Passage Hawks
All big hawks captured after they have begun to prey for themselves
are now commonly called passage hawks, although the name, strictly
speaking, may not be at all correct. Wild-caught is a more inclusive
term; and it is often used in the case of sparrow-hawks, merlins, and
hobbies, when casually caught by bird-catchers or gamekeepers, and not
killed in the process. We have seen that passage hawk means properly
a hawk caught during the period of her first migration southwards. It
is, however, of course, possible to capture her either in early autumn
before the migration has commenced--in which case a peregrine is more
properly called a slight falcon or slight tiercel--or late in the
winter, when she has become a lantiner, or in the spring migration,
when she is travelling north. But if she has begun to moult before she
comes into man's possession, she is correctly described as a haggard.
If gamekeepers were a little more alive to their own interests they
would often catch sparrow-hawks, and sometimes merlins and peregrines,
alive, and dispose of them at a very remunerative price, instead of
killing them, often in a most barbarous way, by means of pole-traps
and other snares, which destroy or cripple them after hours of
torture, and render them almost valueless. But for generations past
no systematic attempts have been made in this country to snare wild
hawks in an uninjured condition; and if a falconer should be able to
obtain any hawk so taken he may consider himself exceptionally lucky.
Several such hawks have indeed been caught in England, and, getting
rather accidentally into good hands, have turned out very excellent
performers. Occasionally a sparrow-hawk or merlin is saved alive out of
the nets of a bird-catcher; and these, if heard of before their plumage
is ruined, are prizes for which many a falconer will gladly give
something like their weight in silver.
But, as a rule, the full-grown hawks which come into the market
are captives which have been taken on the autumnal passage by the
professional hawk-catchers of Valkenswaard, in North Brabant. The sons
of Adrian Möllen, formerly falconer to the famous Loo Club, still carry
on this business of snaring peregrines on the great open heath, which
for many centuries has been resorted to for a like purpose, and which,
of course, takes its name from its renown as a place over which the
migrants must often pass. Anyone who wants a wild-caught peregrine
should write beforehand to one of these gentlemen, who will probably
not fail to send him what he requires. They go out every year, in
the months of October and November, and lie in wait daily in their
cunningly-constructed huts until they have secured as many captives
as have been ordered in various places. A dozen or more are annually
required for England, and sometimes a few for France. The variety most
in demand is the red falcon, that is to say, the female peregrine
in the nestling plumage, not yet moulted. But blue falcons are also
sometimes wanted, and of late years there has been some considerable
demand for tiercels, both red and blue. Merlins, sparrow-hawks, and an
occasional goshawk may be taken, and, still more rarely, a ger. The
price for a falcon is four to five pounds, and of a tiercel from three
to four. But a special apparatus is required for catching the smaller
hawks, which will not usually come to the same lure as a peregrine. If
the captured hawk has to be kept for any length of time in the captor's
hands before being fetched or sent away, an extra charge is made for
her maintenance.
The device whereby the wild hawk is caught in Holland is somewhat
elaborate. It has more than once been described in print, and may be
briefly noticed here. A hut is first built up with sods of turf in
an open part of the plain. It looks from outside like a mere knoll
or rising in the ground. A nearer inspection shows a small opening
in front, through which a man, or at a pinch two men, can crawl. It
is fitted with a low seat inside, and at the back, behind and above
the seat, is an aperture something like the small port-hole of a
cabin, which can be opened by pulling out a sod of turf, and closed by
replacing the same. This is to enable the hawk-catcher to spy out at
a hawk which is coming up from behind his back. Outside the hut and
in front of it is a sort of small altar or table of turf, on the flat
top of which is pegged down, by means of a short creance and jesses, a
butcher-bird or shrike. Scraps of meat are set out for the delectation
of this feathered watchman, who is also indulged with a miniature hut
of his own, into which he may retreat when terrified, as it is hoped
that he soon may be. The eyesight of this tethered spy is so keen that
he can descry his enemy the hawk at an incredible distance in the sky.
Whenever one is approaching, though far out of range of the sharpest
human eye, he begins to exhibit signs of alarm. As the hawk comes
nearer he fidgets more and more, glancing nervously--or pointing, as
they call it--in the direction of the foe. If the latter still comes
nearer, he will cry out in his terror, and finally run cowering under
the shelter of his hut.
Meanwhile the falconer has not been idle. Snatching the turf shutter
from the little window behind him, he takes a look through his
field-glass in the direction to which the shrike is pointing, searching
for the coming hawk as an astronomer does for a lost star. If, on
espying it, he judges that it is a peregrine, he sets to work seriously
about the main business of the day.
