Lark-Hawking
The merlin, the lady's hawk, has always been the hawk _par excellence_
for larks. Hobbies, no doubt, have taken them in the old days, though
they were used more often for "daring" them by waiting on above, which
so terrified the larks that they could be picked up by hand. They take
them now constantly in the wild state. But when reclaimed, they have
for many years past proved complete failures in the hands of our modern
amateurs. The late Lord Lilford made several attempts to get work out
of them, but with hardly any success. Mr. George Symonds obtained a
large number when he was in Italy, but out of the whole lot could only
get one to fly wild quarry. The writer has twice attempted to train a
male hobby for larks, and on the second occasion enjoyed the advantage
of valuable assistance and advice from Colonel Sanford, who was at the
same time training a brother of the same bird. Great pains were taken
with both of these hawks, which were in perfect plumage and condition,
and had been well hacked by no less able a falconer than Mr. Newall.
They were well broken to the lure, and thought nothing of waiting on
for a quarter of an hour or more at a vast height. Yet it was found
impossible to induce either of them to make any serious attempts at a
flight. I started mine on one occasion at least twenty times at various
small birds, sometimes putting them up underneath the hawk as he was
waiting on, and at other times throwing him from the fist at them.
These were skylarks, woodlarks, pipits, and other small frequenters of
the turnip-fields. When they were put up under the hobby, he seldom
took the smallest notice. When thrown off at one, he would generally
make a show of pursuing, but give up before he had gone fifty yards.
One lark put in in front of him to a small heap of hurdles. But instead
of being "surcharged with fear," and allowing himself to be picked
up, he seemed to have as much contempt for his pursuer as the latter
deserved, and went up briskly again before there was any chance of even
trying to pick him up.
The other hobby, which I trained some years before, did a little
better. He once made two or three rings after a wild lark. The rings
were very pretty, and the style of flying most correct. But there was
one thing wanting, the pace was insufficient. To tell the truth, it was
poor; and at the risk of being denounced by all ornithologists and most
falconers, I venture to express a doubt whether the hobby is really
a fast hawk. To support the common theory that he is exceptionally
fast we have, no doubt, the fact that he kills swallows and swifts.
But then he has the advantage of them, owing to his habit of constant
soaring at a great height. From this vantage-point, if he killed one
swallow out of a hundred aimed at, it would not be a conclusive proof
of any great speed in flying. Much more difficult to explain are the
passages in Latham and other old writers to the effect that hobbies,
and especially female hobbies, have "plenty of courage," and will well
repay the trouble of training. Blome, in the _Gentleman's Recreation_
(1636), is especially loud in his praises of this hawk. After declaring
that she is very amiable, bold, and daring, and will make a hawk of
great delight, he adds that she may be left out in the field after
being fed up, and will come back home to the place where she was hacked
(except at migration times); and ends up by affirming that she is "in
all respects, according to her capacity, as bold and hardy as any other
hawk whatsoever." Either the training of them has become a lost art, or
the hobby has changed his nature entirely since he was thus eulogised.
Very different is the account to be rendered of the merlin, so inferior
in external appearance, so vastly superior in courage and energy.
This, the smallest of the true falcons, has not yet been persecuted
out of existence in England with gun and snare, though the days of
its disappearance are doubtless not far distant. Of this little hawk
I speak perhaps with undue enthusiasm, having made them an object
of special care. But the merlin has had admirers amongst some very
illustrious persons. Louis XIII. kept hundreds of big hawks. He could
have a good day's hawking whenever he liked at cranes, kites, or
herons. Yet he did not disdain, amidst all these temptations, to devote
a whole morning to lark-hawking with merlins, and was overjoyed at
killing one lark with a cast of them. It is true that this was a winter
lark, but it was only a lark for a' that! One of the greatest falconers
that modern times have produced, Mr. E. C. Newcome, declared that after
heron-hawking, already extinct in England in his day, the flight with
the merlin at larks excelled all others in this country. Catherine II.
of Russia was also an ardent admirer of this diminutive squire of dames.
The training and entering of the merlin, eyess or wild-caught, differs
in no important particular from that of the peregrine which is to be
flown at rooks. Only the reclamation is much more speedily effected.
