I have had the same thing happen to me in field shooting, when having

made up my mind previous to delivering the first shot that the bird was

a hard one and would probably escape, I could not avoid sending in the

second barrel automatically after the bird was dead. This never happens

except from brain orders that antedated the discharge of the first

barrel. This is an extreme style of second barrel work, such promptness

not being requisite in the field, but it is far more effective than the

lame, halting method generally seen. So true is this that if I were

coaching a novice in the use of his second charge he would be required

to pull it invariably, alike when the bird was killed or untouched.

It follows from the foregoing that where the second barrel is to be

made deadly there must be no pause in the aiming swing of the gun which

should travel right along on the path of the bird’s flight ready to

be discharged the instant the gunner recovers from the recoil of the

previous shot. The swing should be kept so true to the line of the

bird’s flight that in place of the arm hanging where first fired, it

should be pointing within a foot or two of the target when the shooter

has steadied himself sufficiently to aim again. On the other hand,

having checked his piece, waiting to note the effect of the first load,

the marksman will find his arm pointing so far from the bird that

he either has to move the line of swing so rapidly that it becomes

uncontrollable, or a slow swing will permit the game to get beyond

range.

We will take the flight of a quail as an example. Should it break cover

at twenty yards, it would on the average travel some forty feet before

being fired upon, which would place Bob White distant thirty-three

yards for the right barrel, delivered in less than a second. Now

waiting to realize that the game has been missed would give the quarry

another quarter of a second or fifteen feet; then, with a motionless

gun, swinging on again from the previous point of aim will consume an

additional half second, thirty feet, or a total of forty-five feet

from where the first shot was fired, placing the quail forty-eight

yards from the gun for the second barrel. On the contrary had the swing

of the gun been maintained automatically the second shot should have

been placed within twenty feet of the first, catching the bird when he

was distant forty yards and still within reach of a good gun. None of

the figures has been overdrawn and they can readily be verified by

observing the efforts of sportsmen afield.

THE EFFECT OF RECOIL

It might be argued that it doesn’t require the fourth of a second for

the mind to realize a miss which the eye can see instantly. So it would

not except for the effect of shock upon the human brain, the shock of

recoil. Furthermore, when the mind has just concluded a strenuous piece

of work, like aiming and firing a gun, it pauses an instant before

tackling a fresh problem. Combining this cessation of brain recording

with the shock of recoil which causes the brain to cease acting

entirely for a space of time, however small, and we have a loss of at

least a quarter of a second--sometimes more. In fact so far has the

bird flown meantime that the gunner despairs of being able to reach it

and so withholds his fire.

Recoil and its effects upon the shooter are worthy of careful study.

It affects every one, but in varying degrees. It has been observed

that the most noted pigeon shots are men of strong physique, some of

them seeming almost impervious to recoil, on the same principle that

a pugilist might without blinking an eye take a blow on the jaw which

would render an ordinary man unconscious. The jar of a shotgun’s recoil

and the blow of a fist differ only in the extent of shock and the time

needed to recover. The shotgun may knock you out for perhaps not more

than the tenth of a second, while the fist blow puts you away for ten

minutes.

Nevertheless, no matter how hardy the constitution of the man, even

a John L. Brewer, there is a shorter or longer space of time after a

shot is fired when he can do nothing except he does it involuntarily,

for the brain has been momentarily shocked into a state of coma.

Notwithstanding this the nerves and muscles can be taught to accomplish

orders given previous to this shock, maintaining certain actions

automatically, or as we say from habit. The boxer does this when he

starts a blow and sends it in after receiving such a jarring slap

himself that he cannot remember when his own fist landed. If anyone

doubts the effect of recoil shock upon the brain, let him try to recall

the movements of his gun muzzle immediately subsequent to firing.

In the case of the writer his first distinct knowledge of where his gun

is directed is when he finds it pointing below the target. Reasoning

the matter out, he knows that the muzzle first flew up and then reacted

downward, but from anything the brain has actually recorded it simply

dropped below the point of aim. Accepting the foregoing as true we can

see the need of acquiring a habit of maintaining the swing, such an

absolutely fixed habit as to require no direct brain control.