At some distance from the hut is fixed up a pole with a line--we will
call it A--running from the top of it to the hut. To this line, at
some yards distance from the pole, is attached a branch line, after
the manner of the paternoster used in angling, at the end of which is
a live pigeon in jesses. When the line A is slack, the pigeon rests on
the ground, or in a hut to which he is at liberty to resort when he
likes. But if, by a pull in the falconer's hut, the line A is pulled
taut, up goes the pigeon in the air, and flutters about at the end of
his branch line, conspicuous from afar. Often there is a second pole at
a like distance from the big hut, but in a rather different direction;
and to this a second line, B, is attached, with a tame tiercel or
peregrine of some sort, rigged out in the same way as the pole-pigeon.
This hawk may have a handful of straw or worsted fastened to one of his
feet, so that he may look as if he had some dead quarry in possession,
and serve the better to attract the wild passager. As the shrike
points, and the wild hawk is coming up, the falconer works with a will
by the two strings A and B at the pole-hawk and the pole-pigeon. But
as soon as the passager is nearly overhead, and the shrike has hidden
himself, it is time to let loose the pole strings and let the very live
lures attached to it also bolt into shelter.
We now come to another component part of the Dutch hawk-trap. A third
line, C, leads from the hut to a small ring-peg in the ground sixty
or eighty yards away, passes through it, and a few feet farther on,
but at the side, is attached to a live pigeon in a box, out of which
it can be pulled by drawing the line. One more particular, and the
whole apparatus is complete. On each side of the ring-peg, and about
two feet from it, are pegs which hold down the hinges of a bow-net,
something like that which was used for catching up the hack hawks.
The usual and best way of making a bow-net is to take two equal
lengths of strong wire, five or six feet long, and bend each into a
nearly semicircular arch. The two ends of each hoop are twisted up
into a ring, and the two hoops are joined together so that a sort of
easy hinge is formed at the ends. A net of fine but strong string is
stretched over the whole circle formed by the two hoops. When it is
set, one-half of it is pegged down flat on the ground and the other
is folded back over it. To the middle of the upper hoop is attached a
fourth long line, D, by which it can be pulled over, so that when the
line is taut the hoops form a circle, with the net covering all the
space between the hinges. This will explain how the falconer, ensconced
in his hut, can, by a pull at the long line D, passing through a ground
peg to the arch of the bow-net, pull it over the ring through which
the line C passes. Thus there are four lines of which the ends lie in
the floor of the hut, each marked with a different colour, and each
requiring to be worked with prompt and accurate skill at the eventful
moment.
We can now understand the whole process of entrapping the passage hawk,
and shall find that it includes the following movements:--(1) Pointing
of the shrike; (2) removal of the turf shutter, and observation of the
coming hawk through the field-glass; (3) pulling of the lines A and B,
by which the pole-pigeon and the pole-hawk are made to flutter or fly
about and show themselves; (4) slackening of these lines and escape
of the pole-pigeon, pole-hawk, and shrike, under their respective
places of shelter. By this time the wild hawk ought to be close at
hand, and eagerly looking out for the pigeon which has so mysteriously
disappeared. Then (5) tightening of the line C, by which the hitherto
unseen pigeon is pulled out of his box, and displayed to the expectant
hawk above; (6) capture of this pigeon by the hawk. Next (7) a much
stronger and steadier pull is given to the line C, by which the far end
of it is dragged--pigeon, hawk, and all--towards the ring between the
horns of the bow-net. As soon as the pigeon, with the hawk upon it, has
got to this ring, a piece of tape or ribbon fastened on to a particular
place on the line C will have been pulled to a certain place within the
hut, and will warn the falconer that he need pull it no farther, as all
things are now ready for the next and most critical move. Then, holding
the line C still tight in one hand, the operator (8) will, with a quick
well-sustained effort, tighten the line D, and pull the net over hawk
and pigeon. All that remains now for the falconer to do is (9) to
make fast the end of the line D round a peg fixed in the hut for that
purpose, and then (10) to run out, with his best leg foremost, and take
the captive out of the net.
The reader may think this rather a needlessly elaborate and complicated
device; but it is a very sure one, when the operator does not bungle.
It has stood the test of many centuries, and is as good now as it was
in the days of Alfred the Great. There is no doubt that by means of
such an apparatus--slightly simplified, perhaps--wild peregrines might
be taken on the Wiltshire and Berkshire downs. Lord Lilford once had
a hut or huts out in England with some success. A similar apparatus,
with a less elaborate hiding-place, would enable keepers or shepherds
to catch many a sparrow-hawk and some merlins. For the former there
is almost always a good demand. So far is it from being true, as many
books assert, that "sparrow-hawks are easy to procure," there are
always half a dozen falconers in England who are vainly wishing that
they could lay hands on one.
