point of view, by too much trapping or shooting the enemies of game,
though there was plenty of wild game in it, the balance of nature was
quite undisturbed. Of course we never shot a hawk or an owl, and I think
the most important item of vermin killed was two cats, which were hung up
as an awful instance of what we could do if we liked.
[Illustration: OTTERS. _From a photograph by J. S. Bond_.]
[Illustration: WATERHEN ON HER NEST. _From a photograph by R. B. Lodge_.]
In such large isolated woods, the wild life of the ordinary countryside
exists under conditions somewhat differing from those found even in
estates where the natural cover of woodland is broken up into copses and
plantations. Birds and beasts, and even vegetation, are found in an
intermediate stage between the wholly artificial life on cultivated land
and the natural life in true forest districts like the New Forest or
Exmoor. Most of these woods are cut bare, so far as the underwood extends,
once in every seven years. But the cutting is always limited to a seventh
of the wood. This leaves the ground covered with seven stages of growth,
the large trees remaining unfelled. With the exception of this annual
disturbance of a seventh of the area, and a few days' hunting and
shooting, limited by the difficulty of beating such extensive tracts of
cover, the wood remains undisturbed for the twelve months, and all wild
animals are naturally tempted to make it a permanent home.
As I have said, the wood stands on the banks of the Thames, below the old
fortress of Sinodun Hill, and opposite to the junction of the River Thame.
All the British land carnivora except the martin cat and the wild cat are
found in it. The writer recently saw the skin of a cat which had reverted
to the exact size, colouring, and length of fur of the wild species,
killed in the well-known Bagley Wood, an area of similar character, but of
much greater extent, at a few miles distance in the direction of Oxford. A
polecat was domiciled in Wittenham Wood as lately as August, 1898. Though
this animal is reported to be very scarce in many counties, there is
little doubt that in such woods it is far commoner than is generally
believed. Being mainly a night-hunting animal it escapes notice. But in
the quiet of the wood it lays aside its caution, and hunts boldly in the
daytime. The cries of a young pheasant in distress, running through some
thick bramble patches and clumps of hazel, suggested that some carnivorous
animal was near, and on stepping into the thicket a large polecat was seen
galloping through the brushwood. Its great size showed that it was a male,
and the colour of its fur was to all appearance not the rich brown common
to the polecat and the polecat cross in the ferret, but a glossy black.
This, according to Mr. W.E. de Winton, perhaps the best authority on the
British _mustelidae_, is the normal tint of the male polecat's fur in
summer. "By the 1st of June," he writes, "the fur is entirely changed in
both sexes. The female, or 'Jill,' changes her entire coat directly she
has young; at the end of April or the beginning of May. The male, or
'Hob,' changes his more leisurely throughout the month of May. He is then
known locally as the black ferret, and has a beautiful purplish black
coat. As in all _mustelidae_ the male is half as big again as the
female." Stoats and weasels are of course attracted to the woods, where,
abandoning their habit of methodical hedgerow hunting, they range at
large, killing the rabbits in the open wood, and hunting them through the
different squares into which the ground is divided with as much
perseverance as a hound. They may be seen engaged in this occupation,
during which they show little or no fear of man. They will stop when
crossing a ride to pick up the scent of the hunted rabbit, and after
following it into the next square, run back to have another look at the
man they noticed as they went by, with an impudence peculiar to their
race. The foxes have selected one of the prettiest tracts of the wood for
their breeding-earth. It is dug in a gentle hollow, and at a height of
some forty feet above the Thames. From it the cubs have beaten a regular
path to the riverside, where they amuse themselves by catching frogs and
young water-voles. The parent foxes do not, as a rule, kill much game in
the wood itself, except when the cubs are young. They leave it early in
the evening and prowl round the outsides, over the hill, and round the
Celtic camp above, and beat the river-bank for a great distance up and
down stream, catching water-hens and rats. At sunrise they return to the
wood, and, as a rule, go to earth. The cubs, on the other hand, never
leave it until disturbed by the hounds cub-hunting in September. Otters,
which travel up and down the river, and occasionally lie in the osier-bed
which joins the wood, complete the list of predatory quadrupeds which
haunt it. With the exception of the first, the wild cat, and the last, the
otter, they constitute its normal population, and as long as the stock of
rabbits and hares is maintained, they may remain there as long as the wood
lasts.