FLINCHING

However, the shock of recoil doesn’t interfere with the work of a

gunner so much as its anticipation, an anticipation that causes

flinching and dodging before the shot is fired. Flinching after the

recoil takes place would not merit much consideration, in fact would

not be flinching. Flinching interferes so greatly with the delivery of

both the first and second barrels, especially the latter, that we must

analyze and give it full consideration.

The commonly accepted conclusion is that in shooting flinching is due

entirely to the fear of punishing recoil. It is supposed to consist of

blinking and dodging to such an extent as to deflect the muzzle, one

man perhaps merely blinking while another dodges, or possibly blinks

and dodges. My own conclusion is that flinching cannot in all cases be

analyzed so simply as that.

Recoil undoubtedly is a prime factor in the trouble, but the sharp

report of the gun has its influence also, for people with a tendency to

flinch have noted an improvement in their work where a longer barrel

was used, thus carrying the stunning noise farther away from the head.

The loud report may cause more actual pain also than even the jolt of

the butt stock. Mr. Roosevelt illustrates this in “African Game Trails”

when telling how the heavy report of his elephant rifle caused bleeding

of the nose and ears of a companion who stood beside him. It is

claimed for the Maxim Silencer that it greatly lessens the inclination

to flinch.

The above causes of flinching are obvious, but many flinch when

shooting a 22 rifle which has neither recoil nor any undue noise. This

might be ascribed to habit, but people dodge who are not in the habit

of shooting at all.

Careful study of the matter has led me to believe that flinching is

as much due to the strain of aiming and firing as any other cause.

It requires a highly concentrated effort to hold either a shotgun or

rifle perfectly steady and pull the trigger. The mind and nerves may

not be able to sustain this strain for any great length of time, and

certainly both are glad to be relieved of it as quickly as possible.

Sometimes the brain gives up the task just an instant too soon,

permitting the muscles to have their will of the piece, and of where it

might afterward be pointed neither the eye nor the brain will take any

cognizance.

Being overstrained, mind and nerves go on a strike, quit temporarily,

making no further records until after the discharge takes place. Of

whatever happens during this interim the shooter has no knowledge,

though another man standing near can observe perfectly and tell him,

generally much to the gunner’s surprise, and often little to his

conviction. Whatever the eye might see, if the brain refrained from

making any record, that particular thing never happened so far as

the gunner’s mind and memory are concerned. This is what renders it

extremely difficult to cure flinching, the fact that so far as the

marksman’s own knowledge is concerned it never occurred. He did not

know it and could not know it except from the observation of others and

a reasonable conviction based upon the effects of the shot.

Moreover the brain sometimes makes records with perfect clearness of

things which never occurred. For instance, the shooter notes the speed

of flight of the target, the velocity with which his line of swing is

traveling to cover the mark, and calculates where he must hold in order

to connect, but just at this instant the brain ceases to act, and the

movements it has recorded as having taken place were never in fact

accomplished. The result is a miss which to the marksman must always

remain an absolute mystery.

The duration of time of which the marksman has no record, that is the

space in which his brain is practically paralyzed, varies greatly

with different individuals, though I am impressed with the belief

that everyone is affected without exception. It might not last longer

than the twentieth of a second, a time so short that it would have no

practical influence upon gunner’s work, or it might have such duration

as to make him very slow with the second barrel.

Moreover the mind may take cognizance of what is occurring without

being able to take the initiative; it can note what is transpiring

without having the power to give active commands. Afterwards the

shooter can remember what took place and see where he missed an

opportunity, but cannot tell why he failed to take advantage of it. We

note examples of this kind in ordinary life: someone may neglect to act

at a critical period and we say he lacked presence of mind--the shock

caused a cessation of brain control. The brain may either not have been

acting at all, or it may have been like the engine of an automobile

that is pounding away with the clutch disengaged. In such an event, if

muscles and nerves accomplish anything they must do it automatically;

the machine could only go forward from previous momentum.