To extract a wild hawk of any kind, but especially a ger, peregrine, or
goshawk, from the bow-net is sometimes no laughing matter. To set about
it with thickly-gloved hands involves much awkwardness, and is not
unlikely, in the case of an inexperienced man, to end in the loss of
the hawk. There is also the danger of breaking feathers, or even a bone
in the wing or leg. On the other hand, to go to work with even one hand
ungloved exposes you, unless you are adroit beyond the average of human
beings, to some particularly painful punctures and gashes. There are
eight talons or claws, each as sharp as a needle, awaiting your attack,
and it will not be the hawk's fault if she does not maul you with them.
As for the beak, it is well-nigh sharp and strong enough to nip a piece
clean out of the back of your hand. Yet the prisoner must be got out
somehow, and moreover must be held quiet while a pair of jesses and
a hood or sock are put on. A sock is an article of unpretentious but
sterling value to the hawk-catcher. Sometimes it is not a real sock,
but a strait-waistcoat of more artificial kind made to serve as an
improved imitation of the homely article of clothing originally used
by the old falconers. But the common and unimproved sock is quite good
enough for the hawk-catcher's purpose. It is turned inside out, in
the way familiar to washerwomen, so that at the heel there is an open
end, while the toe and top of the sock form the other end. Into that
open heel is pushed the head of the captured hawk. The sock itself is
then drawn bodily on to and over the hawk's shoulders. The beak, being
hooked downwards, will not interfere with the operation. The soft
covering is pulled down right over the back, chest, and thighs of the
victim, until nothing but the tail and the tips of the wings protrude.
If it fits tolerably, the hawk will be effectually strait-waistcoated,
and may be laid down on its back like an overturned turtle. A man's
sock, big or little, fits a falcon or tiercel fairly; and a boy's or
child's sock may be used for the smaller hawks. Before the sock is used
a couple of tapes may be sewn across it, one three or four inches from
the toe, and another five or six inches farther back, so that when it
is on the ends of one tape may be tied--not tightly, of course--round
the throat of the captive hawk just in front of the shoulders, and the
ends of the other tape round the back, just above the tail. The toe of
the sock may then be cut off, so that the hawk's head is left free.
The first captive, once reduced to quiescence for the time being, will
be laid out on the floor of the hut or near it, while the falconer
returns to his watch-place. For there is no reason why he should not
effect another, or even more captures, in the same day. Climatic
influences or mere chance may have ordained that for a week or more he
should have had no chance, and yet now the hawks should come fast and
furiously to the decoy. Long-winged hawks, unlike woodcocks and many
other migratory birds, travel with the wind in their faces; and they
by no means hurry on their way, pausing, sometimes for some days at
a time, at any place where quarry is abundant, where the bathing is
good, and where, perhaps, there are other attractions which we dull,
earth-treading mortals cannot understand or appreciate. As night comes
on, the captives are carried home in their socks, and a rufter hood is
put on, after which the socks are cut off, and they are set down on a
hillock of soft turf, or, if they show no signs of violent uneasiness,
on the screen-perch, the leash having, of course, in either case been
attached and made fast. From this moment the person for whom the hawk
is intended should by rights assume the ownership and charge of her.
It would be absurd to suppose that the hawk-catcher, however good a
falconer he may be, should act as trainer too, when he has to go out on
the morrow, and perhaps for many days afterwards, to entrap other hawks.
Before bedtime, in the long evening of late autumn, a grand attempt
should be made to induce the newly-caught hawk to eat. If she was
caught early in the day, and had not already breakfasted, it is
possible that the attempt may succeed, especially if she is of a placid
and philosophic turn of mind. But do not think that success will, even
then, be easily achieved. You may very likely have to wait a long
time. Different men, of course, have different methods of persuading a
newly-caught hawk to feed; but all agree that it is a very difficult
job. Many of the books advise the drawing of meat across her feet as
she stands on the fist, and repeating this until she begins to pick
at it. Perhaps I have never sufficiently tested this plan. I do not
think I can honestly say that I have ever drawn the seductive morsel
of meat more than a hundred times successively over the feet of the
unwilling feeder. But I must confess that the process, even when
protracted to this moderate length, is a little tedious. For my own
part I have found that, if she is touched lightly on the shoulder with
a finger of the right hand, she will generally strike out with open
beak in the direction of the offending finger--not, of course, with any
idea of eating anything, or even any very defined intention of biting
her assailant, but in a mere spirit of anger and defiance. If, then,
between the moment of touching her and that when the blow with the
beak is struck you can substitute in the place of the finger a juicy
slice of raw beef, there is quite a good chance that she will seize
it. At the first trial she will not swallow it. Probably she will bate
off and make a scene. Nevertheless, a certain taste of very delectable
food will linger in her mouth, and when peace is restored she will take
note of this. At the second trial she may possibly retain the meat a
little longer, and make less ado. By and by a small scrap of it may be
torn off before she gets rid of it; and this, if it is at all sticky,
and cannot be flipped off with a shake of the head, will be swallowed.