Numerically, the rabbits are more than equal to the total of other
species, whether bird or beast.[1] In dry seasons, they swarm in the
lighter tracts of the wood, and burrow in every part of it. These
wood-rabbits differ in their way of life from those in the open warren
outside. Their burrows are less intricate, and not massed together in
numbers as in the open. On the other hand, the whole rabbit population of
the one hundred acres seems to keep in touch, and occasionally moves in
large bodies from one part of the area to another. During one spring and
early summer the first broods of young rabbits burrowed tunnels under the
wire-netting which encircled the boundary for many hundred yards, and went
into a large field of barley adjoining. This they half destroyed. By the
middle of August it was found that, instead of the barley being full of
rabbits, it was deserted. They had all returned to the wood, and were in
their turn bringing up young families. One colony deserted the wood
altogether, and formed a separate warren some hundreds of yards away on a
steep hillside. On the eastern boundary the river is a complete check to
their migration. Except in the great frosts, when the Thames is frozen, no
rabbit ever troubles to cross it. Hares do so frequently when coursed, and
occasionally when under no pressure of danger. After harvest, when the
last barley-fields are cut, the wood is full of hares. They resort to it
from all quarters for shelter, and do not emerge in any number until after
the fall of the leaf. During the months of August, September, and October
these hares, which during the spring and winter lie out in the most open
parts of the hills above, lead the life of woodland animals. In place of
lying still in a form throughout the day, they move and feed. At all hours
they may be heard fidgeting about in the underwood and "creeping" in the
regularly used paths in the thick cover. When disturbed they never go at
speed, but, confident in the shelter of the wood, hop and canter in
circles, without leaving cover. In the evening they come out into the
rides, and thence travel out into the clover layers, returning, like the
foxes, early in the morning. A badger was found dead in the wood the first
year I rented it. This I much regretted, for though it had probably been
shot coming out of a cornfield next the wood, the badger is quite
harmless, and most useful to the fox hunter, for he _cleans out the
earths_. Mr. E. Dunn, late master of the Old Berkshire, tells me that
they are of great service in this way, as they _dig_ and enlarge the
earths, and so prevent the taint of mange clinging to the sides if a mangy
fox has lain in them.
[Illustration: DABCHICK. _From a photograph by R.B. Lodge._]
[Illustration: BADGER. _From a photograph by J.S. Bond._]
Lying between the river and the hills, this wood holds nearly every
species of the larger woodland and riverine birds common to southern
England. The hobby breeds there yearly. The wild pheasant, crow,
sparrow-hawk, kestrel, magpie, jay, ringdove, brown owl, water-hen (on the
river-bounded side), in summer the cuckoo and turtle-dove, are all found
there, and, with the exception of the pigeons and kestrels, which seek
their food at a distance during the day, they seldom leave the shelter of
its trees. One other species frequents the more open parts of the cover in
yearly greater numbers; this is the common grey partridge. The wood has an
increasing attraction for them. They nest in it, fly to it at once for
shelter when disturbed, lie in the thick copses during the heat of the
day, and roost there at night. Several covies may be seen on the wing in a
few minutes if the stubbles outside are disturbed in the evening, flying
to the wood. There they alight, and run like pheasants, refusing to rise
if followed. It is said that in the most thickly planted parts of
Hampshire the partridge is becoming a woodland bird, like the ruffed
grouse of North America. All that it needs to learn is how to perch in a
tree, an art which the red-legged partridge possesses. The birds, unlike
the foxes, hares, and rabbits, avoid the centre of the wood. Only the owls
and wood-pigeons haunt the interior. All the other species live upon the
edge. They dislike the darkness, and draw towards the sun. The jays keep
mainly to one corner by the river. The sparrow-hawks have also their
favourite corner. The wild pheasants lead a life in curious contrast to
that of the tame birds in the preserves. Like their ancestors in China and
the Caucasus, they prefer the osier-beds and reeds by the river to the
higher and drier ground. But in common with all the other birds of the
wood, with the exception of the brown owls, they move round the wood
daily, _following the sun_. In the early morning they are on the
eastern margin to meet the sunrise. At noon they move round to the south,
and in the evening are on the stubbles to the west. Where the pheasants
are there will the other birds be found, in an unconscious search for
light. It is the shelter and safety of the big wood, and not the presence
of crowded vegetation, that attracts them. They seek the wood, not from
choice, but because it is a city of refuge.