Often it can be completed, even in the case of an adult jack, in less
than a fortnight--with the exercise of diligence, of course. An eyess,
well hacked, can be manned in less than a week. This, however, does
not mean that they can be trained to larks in that time. Writers on
falconry sometimes inadvertently lead their readers astray by declaring
that the merlin is easily trained. What the writer means is probably
that they are easily manned and made to the lure. This is so; but the
preparation for flying in the field, at least at larks, is quite a
different matter. Merlins, like all other hawks, differ greatly in
temperament. Occasionally you will find a whole nest of them quite
free from vice. Such hawks are all easily trained for the field. But
more often these little creatures are imbued from the first with a
disposition to carry. And to fly a merlin at larks before she is cured
of this weakness is to involve yourself in endless trouble. Eyesses are
as bad as haggards--often worse. Consequently, when the hawk is manned
and made to the lure, more than half your work is still before you.
A non-carrying merlin can be trained in less than a week after being
taken up from hack, whereas a determined carrier will hardly be safe to
fly in double that time.
[Illustration: TRAINED MERLIN]
There is another respect in which doubts may be entertained as to the
truth of the opinion that merlins are easy to train. If by training
is meant merely the qualifying them for driving moulting larks into
covert, and killing them there, the saying is true enough. You may
go to an enclosed country full of moulting larks. You may put one up
and start the hawk. The lark, after a short flight, will go into a
hedge; and there, if the merlin does not take him herself, you can
either pick him up with the hand or drive him out for the hawk, which
has taken perch on the fence; and he will be counted in the bag. But
if by training you mean making the hawk fit to take ringing larks in
open ground, the case is different. To do this a merlin must be in the
pink of condition--quick, long-winded, persevering, and a good footer.
How will you make her so? She will not wait on; no exercise is to be
got that way to bring her into condition. If an eyess, she has had no
practice at footing. How is she to learn that art? Then the dieting
is a matter of extreme delicacy. If you give butcher's meat, she will
become dull and heavy; pigeon's flesh will give her a sort of fever;
in sheep's heart, the food which most amateurs recommend, there is but
poor nourishment; and she must be strong enough to go up half a mile,
if required! Again, how are you to measure out the exact quantity that
is good for her? If you give a peregrine or a goshawk an ounce too much
or too little, the mischief done is slight. But give even half an ounce
too much or too little to a jack-merlin, and he is straightway wrong
in his condition. A big hawk is fed only once a day; there are about
twenty-four hours on an average between each meal. If you fly the big
hawk on a fast of twenty-two hours or of twenty-six, it matters little.
But between the feeding-times of a merlin there is only an average of
twelve hours. Therefore it matters a good deal whether you fly her
early or late. She may be either too hungry or not hungry enough to do
herself full justice.
The trainer who aspires to make a good score with ringing larks, and
not to be content with mere hedge-row pot-hunting, must work pretty
hard. He must not make many mistakes. He must observe very strictly the
instructions already given for guarding against the besetting vice of
carrying, never allowing a piece of food to be negligently fastened to
the lure, or giving any bagged quarry that can be taken into a tree. He
must find freshly-killed small birds almost daily for every merlin, so
that her digestion and strength may be unimpaired. And in order to keep
his hawk in wind, he must give her plenty of exercise. He can hardly do
this without stooping her often to the lure. Ten minutes of this work,
if the hawk is going all the time at her best pace, means a good many
miles flying. Then the merlin must be taught to look principally to
the fist for food. When feeding on the lure, whether it is garnished
with a newly-killed sparrow or with a tiring, she must be provided with
tit-bits from the hand, until, instead of fearing the approach of the
falconer, she looks for it with pleasure. She must constantly be called
to the fist. If there is a good-sized spare room available, she may be
exercised there in coming often from one side of the room to your fist
at the other. Some falconers advise keeping merlins loose in an empty
room, where blocks and perches have been placed; and this is, no doubt,
a very good plan when you have or can build for yourself the right
kind of room. The sort of place recommended later on for moulting
purposes will sometimes do well enough. I have found that the roof or
ceiling is the great difficulty, as the hawks, constantly flying round
just underneath, rub off the outer web of the long flight feathers. Of
course the windows must be guarded with vertical bars, upon which the
little hawks can find no foothold.