Now, if everything is done very gently and quietly, there is a chance
that she may strike out again with some real notion that there is food
to strike at. Directly she takes the meat and gives anything like a
pull at it, let a morsel come off. If the meat is really quite soft it
will be easy to manage this. By degrees she will, if hungry, begin to
take more kindly to the lesson. As often as you can get a small morsel
seized by her, however unwittingly, she will, if only to get rid of it,
pull it with her tongue down the natural lane where it is intended to
go. And at length she will voluntarily pull through the hood the viands
which are so very ready at her service.
Let her then take as much as ever she will. It is not likely to be very
much. Keep her either on your own fist or on the fist of some assistant
all through the first night, without allowing her to sleep a wink. And
until she has fed keep on at times tempting her to do so. Wild-caught
hawks may quite well be kept nearly twenty-four hours without food.
Eagles may be kept even for two or three days without much injury; and
goshawks for a day and a half. But twenty-four hours is too long for
a very small hawk, which must have been already hungry when she came
to the decoy. And if you can feed any hawk soon after her capture, so
much the better. Anything like starvation is now completely tabooed by
falconers pretending to any knowledge of their art. To reduce a hawk
while in process of reclamation is no more than you will be obliged
to do. For it is hopeless to expect to keep a passager, or indeed
any trained hawk, in quite such high condition as a wild hawk keeps
herself. But a thin hawk is a disgrace to the trainer. If you cannot
reclaim your hawk without submitting her to such hunger as will make
her weak and poor, you had better abandon falconry and try some less
difficult form of sport.
Possibly before your hawk will feed, and while you are carrying her,
you will find that she wants to cast. With her last meal eaten in
freedom, she is pretty sure to have swallowed some castings. Ten to one
she has thrown these up before she came to your decoy pigeon. But it is
possible she may not. Moreover, if the first hood she wears is an easy
one, well cut away at the beak opening, she may cast through the hood.
But if she is seen making efforts to cast, and is prevented by the hood
from doing so, take her into a nearly dark room or passage. Remove
the hood with the fingers and teeth, and, when she has thrown up her
casting, slip it on again. Otherwise she may possibly choke herself in
the vain attempt to cast. Of course you will not dream of allowing her,
for days to come, to eat anything anywhere except on the fist.
If a wild-caught hawk is so rampageous from the first that she will not
stand on the fist at all without jumping off, she must be left on the
turf mound, but by no means be allowed to go to sleep. An attendant
must be at hand who will effectually prevent this by touching her
whenever she seems to be dozing off. A few hours of this stirring-up
will make her ready enough to keep quiet on the fist when she has a
chance. And a few hours more will make her willing enough to stand
still there, even when the fist is moved unsteadily about.
We will suppose now that the passager has at last fed moderately but
unstintingly through the hood upon the fist; that she can be carried
about on it without much risk of bating off; and that she has had no
sleep since she was brought in. She may now be stroked gently with
an uncut pencil or short stick, first on the back, then on the breast
and legs. Some writers advise doing this with a feather; but the stick
is far preferable. The time has now arrived for releasing her for a
while from the hood. But before this is done, she must be taken into a
room which is nearly dark, so that on the removal of the hood she can
hardly see her way about. The time chosen should also be when she is
sharp-set; and a tempting piece of food should be under her feet at
the time. As she pulls at it, more light may be let in; and possibly
she will keep at her meal quietly until it is nearly or quite broad
daylight in the place. But most falconers first unhood their hawks by
candlelight. Then one candle may be first lighted at one end of a long
room, when hawk and man are at the other. If all goes well, a second
may be lighted, and then the man, keeping a sharp eye on his hawk, may
walk slowly towards them into the fuller light. Thus by degrees, taking
care not to proceed too fast, or ever alarm the pupil, she may be made
tame enough to feed bareheaded even in the open air.
The old falconers used to "seel" their wild-caught hawks, stitching up
the eyelids so as to make them blind; and anyone who is neat-handed
enough to be able to seel a hawk without causing her any pain or
injury may find it a good plan now to adopt this system. Then, suppose
there are four stitches in each eyelid, on the first day of unseeling
the pair nearest the beak may be removed, and one more pair on each
succeeding day, till the whole eye is free. But seeling, as a matter
of fact, has now gone quite out of fashion in this country. Many
modern amateurs also seem to disbelieve in the expediency of waking
wild-caught hawks, _i.e._ preventing them from sleeping. And true it is
that this expedient is not absolutely necessary. But one may safely say
that a hawk which is waked well directly after it is captured will be
reclaimed three or four times as soon and as easily as one which is not.