[1] These observations were made some years ago. I believe it has been
found necessary to kill down the rabbits since.
SPORT AT WITTENHAM
There is always some rivalry about shooting different woods on adjacent
properties, and the villages near always take a certain interest in the
results. Visiting our nearest riverside inn to order luncheon for our own
shoot that week, I found about a dozen labourers in the front room, with a
high settle before the fire to keep the draught out, sitting in a fine
mixed odour of burning wood, beer, and pipes. Sport was the pervading
topic, for a popular resident had been shooting his wood, and many of the
men had been beating for him, and had their usual half-crown to spend.
They were all talking over the day at the top of their voices; it had been
a very good one. The wood is quite isolated and not more than forty acres.
All round it is the property of one of the Oxford Colleges, which retains
the sporting rights over about fifteen hundred acres. This is exercised by
one of their senior fellows under some arrangement which works perfectly
well so far as I can see. I asked our keeper, who always calls him "The
Doctor," whether he was a medicine doctor or a doctor of divinity. He
inclined to think he was the latter, as he belonged to college shooting.
This way of putting it struck me as odd, but he was right. Any way, he
looked a very pleasant figure in his long shooting coat and old-fashioned
Bedford cords. There is also a college keeper, who is an institution in
the village. The day's sport in "the Captain's wood" had been a success.
Forty hares had been shot, or just one per acre, as well as a number of
rabbits and wild pheasants. The hares were being sent round the village in
very generous fashion, and a dozen lay on a bench in a back room.
Our own day was also a satisfactory one. Rabbits were unusually numerous,
and many squares had to be beaten twice. The gross total of the two days
was only something over three hundred head; but it was all wild game, and
shot in very pretty surroundings. With the beaters were the keeper, who is
also head woodman, and two assistant woodmen. These three men cut the
whole of the hundred acres down in the course of seven years. Putting
their lives at something over three score and ten, they will, as they
began before they were twenty-one, have cut the wood down about eight
times in the course of their existence. The beaters are entirely recruited
from the staff of this very large and well-managed farm. They have beaten
the woods so often that they know exactly what to do, when properly
generalled. Our landlord was one of the guns, and his son, who does not
shoot, but knows the wood thoroughly, kindly took command of the men, and
kept things going at best pace through the day. Anything prettier than the
entrance to the wood would be hard to find. A long meadow slopes steeply
to the Thames, with an old church and the remains of a manor house at one
end and the wood at the other. Below the house is a roaring weir, and
opposite the abbey of Dorchester across the flats. Our little campaign
gave an added interest to the scene. The bulk of the men were going round
behind the hills to drive these "kopjes" into the wood. The guns and one
or two ladies, and some small boys bearing burdens were walking up the
middle ride. Below was the silver Thames in best autumn livery, for the
leaf was not yet off the willows, though the reed-beds were bright russet.
The sky was blue, the sun bright, and the sound of the weir came gaily up
through the trees. All the wood-paths were bright with moss, the air
still, and an endless shower of leaves from the oaks was falling over the
whole hundred acres. There were just enough wild pheasants in the wood to
make a variety in the rabbit-shooting. Hares were unexpectedly numerous,
and we lined up on the side of the wood furthest from the river for a hare
drive. The whole hillside is without a hedge. Watching the long slope it
is a pretty and exciting sport to see the coveys of partridges, of which
there are sometimes a number on the hill, rise, fly down and pitch again,
and then rise once more and come fifty miles an hour over your head into
the wood.