For the worst cases of carrying I must refer the reader to the chapter
on "Vices." But even with a well-behaved merlin the trainer must be
constantly on his guard, at least for a fortnight after the hawk
has begun work in the field. He must beware, when she has killed,
of shepherds' dogs, of wandering crows or rooks, and of the fowls
which are now often found colonising the open fields, far away from
a village or farmhouse. All or any of these may attack the hawk, and
by inducing her to carry away the lark, sow the seeds of the vile
habit. "Once a carrier, always a carrier," is not an entirely true
maxim, but it is not far from the truth. I have known merlins carry
badly, and afterwards abandon the practice; but such cases are not
common, and the trouble involved in effecting the cure is sometimes
more than the merlin is worth. Prevention is many miles better than
cure; good, honest miles, too, measured over the stony hillsides of
Wilts! As you approach your merlin on the ground, remember not to stare
at her, and to give her plenty of time. On the first few occasions
you must exercise the patience of a veritable Job. She is now, after
her victory, more apprehensive than ever that her hard-earned meal
may be ravished from her. As you walk about, pretending to look at
anything rather than her, she is all the time wondering whether your
intentions are honourable or the reverse. Instinct tells her that they
are base. Her previous experience, on the other hand, is reassuring
to her. Your attitude, as you stroll about, is indicative of no
sinister design. "When in doubt do nothing," is a hawk's maxim, as
well as a diplomatist's. Meanwhile there is the quarry to be plumed.
So with many lookings round, and many pauses, and with a rather
misdoubting mind, she falls to at the work of picking off the feathers.
Not greedily--unless she is a greedy hawk, or too thin--but with a
provoking deliberation, and with intervals that seem interminable. At
last the feathers are off; and the warm food--the best she has ever
had--begins to engross more of her real attention. Now she is ten times
easier to approach. If, thinks she, you had been going to claim the
quarry for yourself, surely you would have interfered before this.
When she is fairly busy, you may by degrees get nearer, but keeping a
keen look-out, and on the least show of alarm retreating quietly, but
quickly. At length you will be able to get your hand, well garnished
with a tempting morsel, within reach of her.
With a troublesome merlin you may employ, if you are sure of not
bungling it, a very admirable device. You may resort to what may be
called the "fishing-rod trick." You will take with you into the field
two joints of a fishing-rod, not including the top joint. On the thin
end of the thinner of these joints, which must be stiff and stout, you
will have fitted a brass hook or tooth, with its sharp point standing
out an inch or so at right angles from the rod. This apparatus is
sometimes invaluable. You may use one or both joints, as you find you
can get nearer or less near. When you begin to be afraid to go any
nearer, slide the thin end of the rod along the ground as you kneel
until it is quite close to the dead quarry. If your hawk has had any
decent manning at all, she will not be alarmed at it, even if she
notices its stealthy approach. Having got the point on the lark's body,
steering clear of the hawk's feet, turn the point downwards on it, and
firmly but gently press it down and in. If you bungle, and the point
slips, you are probably done; but if it holds you are safe. Proceed
then with your making in, just as if there was no rod in the case.
Always endeavour to take up the hawk with the hand alone, retaining
your hold by the rod only as a last resort, in case of mischief. Each
time that you can take her up without any trouble occurring, the easier
the job will become. And even an attempt to bolt, which your firm hold
with the rod renders unsuccessful, will tend to convince the evil-doer
of the futility of her proceeding. Beware particularly of making in if
a bagged lark is the victim. With bagged larks, easily taken, hawks are
always inclined to bolt. On the other hand, if the lark has flown well,
and the hawk is winded, there is less to fear.
When you have taken up your hawk, if you intend to fly her again,
contrive that the body of the lark is held in the palm of your hand,
and the neck alone protrudes between the forefinger and the base of the
thumb. Then, when the brain has been eaten, and you have thrown away
the beak and as much of the rest of the head as you conveniently can,
let her think, or try to think, that there is no more to be had. If, on
the other hand, you intend to feed her up, let her eat the rest of the
lark, or almost all, and, as she finishes it, slip on the hood, and let
her pull through the last few mouthfuls. Or, as the remains of the lark
may be too bony to pull through easily, you may substitute a morsel
of sheep's heart, which she can more easily dispose of. A jack which
has had half a lark in the morning, and three or four heads already
in the afternoon, will be generally too much gorged if allowed to take
the whole of his last lark. And some female merlins may, under like
circumstances, be considered to have had enough before they have quite
finished their lark. I have generally found that about a three-quarter
crop in the evening is as much as it is wise to give.