I have spoken of slipping the hood on and off a hawk as if it were a
thing that the falconer, whether experienced or not, could accomplish
without bungling. But it must not be inferred that the operation is
easy. Probably it is the part of a falconer's first duties which is
more difficult than any other. Even amongst expert falconers it is not
altogether common to find a really good hooder. The knack of hooding
is only to be acquired, like other fine arts, by long and assiduous
practice. For this reason, if for no other, every beginner should try
his 'prentice hand on a kestrel before he aspires to a peregrine or
merlin. If he can by any means make acquaintance with a graduate in the
art of falconry who is known to hood well, let him observe minutely
his method and manner, and after each lesson practise on the _corpus
vile_ of the "knave's hawk" to acquire the same facility which he has
seen his senior to possess. Example in this case is more valuable than
precept. But do not, by any mistake, become a pupil of a bad hooder!
In the hands of a bungler no hawk can well be good-tempered, whereas
in the hands of a first-rate master she will stand to the hood as
if she rather liked it. When Adrian Möllen was with the Loo Club in
Holland one of the king's brothers came to him for a fortnight, for
an hour every day, simply and solely to learn how to hood. There are
various manners of putting the hood on. Some hold the base of the plume
between the right forefinger and thumb, and, passing it slowly up the
breast of the hawk, pop it on quickly over the beak, and with a tap on
the forehead push it back into its place. Others hold the hood by the
plume between the fore edge of the palm and the inside of the base of
the thumb, and, presenting the palm of the hand right in front of the
hawk's face, push it forwards, and cause the beak to pass through the
opening, raising the wrist afterwards so as to force the back of the
hood down on to the nape. In any case there must be an appearance of
quiet deliberation about the movements made, combined with a certain
amount of actual quickness.
The hood used in learning to hood should be an easy one, very much cut
away at the beak opening. And the hawk herself must be first so far
manned that she will allow the intending hooder to pass his hand over
the crown of her head, and to stroke her on the back without making any
objection, or exhibiting any uneasiness. She should be accustomed to
the sight of the hood, and have often been allowed to pick nice little
morsels of meat from the outside of it. Then she may be allowed to pick
a clean piece or two from the inside of it; and from the beak opening,
under which, as the hood lies upside-down in your hand, you hold the
seductive morsel. If a hawk is so treated as to become the least
_afraid_ of the hood, it will be a work of dire difficulty, and almost
impossibility in awkward hands, to break her to it, or cure her of the
vice. And hawks are sometimes to be seen so mismanaged by their owners
that they get into a "state of mind" at the mere sight of the obnoxious
head-dress. A hood-shy hawk is not only a nuisance, but a discredit to
her trainer.
When the hawk has once gone so far as to dip her beak into the hood
in search of a scrap of food, it requires no great dexterity to slip
it over her head. While doing so the knuckles of the left hand should
be turned slightly outwards, so that the hawk's head is naturally
projected forwards towards the hood, and cannot easily be drawn back;
whereas as soon as the hood is on the same knuckles should be turned
a little inwards so that the head is held up. The braces can then be
seized, one in the right finger and thumb, and the other by the teeth,
and pulled tight, before the wearer can jerk or shake it off. Merlins
are of all hawks the most difficult to hood, owing to their extreme
vivacity and the quickness with which they discern and anticipate any
movement of the trainer. But then their amenability to kind treatment
is also so great that they can be handled, like a horse or dog, without
offence, if a little patience is exhibited. And, once well broken to
the hood, they will stand to it as well as peregrines or goshawks. Gers
have a reputation for often being hood-shy; but perhaps the proper
treatment of them, in this as in other respects, is now imperfectly
understood.