The hares are generally very wild, getting up while the folds of the
ground are still between them and the beaters. As they seldom come
straight into the wood it is amusing to guess which particular gun they
will make for. Most of them slipped in at a safe distance, only to be
picked up in the wood later. A few birds were shot, and the cover now held
some forty partridges, though they are very wild in the low slop, and
seldom leave more than one or two stragglers behind when the wood is
beaten. The rabbit-shooting in the cover is difficult unless firing at
"creepers" from the cover in front is indulged in. The rides are often
very narrow, and the rabbits cross like lightning. Shooting "creepers" is
also highly dangerous if there are many guns, or if the men are near. They
do not seem to mind; indeed, I have known them shout out exhortations for
us to fire, when only screened by a row of thistles. One thing I have
learnt by shooting this big wood. The hares, and late in the season the
rabbits, move at least one square ahead of the beaters. If a single gun is
kept well forward, choosing his own place and taking turnabout with the
others, the bag--if it is wished to kill down the ground game--will be
considerably increased. One object when shooting this wood is to get the
ground beaten quickly; if there are twenty squares to be beaten, and five
minutes are wasted at each, it means a loss of one hour forty minutes. The
guns consequently go best pace to their places forward after each beat.
What with running at a jog-trot down the rides, shooting hard when in
place, and then getting on quickly to the next stand, often along spongy
or clayey rides on a nice, warm, moist November day, this is by no means
the armchair work which people are fond of calling wood shooting. The
variety of scenery in the wood added much to the charm. Sometimes we were
in the narrow rides covered with short turf and almost arched over by the
tall hazels; sometimes we were in low slop or walking through last year's
cuttings, shooting at impossible rabbits. There we had an occasional rise
of those most difficult of all birds to kill, partridge in cover, killing
both French and English birds; or a cock pheasant would rise and hustle
forward, an agreement having been made to leave these till properly beaten
up later in the day. Two very pretty corners were perhaps the most
enjoyable parts of the sport. By the river was a flat reed- and
rush-covered corner, with a ring of oaks round, the Thames at the bottom,
and some tall chestnut-trees on the outside. As the men advanced we had a
regular rise of wild pheasants, rocketing up from the reeds in every
direction high over the oaks and chestnuts. A fox helped the fun by
trotting up and down in the reeds uncertain which way to go, and flushing
the birds as he did so. Then the rushes were walked out and the rabbits
sent darting in every direction. After this we hardly found a bird or
rabbit in that corner during the season.
That year the wood gave constant sport, far better than in the later
years. There were three times as many rabbits, as well as hares and
pheasants.
One day in January we shot it during a fall of fine, dry snow. As the day
went on the ground grew white, and our coats whiter. At luncheon the men
were quite prepared for the emergency, or rather had prepared for it the
day before when the frost began. They had a bonfire of brambles a dozen
feet high, and faggots ready as seats, one set for us on one side of the
fire, another for themselves on the other. The roaring blaze of the fire
warmed us through and through, and by the end of luncheon our coats, which
had been powdered with snow, were grey with wood ash descending. During
this day a fox hung round us during the whole shoot. I think he must have
been picking up and burying or hiding wounded rabbits, for every now and
then he would come out into the ride, carefully smell the various places
where rabbits had crossed, and then, selecting one, would go off like a
retriever into the cover.
SPORT AT WITTENHAM (_continued_)
A month later Mr. Harcourt was shooting his woods at Nuneham. There are
more than four hundred acres of woods round this most beautiful park, all
of them giving ideal English estate scenery. The oaks of the park are like
those at Richmond, but there is not much fern except in the covers.