Larks should always be flown up-wind; that is to say, when they get
up to windward, and not to leeward of the hawk. A down-wind slip is
very seldom satisfactory. If the lark is good you see nothing of the
flight, and are dependent on your markers for finding the hawk, if she
kills. The time lost is also often regrettable. It is not likely that
with the first lark flown by any trained merlin you will have a kill.
Only twice, I think, do I remember such a thing to have occurred. But
the escape of several larks at first will do you no manner of harm.
Even if your merlin refuses, you need not be at all discouraged. One
of the most deadly merlins I ever had, when first taken out, refused
seven larks in succession, and did not kill till her twelfth flight.
But after that first kill she never refused again. If a trained hawk
persists in refusing, or leaving the good larks, in hopes of getting a
bad one, the case is serious. Possibly the reason may be that she is
out of condition. But if it is her pluck that is wanting, you cannot
expect to make much of her. In any case physic her, and give her two
days' rest. And the next time, if you can, fly her in company with a
better merlin. If you should lose such a hawk for three or four days,
and then take her up again, you may take her up cured. But you may take
her up confirmed in her bad habit. When I took up Ruy Lopez, after
three days out in a gale, he would not fly any but bad larks.
If, in the early days, your merlin puts in a lark, mark the place very
exactly with your eye. You must consider whether you will drive him out
for her or not. If the place is a thick hedge or big bush, I should be
inclined not to attempt it. But if it is a place where you have a good
chance of a second flight, as under the side of an isolated rick, or
under a hurdle where there are no sheep, I should gratify the hawk by
assisting her in the moment of need, when you can be so useful to her.
If you can see the lark crouching and hiding himself, do not pick him
up with the hand, but drive him out with your foot or the end of your
rod. And do so when the hawk, from the top of the hurdle, or rick, or
wherever she has taken perch, is looking the right way. A kill on such
occasions will encourage her to wait on another occasion till you can
help her in the same way. The form shown by a lark that has been put
in and routed out is generally not so good as before he put in. But
there are many exceptions. A lark got up in the open down before Eva,
probably the best hawk I ever had. But before she could get to him, he
fell without a blow, right in the open. Eva was then young, and rather
fat, and wanted a hard flight, so I was in two minds whether I would
not leave this weak-spirited lark, and go on and find a better one.
Either the lark got up of his own accord before I had decided, or else
I resolved to fly him; anyhow, when he started for the second time
he went right up into the sky. There was a ringing flight of immense
height; and after a great many stoops the lark was bested, and came
down into a field where there were stooks of wheat. Eva sat on the top
of a stook with her mouth open; the lark underneath, doubtless in no
better plight. I might have walked miles and not found a lark which
afforded me so much sport, and the hawk such a lung-opener.
The first time your merlin puts in a lark, do not take her on your
fist, unless she goes away from the spot. Let her take perch close at
hand. Be very careful indeed to drive out the fugitive towards her,
so that she sees it go away. By this means she will see that there
is no deception; that it is really the same lark; and that you have
done her the service to rout it out. But on subsequent occasions it
is best always to call the hawk to the fist before you put up the
quarry. Otherwise he may very possibly go off when she is not looking,
especially if the hawk is on the ground, as she will be if the lark has
put in to a tuft of grass, or in clover, or, as they will when hard
pressed, in stubbles. _À propos_ of putting in, remember always that
the country for lark-hawking must be, if you are to have good flights,
even more open than that necessary for rooks. It requires so small a
shelter to conceal a lark. Even the high grass which often fringes a
road across the downs, a patch of nettles or thistles, an old stone
wall, or a waggon, will tempt a faint-hearted ringer to come down. He
comes down to almost certain death; for the man is there, in alliance
with the hawk. But the ringing flight is spoilt; and that is what you
do not want to occur. The better the hawk, the more ready the lark is
to put in. So that the mere length of flight does not prove much as
to the excellence either of pursuer or pursued, unless you know from
experience what is the ability of the former.