The early steps in the process of reclaiming passagers were so well
described four centuries ago by Turbervile that I cannot do better than
quote, on this subject, his exact words. After giving instructions
for seeling the captive, and putting on of bells, jesses, and swivel,
he continues: "Being thus furnished you shall go about to man her,
handling her often gently, and both to avoide the sharpnes of her beake
as also the better rebuke her from biting and nipping, you shall have
a straight smoothe sticke, as bigge as your finger, and halfe a foot
long or more, with the which you shal gently stroke your hawk about the
pinions of her wings and downwards athwart all her train. And if she
chance to knap or byte at the sticke let her bite hardly, for that will
rebuke her thereof, whereas your hand being twitched away fearfully
would make her proceed the more eagerly. To man her well you must watch
all the night and keepe her on your fist, and you must teach her to
feed seeled; and having a great and easie rufter hood, you must hood
and unhood her oftentimes, seeled as she is [here we see the advantage
of seeling], handling her gently about the head, and coying her alwayes
when you unhood her, to the end she take no disdayne or displeasure
against her keeper. And also to make her plume and tyre sometimes upon
a wing, and keepe her so on the first day and night without perching
of her, untill she be wearie, and suffer you to hoode her gently and
stirre not; and correct her of her ramage toyes, especially of snapping
and biting, stroking her evermore as before said with your sticke.
But if it happen (as it doth sometimes) that your chance be to have
a Falcon so ramage and shewde-mettled, that she will not leave her
snapping and biting, then take a dose of Garlicke cleane pilled, or a
little aloes cicatrina, and when she byteth or snappeth at your hand or
stick, offer her the Garlicke or aloes, and let her bite it, for either
the strong sent of the Garlicke or the bitter taste of the aloes will
quickly make her leave off.
"And here I thinke good to expresse mine opinion, that hee which
taketh in hand to be a Falconer, ought first to be very patient and
therwithall to take singular delight in a Hawke, so that hee may seeme
to bee in love (as it were naturally) with his Hawke. For hee which
taketh not that delight, but doth rather exercise it for a pompe and a
boast, in mine opinion, shall seldome prove a perfect Falconer, but a
mar-hawke, and shall beare the bagge after a right Falconer.
"When your Hawke, being so seeled, doth feede well, and will abide the
Hoode, and to be handled without striking or biting at your hand, then
in an evening by candle light you shall unseele her, and when you have
hooded her take her on your fist, and holde her so all night untill
day appeare againe, doing off her Hoode oftentimes, and handling her
gently with your hand, stroking her softly about the wings and the
body, hooding and unhooding of her and giving her sometimes to feede,
a morsell or twain, or sometimes tyring or plumage. But above all
things you must watch her on the fist so many nights together without
setting her downe on any pearch, that shee may be wearie and suffer you
to hoode and handle her gently without any manner of resistance, and
untill shee have altogether left and forgotten her striking and byting
at your hand; but some hawkes will be long before they leave that
fault, as the more coy or ramage that they be, the longer they will
retain all those ill tatches, and will not peradventure be wonne from
them in three, foure, or five dayes. When she is well reclaymed from it
then may you let her sit upon a pearch to rest her. But every night you
shall doe well to keepe her on the fist three or foure houres, handling
her and stroking her gently and causing her to tyre or to plume,
alwayes making much of her, and hooding and unhooding her oftentimes,
as before said. And the like you may doe also by daylight but in a
chamber apart where she may see no great light, untill she feed surely
and eagerly without dread.
"If your Hawke be thus in foure or five dayes manned so that she begin
to feede eagerly and boldly, then you shal first begin to make her
know your whistle or the chirping of your mouth, and afterwards your
voice." And he goes on to advise the giving of a live pullet in a place
where there is just enough light for the hawk to see it, and then to
"chyrpe with your voyce and use those other sounds which Falconers
do to their hawks"; and recommends for the ordinary feeding of the
haggard falcon, while being reclaimed, "pullets not very old, and
calves' hearts, weathers' hearts, and hogs' hearts," and, if she is not
eager for her food, to wash the meat either in cold water or wine, and
occasionally to give her, fasting, "as much sugar candy as the quantity
of a small nut."
The duration of the process of manning varies greatly, according to the
breed and individual character of the pupil. Wild-caught merlins can be
reclaimed by a skilled man in a few days, whereas if you can reclaim
a haggard peregrine in less than a month you will have something to
boast of. Short-winged hawks, if not well waked at the first, generally
require a long time, although this is not invariably the case. Every
falconer is familiar with the story of Sir John Sebright's historic
sparrow-hawk, which killed a wild partridge on the tenth day after
it was caught. But some few sparrow-hawks are as good-tempered, if
skilfully treated, as others are rebellious and obstreperous. Waking
will enable the most unamiable pupil to be manned in much less than
half the time which would be otherwise required. A judicious use of
the hood is also essential. While the hawk is still feeding freely,
unhooded, and with a good appetite, she should be hooded up before
she begins to be at all satiated. For "bating on a full crop" is to
be particularly avoided at all times. The remaining part of the meal
can be pulled through the hood. When a hawk eats readily on the fist
indoors, she is not yet more than half reclaimed unless she will do the
same in the open air. There is a vast difference between the one thing
and the other. First take her out a little way in the twilight, or in
an ill-lighted place at night, with food in her foot, on the fist. Then
in the same place when there are men about. By degrees she will begin
to think it natural enough to feed on the hand; and a tiring, tougher
and tougher every day, may be substituted for the succulent viands by
which her attention at first had to be kept up. Beware at the first,
however, of carrying a hawk bareheaded, unless she has something to
amuse herself withal. The chances are that you may rather make her more
wild than more tame, if she feels that nothing but the jesses and leash
confine her to her new perch.