Nuneham is the best natural pheasant preserve in the Thames Valley, except
Wytham, Lord Abingdon's place, above Oxford. The woods lie roughly in a
ring round the park, in which the pheasants sun themselves. Outside these
woods are arable fields with quantities of feed, and all along the front
lies the river, which the pheasants do not often cross. The most striking
sport at Nuneham is the driving of the island by the lock cottage. Every
one who has been at Oxford has rowed down to have tea under the lovely
hanging woods by the old lock. Few see it later in the year when the
island opposite is covered with masses of silver-white clematis and
thousands of red berries of the wild rose and thorn. In the late autumn
mornings, when the mists are floating among the tall trees on the hill and
the sunbeams just striking down through the vapours as they top the wood
from the east, it is one of the prettiest sights on the Thames. In
November or early December, when the woods are shot, numbers of pheasants
are always found on the island. It holds a pool, in which and on the river
are usually a number of wild ducks. Shooting from the river itself is now
forbidden, and these and the half-wild duck have multiplied. The beaters,
in white smocks, all cross the old rustic bridge like a procession of
white-robed monks, and drive this island, and wild ducks and pheasants
come out high over the river, making for the top of the hill. The shooting
is fast and difficult, and the scene as the guns fire from the stations
all along the bank is most picturesque.
Shooting with a neighbour on some land adjoining Nuneham, my attention was
drawn to the very elegant appearance of all the gates and rails adjacent
to the road. As the ground was always beautifully farmed and in good
order, the condition of the gates did not surprise me. There was, however,
a story attached to their smartness. A seller of quack medicines had sent
out advertisers with most objectionable little bills, which he had posted
on every gate adjoining the roads. My entertainer, who was the occupier of
the land, had brought an action against the medicine man for defacing his
gates, which was only compromised by the delinquent undertaking to paint
every gate. He demurred at first to painting the railings too, but in the
end had to do this also.
The stalking-horse is still part of the sporting equipment of some old
Thames-valley farmhouses, but not in this neighbourhood. Only one wet
season fell to my lot, and then, though I often saw bodies of duck, I had
no opportunity of getting near them. A neighbour anchored a punt under a
hedge on the line which he believed the duck would take at dusk, and
killed several. Hard frosts send large bodies of duck to the river; they
come as soon as ever the large private lakes, like those at Blenheim,
Wootton, and Eynsham are frozen, and lie in small flocks all along the
river. Water-hens are so numerous on the river now, owing to their
preservation by the Conservancy, that any small covers of osier near are
full of them. They make extremely pretty old-fashioned shooting when
beaten up by a spaniel from the sedge and osier cover. I once turned out a
dozen water-hens, a brown owl, a woodcock, and a water-rail from one
little withe patch. When shooting the wood we always had one or two
water-hens in the bag, and sometimes a chance at a duck flying overhead
from the river. Only once were there many woodcocks in the cover. There
must have been at least five, and all were missed. At last, as we were
finishing the beat, one of the guns, who was young and keen, went off
after the last-missed cock along the river bank. As we were loading up the
game at the wood gate we heard a single shot. Then he appeared in the ride
with the cock. Both he and his excellent old spaniel received warm
congratulations. For my own part I was never tired of by-days in the wood
in my first season. The best sport was starting rabbits from under the
rows of fresh-felled ash and hazel poles, which the woodman called drills.
They are about five feet high and seven feet through. The rabbits get
under them in numbers, and sit there all day. We had an old retriever who
was an expert at finding them. The next process was for the gun to clamber
on to the top and stand knee-deep on the springing faggots, while a
woodman on each side poked the rabbit out with a pole. He might bolt any
way, and was under the next drill in a trice, so the shooting was quick. I
bagged twelve one afternoon in this cheerful manner. Another great
ambition of our lives was to get the better of the hill partridges. There
were plenty of them, but they always dived into the wood, and were lost
for the day. Only once did we score off them. We drove about sixty from
the hills into the wood. There they were seen running along the rides like
guinea fowls, but by placing a gun at the corner of the wood, and beating
towards him, we killed nine brace.
A FEBRUARY FOX HUNT