Larks, for hawking purposes, may be divided into three kinds. First
there is the "ground" lark--generally deep in moult--who does not
mount at all, but makes off as hard as he can fly towards the nearest
place where he thinks he can save himself. These larks are sometimes
pretty fast, and take a good deal of catching, dodging the stoops by
shifting to right or left, and sometimes avoiding a good many. But more
often, especially in an enclosed country, they are wretched creatures,
taken easily by a fast hawk, either in the air or by being driven
into insufficient cover. These are the sort of larks that beginners
are sometimes very proud of killing. The true falconer detests them
as a sad nuisance. It is true that when they are fast and clever,
they improve the hawk's footing powers, and give her a sharp burst
of hard flying. Such a flight serves as a short gallop at full speed
does to a horse in training. But from the sporting point of view it is
objectionable. Fortunately, on the open down, it is not common.
Secondly, there are the "mounting" larks, which go up and try to keep
the air. The original ambition of these larks is to fairly out-fly
the hawk, and never let her get above them. But at moulting-time
they can seldom hope to accomplish this if the hawk is a fast one
in really good condition. Sometimes, going wide of them, and making
an upper-cut, she will bind to them at the first shot. But this is
rare. Generally there are several stoops; and the whole business very
accurately resembles a coursing match. The stoops are made from all
sorts of distances,--short and long, upwards and downwards, with the
wind and against it. I have seen a stoop by a trained merlin--a jack,
rather--which was 300 yds. long, measured along the ground, to which
must be added something for the height. Very often, when the lark has
escaped one stoop by a hair's-breadth, and feels a conviction that
next time he will not escape at all, he drops headlong towards a place
of supposed shelter, with the hawk close at his heels. The harder he
is pressed, the more indifferent will be the hiding-place with which
he is fain to be content. Before a first-rate hawk he will go to a
bare hurdle, a flat-sided rick, or a tuft of grass, whereas if he has
less trouble in shifting, he will pass over all these attractions, and
continue to throw out the pursuer--though with exhausting efforts--till
he can get to a thick hedge or a substantial spinny. With this kind
of lark you may have more flights, more running, and more excitement
with a moderate merlin than with those of the very first quality. The
latter are a bit too good for the work, and make the flight too short.
Strangers who come out hawking and see a mounting lark so taken, are
apt to say: "What a bad lark to be caught so soon!" It is often not the
badness of the lark, but the goodness of the hawk, which makes short
work of the flight. The mounting lark would always be a ringer if the
hawk was not fast enough to get above him quickly.
The third sort of lark is the veritable "ringer." With the start he
has, he keeps ahead of the hawk, climbing up in spiral circles. Why not
in a straight line? I believe no one can tell the reason. Possibly he
finds that he can get on more pace by having the wind now in front, now
at the back, and between whiles at the side. The curious thing is that
the hawk adopts the same tactics. The one bird may be circling from
right to left, and the other in the contrary direction. Neither seems
to guide the direction of his rings by any reference to those which the
other is making. It is now a struggle which can get up the fastest. And
it is astonishing to what a height such flights will sometimes go. Not
in a bad country; for there there will always be cover available after
the quarry has gone up a little way. And he will not be such a fool
as to stand the racket of a shot in the air, when by dropping into a
stout hedge or plantation he can make sure of his escape. As soon as a
lark is 800 ft. high, he can drop, almost like a stone, into any covert
within a radius of 200 yds. from the spot just under him--allowance
being made, of course, for the effect of wind. But 800 ft. is not high
for a ringing flight. At least there is nothing at all unusual in it.
A lark does not go out of sight until he is much above that height;
and it is no extraordinary thing for him to do this. I have heard it
said that merlins go up after larks till they are themselves lost to
sight. But it is very seldom that any man is directly below the hawk
at the time when she is highest. I know one case, however, in which a
jack-merlin came right over the markers as they were running down-wind,
more than half a mile from the start. He must have been very nearly
over their heads when he went up out of their sight. But that hawk was
never seen again. It is, of course, quite possible that such a thing
should occur. But I have never seen any country in England where it is
at all likely. For from such a height--nearly half a mile high--there
would always be a safe place into which the quarry might drop. And if
hard pressed, he would do so. When a lark keeps up as long as this, it
is generally because he knows that he is the better man of the two. And
before that time the hawk will also have found this out.