Throughout this period and during all the early stages of training,
the grand secret of discipline is carrying. It would perhaps be
difficult to say why the mere transporting of a hawk, hooded or
unhooded, upon the glove from place to place should have so great an
effect; but the experience of centuries has shown that it does, and
this ought to be enough for the beginner. When he has carried hawks
for some hundreds of hours, he will acknowledge the truth of the old
theory; then possibly he will be able to explain it to others or to
himself. In the meantime he will do well to take it on trust, and
adopt the practice without question. If, as he walks about or rides or
sits--for the ambulatory part of the process is not compulsory--he is
amongst other people, it will be all the better. The sound of the human
voice, naturally and instinctively trying to all wild creatures, will
by familiarity with it become less alarming. And with the diminution
of the uneasiness originally caused by the voice will come a lessening
of the distrust felt for the man who owns the voice. It is almost
needless to say that the falconer's voice, especially at times when the
hawk is unhooded and in sight, should be soft and soothing in tone. We
modern trainers do not use the voice much, as the old falconers did, in
educating and directing our pupils. And therein, probably, we make a
great mistake. But, however incredulous anyone may be as to the charms
of the "falconer's voice" for which Juliet so prettily sighed, it is at
least natural to suppose that the harsh tones of an angry or peevish
man must give any intelligent animal a bad notion of his character,
and, by analogy, of that of the whole human race.
The actions of the trainer should, like the voice, be gentle and
conciliatory. In fact his whole behaviour, when in his pupil's
presence, must be, as Turbervile recommends, friendly, lovable, and
free from offence. "Sit procul omne nefas: ut ameris, amabilis esto!"
And the hawk should not only like the trainer, but also respect him
for his equanimity and self-control. Do you not want to convince your
disciple that you are wiser as well as stronger than she? and yet that
you are ready to pay respect to her own pride, and even some of her
prejudices? "Maxima debetur _falconi_ reverentia"; and if you exhibit
petulance and ill-temper yourself, how can you expect that she will
be amiable in return? Rough and sudden movements must never be made
in the near neighbourhood of an unhooded hawk. Nay, they must be very
watchfully guarded against, or they are nearly sure to be involuntarily
made. Has a gnat got into your eye, as you are walking about with
an unhooded hawk? Your natural impulse is to raise the right hand
quickly to brush it away. But that abrupt movement, so natural and
almost instinctive on your part, is not at all expected by the hawk,
as she stands close by. A catching of the breath and a half-spreading
of the wings, if nothing worse, will very likely show you that you
have made a mistake; and, if the hawk is a shy one, you will be lucky
if the little incident, trifling as it may appear, does not lead to
a bout of bating and a feeling of resentment and suspicion for the
future. When walking along with an unhooded, half-broken hawk, be on
the look-out for everything that may by any chance cause alarm. Women
are more to be dreaded than men; children more than women. Dogs are the
worst of all, especially if they bark and rush about. Steer clear of
them all at first; and in passing them keep them always on your right
hand, so that they are never behind the hawk's back. Getting over a
gate or stile, be careful how you step down. The sinking of the left
hand always annoys the hawk standing upon it. Very naturally; for she
feels that her perch is, as it were, dropping away from under her.
Do all descents, therefore, even down an easy flight of steps, with
as few jerks as possible. When riding or driving with a hawk on the
fist, accommodate the whole left arm to the movement of the horse or
the vehicle. A skilled falconer will hold his hand almost still while
his whole body is being jogged about in a jolting dogcart or wobbling
railway carriage. Just as you may sometimes see a hawk with her eye
fixed steadily on some spot, and her head in the same place, like a
fixed star, while her whole body is moved up or down by an independent
action. Beware also of getting near any obstacle against which your
hawk may by any sudden movement strike the tip of a wing. In passing
through a gate or door, for instance, or under a small archway, give
the gate-posts and walls a wide berth. Never wear a hard-brimmed hat
yourself, nor go near any person who has a stiff hat or anything stiff
about his clothing. In short, never risk the accidental breakage of a
feather.
