--who is well up at the take. These feathers are the badge of honour
in heron-hawking in Holland, as the fox’s brush is in hunting in
England. The hawks are fed up as speedily as possible, the heron has a
ring put round his leg, and is let loose, evidently not knowing what to
make of it.
“We hasten back as fast as we can, but the weather being now hot, the
herons move more by night than by day. Many anxious eyes search the
horizon for another.
“The two sets of falconers, with their hawks, place themselves about
half a mile apart, to intercept the herons on their passage back from
their fishing-grounds.
“There is no lack of herons. The little wind there was has fallen to a
calm, and they come home higher. All the better, for we have some good
casts to fly. One is soon ‘hooded off’ at, and, after a capital flight,
is taken high in the air. The pet hawks are now taken in hand--‘De
Ruyter’ and ‘Sultan;’ and, as there is no wind, the owner says he will
fly at the first ‘_light one_,’ that comes at all fair. All is
excitement when one is seen coming _from_ the _heronry_, and therefore
unweighted. They are ‘hooded off’ in his face; he sees them directly,
and proceeds to mount. ‘Now, good hawks, you will have some work to do
before you overtake him!’ The knowing riders are down wind as hard as
they can go. Ring after ring is made, and yet the hawks seem to gain but
little on him. Still they are flying like swallows: ‘De Ruyter’ makes a
tremendous ring, but still fails to get above him. Again and again they
ring, and have attained a great height. A scream of delight is heard:
they are above him; ‘De Ruyter’ is at him! A fine stoop, but the heron
dodges out of the way. Now for ‘Sultan;’ but she misses too; the heron
is up like a shot, and three or four rings have to be made before there
is another stoop. Another and another stoop, with loud cheers from
below. ‘Sultan’ _just_ catches him once, but can’t hold; it seems still
a doubtful victory, when ‘De Ruyter’ hits him _hard_; and, after two or
three more stoops, ‘Sultan’ catches him, amidst the excitement of
hurrahs and whoops; a really good flight; _can’t be better_,--two and a
half miles from where they were ‘hooded off.’
“Thus ended as good a day’s sport as any one could wish to see.”
The heron, besides affording great sport with hawks, was considered,
when killed, a delicacy for the table. At the ancient City feasts and
entertainments to royalty, the heron always appeared amongst the other
good things;[129] and from the old “Household Books” it appears that the
price usually paid for this bird was xijd. Of late years the heron has
dropped out of the bill of fare, and no longer forms a fashionable dish.
One of the last records of its appearance at table which we have met
with, is in connection with the feast which was given by the Executors
of Thomas Sutton, the founder of the London Charter House, on the 18th
May, 1812, in the Hall of the Stationers’ Company. “For this repast were
provided 32 neats’ tongues, 40 stone of beef, 24 marrow-bones, 1 lamb,
46 capons, 32 geese, 4 pheasants, 12 pheasants’ pullets, 12 godwits, 24
rabbits, 6 _hearnshaws_,” &c., &c.
[Sidenote: THE WOODCOCK.]
Amongst the other “lang-nebbit things” which interest both sportsman and
gourmand, the Woodcock and Snipe received almost as much attention in
Shakespeare’s day as they do at the present time--with this difference,
however, that where the gun is now employed, the gin or springe was
formerly the instrument of their death.
“Four woodcocks in a dish.”
_Love’s Labour’s Lost_, Act iv. Sc. 3.
The woodcock, for some unaccountable reason, was supposed to have no
brains, and the name of this bird became a synonym for a fool. It is to
this that Claudio alludes when he says:--
“Shall I not find a woodcock too?”
_Much Ado about Nothing_, Act v. Sc. 1.
Again--
“O this woodcock! what an ass it is!”
_Taming of the Shrew_, Act i. Sc. 2.
[Sidenote: A SPRINGE FOR WOODCOCKS.]
Shakespeare has many allusions to the capture of this bird by springe
and gin--
“Aye, springes to catch woodcocks.”
_Hamlet_, Act i. Sc. 3.
[Sidenote: HOW TO MAKE A SPRINGE.]
In his “Natural History and Sport in Moray,” Mr. St. John describes a
springe with which he used to take both snipe and woodcocks very
successfully. It was made as follows:--
[Illustration: A. Rod like a mole-trap stick. B. Short piece of stick.
C. Forked stick with one end passed through the other. D. Straight
stick. E. Bent stick. F. Hair-snare.]
A, by pulling on B, presses it against the forked stick C, which in turn
is pressed against the upright stick D, and this keeps it all in place.
But on a bird stepping on the forked stick C, the weight of the bird
loosens its hold, and the long stick A flies up, catching the victim in
the snare, which is laid flat on the forked stick C.