Larks are in moult from the beginning of August, which is the earliest
time that an eyess merlin can fly, till the middle of September--in
some years till nearly the end. During this time, easy ones will
mostly be found in the stubbles from which the corn has just been
carried. Stronger and older larks may be found on the open down, but
not in any great numbers. In years of drought, many will get to the
fields where roots are growing. At these moulting larks, a merlin may
be flown six or eight times in an afternoon. But what was said in the
chapter on "Game-Hawking" about leaving off with a hard flight and
a kill, is still more applicable to merlins than peregrines. These
little hawks can in addition be flown in the early morning. But though
I have done this occasionally, I doubt its being a good practice, and
should prefer, if the weather is settled, to give stooping at the lure
before breakfast, and wait till past midday for the field. But when the
weather is bad you must go out when you can. The biggest score that
I know to have been made in a day, flying both morning and evening,
is ten, which Colonel Sanford killed with one of his merlins. I have
myself killed ten in a day with a single hawk; but one of them was
taken by her in a double flight, and therefore counts only for a half.
Each of these hawks was a specially good-tempered and well-mannered
hawk. For any merlin to take six larks single-handed in one day is a
decided feat. The most I have known to be killed in any one year by
a merlin single-handed is 106, the score of Jubilee in 1897; and the
highest average I have known made is fifty-nine out of sixty-five
flights--a percentage of more than 90 per cent. This was achieved by
the merlin Sis, which made the extraordinary score of forty-one out
of forty-two successive flights, the one miss being a ringer at which
she was thrown off when the head of another lark was hardly down her
throat--before she had shaken herself, or had time to look round.
As soon as the larks have moulted, they become practically all ringers.
Such larks have never yet been taken regularly. Usually the merlins
begin to refuse them in the latter part of September. The latest lark I
have killed was on a 7th of November. To take winter larks it would be
necessary to have a cast of very first-rate merlins, which had never,
upon any pretext, left a moulting lark. With these it is possible
that a few might be taken; but after very long flights. And what of
the unsuccessful flights? They would go so far that I fear the hawks
must certainly be lost. A merlin which is good enough to take even one
moulted lark is good enough to find her living anywhere; and I doubt if
she would trouble to come back after a long unsuccessful flight for any
reason, sentimental or otherwise!
Double flights at larks are very pretty, and also very deadly. If
you throw off together one merlin which mounts quickly, and another
which is a good footer, you will rarely be beaten during the moulting
season; and when you do meet with a first-rate ringer, will see as real
a bit of sport as man can imagine. Occasionally you may have a double
flight without intending to do so. Eva had made two stoops at a very
high ringer, and brought him down some yards, when a wild female merlin
joined in. Stoop for stoop they alternatively played their strokes,
as if they had been trained together. After some twenty of these
alternative shots, the lark was taken, high in the air. But not until
we picked up Eva on the dead lark, half a mile away, did anyone in the
field know whether it was she or the wild hawk that had made the fatal
stoop. In other years I have had many joint flights in the same way;
and on one occasion two wild merlins joined forces with a trained one,
and the lark ran the gauntlet for quite a long time of the three chance
allies. I confess, however, that there are objections to the double
flight with merlins. It may be from stupidity, but I have never been
able to keep the peace between the partners. After the take, but before
you can possibly get up, there is a scrimmage on the ground, even if
there has not been a chevy in the air, which is not only undignified,
but also most trying to the temper of the hawk which has footed the
lark. Of course when you do come up you can separate the combatants,
and reward the one which has been worsted in the squabble. But in the
meantime, how much mischief may have been done to the feathers? In
heron-hawking, where two falcons are always flown, the empty-handed one
is taken down to the pigeon, and, with good management, she accepts
the situation pretty cheerfully. But merlins in high condition are
exceedingly hot-tempered, and often violent. No doubt the double flight
can be accomplished with them by the aid of patience and tact. Mr.
Freeman was able to fly his merlins well in casts. And it is only with
a cast that winter larks could be attempted. Any falconer who could
succeed in taking them right through the winter would have accomplished
a greater feat than that of which Louis XIII. was so proud.