Carrying is therefore not quite such a simple matter as it at first
appears to be. But it must be persevered in without any intermission
until the hawk is thoroughly manned. For, all the time the hawk sits
contentedly on the fist, she is learning a lesson that must eventually
be taught her. Hawks are amongst the creatures most easily taught. They
learn any lesson skilfully and diligently taught them with an ease
that often astonishes the trainer himself; and, having once learnt it,
they are in no hurry to forget. The artificial habit, once grafted on
their nature, becomes almost a component part of it. But, as they learn
quickly to do well, so they also learn quickly how to do otherwise. If
you do not make a friend of your pupil, she will soon begin to regard
you as an enemy. And then farewell to any hope of making a good servant
of her.
"Manning" includes, of course, habituating her to the company not only
of men, but also of dogs, horses, and all other animals and things
which she is at all likely to meet with in her artificial existence of
the future. She must be gradually introduced into society; and, like a
young lady of fashion, her début will probably be made at nighttime.
Streets more or less frequented may be visited with advantage by
gaslight, or under the rather weird rays of the electric light. The
extent of the publicity courted must be graduated according to the
progress made by the débutante. If the main street is found too noisy
or exciting, walk away down the side street. If that is too monotonous,
stroll into an inn-yard or a billiard-room. When my lady shows signs
of shying at an approaching object, sheer off a little, and create a
diversion of some kind, perhaps by giving a pull at the meat under
her foot, or by stroking her gently on the breast with the forefinger
or a stick. If she strikes at the finger, do not snatch it away, but
let her see that no harm is meant. You may even tell her so in a
reassuring voice. She will partly understand. Then, when she can be
taken without trouble through a pretty well-filled street, or amongst
a group of people, she may be brought out by daylight. She may be
carried through the stables and across a courtyard in which dogs are
chained up. Then past a group of stable-boys, and along the side of
a kennel. Meal-times are the best for all these early lessons, which
must be advanced by easy stages. First the under-falconer will stand
by, perhaps with another hawk, as the pupil takes her dinner. Next day
he may be accompanied by a horse or a hound--of undemonstrative and
unemotional temperament. On the third day a group of children may be
playing at a short distance. Then the tutor himself may be mounted when
he takes off my lady's hood and produces the day's ration. At each sign
of real alarm the irritant object should be eliminated. If the stable
is found too trying, step aside into the harness-room. If the children
make too much noise, or begin to stare too impudently at the scornful
beauty, get away to a safer distance. Tempt her forbearance as far as
you safely dare, but not an inch farther. _Festina lente_ is a capital
maxim for the impatient trainer.
Should a half-trained passage hawk ever be pegged out at the block?
Many falconers will answer Yes. But I am of a different persuasion. A
man who is over-hawked, or has too few assistants, may think it almost
a necessity to weather his hawk at the block. But even in such a case
I would advise to weather her in her hood. The proper way, however, to
weather a hawk, when she is in course of being manned, is surely on the
fist. If a man has so many hawks and so few falconers that he cannot
spare one of the latter to carry each of the hawks for some hours every
day, he is going about his business in an unbusiness-like way. What
good can a passage hawk possibly get from standing as a prisoner on
a block of wood, tempted continually to jump off, and jerked back as
often as she does so by a rude pull on to a damp plot of grass? The
fashion now so prevalent of pegging hawks out on the lawn by themselves
seems to me, if the truth is to be told, to have originated in the
laziness of the falconer or his subordinates. It is manifestly much
easier and simpler to tie a hawk to a block, than to roam about with
her on the fist. But is it equally beneficial? Is it even advisable at
all? It is argued that a hawk, while so pegged out, is breathing the
fresh air and getting manned, if there are, as there should be, people
passing to and fro before her eyes. But, on the other hand, she is
all the time plagued by a feeling of discomfort and discontent, which
cannot be good for her. Her position is not natural to her. It is not
the one she would choose of her own accord. Every bird which flits
across within her field of view, every cloud which passes over head,
almost every breeze which whispers in the tree-tops, suggests to her a
longing to take flight. A dozen places invite her to leave her humble
perch and go to them and obtain a better view. Four out of every five
wild-caught hawks, unless their spirit has been half broken by fasting
or persecution, will be found to bate off constantly when pegged out.
And bating off cannot do them any good. It must remind them painfully
that they are now captives and slaves. Moreover, it is impossible to
properly arrange their surroundings. Either there will be too many or
too few people about. And whoever there is about, whether man, child,
or dog, will either be too near or too far away. The background will
not arrange itself with a due regard to the happy medium between
distant reserve and vulgar familiarity. On the whole, there are very
few passage hawks that I should like to peg out bareheaded before they
have arrived at a much later stage of their education than we have yet
reached.
[Illustration: FALCON AND TIERCEL WEATHERING]