That is the point we are trying to drive home in shooting. For an

infinitesimal or greater length of time when a shot is fired the brain

having lost control under shock, the muscles must be taught to carry on

certain actions without conscious effort and yet with precision. There

is no question but they can be trained to do this and it must be done

if any great brilliance in marksmanship is ever to be attained. The

greater the effect of recoil upon the gunner, the longer space of time

in which the brain fails to function, the more thoroughly must nerves

and muscles be taught to do things automatically, or instinctively, or

unconsciously, call it what you will.

Could training of this nature be made perfect, the shooter might sight

his target, throw up his gun to cover the bird, mentally calculate the

point where it would be killed, that is where line of aim and line of

flight would connect, and then all brain effort having ceased the shot

would be fired at the given point, and the piece carried on to where

the second charge was to be sent.

The writer has seen something similar to this accomplished numerous

times in night shooting. The bird having shown only for an instant,

giving its line and speed of flight, then disappeared utterly, but was

killed with almost the same certainty as though it had been in plain

sight. Naturally no second barrel could have been fired under such

circumstances, because the result of the first barrel would not be

seen, but had the gunner become aware in some way that he had missed,

he might still have killed the bird with his remaining load, the whole

mental effort being matured in the short space of time the bird was in

sight.

The gist of this is that flinching, the cause of which is overstraining

mind and nerves, can be cured by rigid training, but where the cause is

an actual fear of punishment, either sound or jab, it is a different

matter. The trite saying that prevention is better than cure applies

with special force here. Had I the coaching of a lady or sensitive

lad in shotgun shooting, no heavily charged twelve bore would ever be

tolerated; I would choose a twenty gauge of more than normal weight,

with barrels thirty or thirty-two inches long, and charge them lightly.

Bad eggs are never so laid, but chemistry can do little for them after

they have passed a certain stage; granting we have fair eyesight,

nature has kindly endowed us with every power necessary to the making

of a good shot, but very often indeed we foil her good intentions.

CONCENTRATION

Concentration is not a quality of an untrained mind. The expert shot

may not know Latin, Greek or mathematics, but his mind has been trained

to concentrate more absolutely than would be needful in solving

algebraic problems. Whatever his knowledge of gunnery, a man cannot be

considered reliable with either rifle or smoothbore without the ability

to fix his mind upon one thing to the utter exclusion of everything

else in the world.

A rifleman who shoots upon the range with his fellows must so train

himself that he will not hear the gun that is discharged within four

feet of his head. The pigeon shot who could not prevent his mind from

dwelling upon previous misses would never excel in the sport. I have

known two crack quail shots to cross their guns without knowing it when

a bevy broke, and one of them shot off the muzzle of the other’s gun.

If, after selecting one bird of a bevy at which to fire, the marksman

still sees other birds, the chances are that he misses them all. The

shooter who can see trees that are liable to interfere with his aim

would probably miss the target were the trees absent.

Some sportsmen cannot shoot well in company from inability to free

their minds of some faint knowledge of what companions may be doing.

When two men have both decided to fire at a bird, and the knowledge of

what the other is to do is known to both, the bird will be more likely

to escape than if but the one gun was fired--this because the minds of

the gunners are divided between aiming and a consciousness of what the

other gun is doing. One bird of a bevy is harder to kill than a bird

rising singly for a similar reason. The match shooter who could feel an

earthquake while aiming a shot would be the wrong man to place money

upon.

A perfect control of the mind and nervous organization is essential to

either field or trap shooting, and the latter must hear what is being

said about him without comprehending it. Making irritating remarks

in connection with a competitor’s shooting is an old trick of pigeon

shots. The surest way to rattle a field shot is to induce him to

discuss his misses while still shooting.

I remember one very clever quail shot that I took the job of rattling

as a joke. His misses were usually shots that went low which caused

him to fall into my scheme very innocently by agreeing that I should

observe his work and call attention to every shot that went low. As

soon as a bird arose I called, monotonously, “shoot high, shoot high.”

Very shortly he was missing nearly every bird fired upon and was a

very thoroughly worried man. He afterwards told me that no sooner had

the bird started than he could think of nothing but me and my infernal

“shoot high”.

Another individual was slow with his second barrel and I consented to

coach him. He was a peppery chap, but usually pretty reliable with his

first barrel. When the bird jumped, I said, sharply, “second barrel,

second barrel” with the certain result of his rattling off both barrels

without touching a feather. He flew into a rage finally.