Then, as Shakespeare hath it,--
“If the springe hold, the _cock’s_ mine.”
_Winter’s Tale_, Act iv. Sc. 2.
Mr. A. E. Knox, in his “Game-Birds and Wild-Fowl,” has described a very
similar trap, and his description is so animated, while at the same time
so instructive, that we are tempted to overlook the similarity and quote
his words:--
“We soon found many tracks of the woodcock on the black mud; and on
one spot these, as well as the borings of his beak, were very
numerous. Here my companion halted, and pulling out his knife, cut
down a tall willow rod, which he stuck firmly into the ground in
nearly an upright position, or perhaps rather inclining backwards.
“On the opposite side of the run he fixed a peg, so as to project
only a few inches above the surface; to this he fastened a slight
stick about a foot long, attached loosely with a tough string, much
as the swingel of a flail is to its handstaff: another branch of a
willow was bent into an arch, and both ends driven into the soft
ground to a considerable depth on the opposite side of the track,
and nearer to the tall upright wand. To the top of the latter a
string was now fastened, the end of which was formed into a large
running noose; while, about half way down, another piece of stick,
about six inches long, was tied by its middle. The flexible wand was
then bent forcibly downwards, one end of the little stick overhead
was passed under the arch, while it was retained in this position,
and at the same time the bow prevented from springing upwards, by
the other extremity being placed against a notch at the end of the
stick which had been fastened to the peg on the other side of the
run, across which it now lay, two or three inches from the ground,
and supported the noose. This, in fact, constituted the trigger,
which was to be released when struck by the breast of the woodcock.
The old man constructed his trap in much less time than I have taken
to describe it. His last care was to weave the sedges on either side
of the run into a kind of screen, so as to _weir_ the woodcock into
the snare, and this he accomplished with much skill and expedition.”
“We have caught the woodcock.”
_All’s Well_, Act iv. Sc. 1.
[Sidenote: THE GIN.]
Another method of taking this bird was with a steel trap called “a gin:”
“Now is the woodcock near the gin.”
_Twelfth Night_, Act ii. Sc. 5.
This trap, being commonly used now-a-days for rats, is probably too well
known to need a description here.
“So strives the woodcock with the gin.”
_Henry VI._ Part III. Act i. Sc. 4.
[Sidenote: THE WOODCOCK’S HEAD.]
Under the head of “Wild-Fowl” we shall have occasion, in a subsequent
chapter, to allude to the opinion of Pythagoras on the transmigration of
souls, and to the discussion on this subject in _Twelfth Night_, when
the clown portentously observes to Malvolio,--
“Fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the soul of thy
grandam. Fare thee well.”--_Twelfth Night_, Act iv. Sc. 2.
The “woodcock’s head” in Shakespeare’s day, on account of its shape, was
a fashionable term for a tobacco-pipe.[130] “Those who loved smoking sat
on the stage-stools, with their three sorts of tobacco, and their lights
by them, handing matches on the point of their swords, or sending out
their pages for real Trinidado. They actually practised smoking under
professors who taught them tricks; and the intelligence offices were not
more frequented, no, nor the pretty seamstresses’ shops at the Exchange,
than the new tobacco office.”[131]
It is somewhat remarkable that while Shakespeare’s contemporary, Ben
Jonson, has founded whole scenes upon the practice of smoking, he
himself has made no mention of it. Some commentators have brought this
forward as a proof of the comparative earliness of many of his dramas,
but smoking was in general use long before Shakespeare left London, and
he drew his manners almost entirely from his own age, making mention of
masks, false hair, pomanders, and fardingales, all of which were
introduced about the same time. But _apropos_ of “the woodcock’s head,”
we are wandering away from Shakespeare’s birds.
[Sidenote: THE SNIPE.]
The Snipe (_Scolopax gallinago_) has been less frequently noticed by him
than the woodcock. Indeed we have been unable to find more than one
passage in which it is mentioned.
Iago, alluding to Roderigo, says:--
“For I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane,
If I would time expend with such a snipe,
But for my sport and profit.”
_Othello_, Act i. Sc. 3.
The speaker being evidently of opinion that a snipe was too
insignificant a bird to the sportsman to warrant his taking much trouble
to kill it, except for mere sport.
That there was a good deal more “sport” than “profit” is extremely
likely; for it is difficult to believe that the sportsmen of
Shakespeare’s day, with guns such as we have described, fired with
either fuze or flint, could have successfully stopped the erratic flight
of a snipe. That large numbers of snipe were brought to market, and
appeared at table, in Shakespeare’s time, is clear from the numerous
entries in the old “Household Book,” where their value is stated to have
been “after iii a j d.” There can be little doubt, however, that these
were not “shot birds,” but were taken in snares and nets, as our modern
fowlers take plovers and other fen birds.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]