A good shot with a trained mind, capable of a high degree of

concentration, would never have heard what I said. I have known men

in brush shooting to strike their muzzles against a limb and push the

branch along sufficiently to get an aim and kill the bird without

knowing the limb was there until afterwards. With his mind divided a

marksman can no more shoot straight than he could throw baseballs with

both hands at the same time.

Here are a few axioms to be remembered: When aiming see nothing, feel

nothing, hear nothing, think of nothing except the work in hand. While

shooting solve the problem that is before you, and not the one that is

past. Always kill the first bird shot at if you have enough loads in

your gun, and never mind the others.

SELF-CONFIDENCE

In wing-shooting self-confidence is a great asset. When a bird springs,

if there is any doubt in your mind as to your ability to kill, the

result will probably be a miss. A feeling must be ever present of

absolute power to kill, a feeling born of previous success. Any feeling

of confidence not born of past results is simply self-deception. The

vain glorious fellow who believes that he can do anything without

trying has the sort of faith that wouldn’t deceive anyone except

himself.

If a novice could suddenly become miraculously possessed of the

knowledge of exactly where to hold, with the mechanical ability to

handle his gun, he yet could not shoot from lack of confidence in his

newly acquired powers. The only self-confidence built upon a solid

foundation is that which comes from repeated, almost unvarying success.

Confidence that comes from thoroughly tested ability is the stock in

trade of the expert and so long as he possesses it, he will shoot well.

Overconfidence is a different matter,--a miss usually resulting from

the marksman’s conscious or unconscious belief that it is not necessary

for him to put forth his full powers. Shoot with all your might, at the

easy birds and the hard ones alike, quitting when becoming tired rather

than to shoot on carelessly.

CHAPTER VI

SPEED OF FLIGHT--WHERE TO HOLD--JUDGING DISTANCES

No amount of mechanical ability to handle a gun, such skill as might

be acquired in trap shooting, will ever make a crack field shot out

of the man who cannot estimate distances accurately, or who would not

know where to hold if he did. In treating the subject of speed of mark,

distance of target, and amount of lead, the writer feels constrained to

admit that no theoretical knowledge can take the place of experience--a

world of experience. The knowledge that comes only with long years of

shooting is something that is never received on a platter of gold, but

is bought and well paid for by the years that have gone by; it is power

that was stored by the water that has gone past the wheel forever.

It is well that this is so, for if youth, with its irrepressible

vitality, its muscles of iron and nerves of steel, might magically have

the wisdom of age also, there would be no use for the veteran in this

world--he would have to be Oslerized to make room. The best the author

can do is to give such advice as may prevent the water from slipping by

without turning the wheel.

Given the velocity of our projectile, the speed, distance, and angle on

which our mark is traveling, and it is easy to work out the exact spot

at which the aim must be taken in order to connect with the target.

But, as has been shown in previous chapters, all our theories will

be much modified and negatived by the different styles of shooting

that men have acquired. Indeed so many factors have a bearing that it

is rare for theory and practice to agree, and it is seldom that two

skilled shots can be found who will not have divergent views about

where to hold.

Just how much the mathematical lead will have to be changed by the

shooter’s manner of swinging is something that everyone will have to

decide for himself. The novice who manages by the rapidity of his

swing to cut theoretical lead in half is on pretty safe ground. The

scientific lead is given in these pages merely as a foundation for

those who have not yet built a shooting structure of their own.

The following table gives either the estimated or timed speed of flight

of some of our common game birds, taken when they are in full plumage

and power, after having flown such a distance as to have acquired full

momentum. It may be noted that birds of the order of quail and grouse

are much more uniform in rate of progress than wildfowl. Nature did

not give the grouse family such wing powers as the migratory birds, the

one style of flying they have developed giving a very regular velocity.

It might be taken as almost axiomatic that the greater the strength

of wing possessed by any bird, the more will his speed vary with his

humors and needs. Some hawks can stand still in the air, but they can

also cut through it faster than anything that flies; the king bird

ordinarily flies slowly, but he can dart like a flash of light when he

wishes.

The variations in flight speed of quail and grouse can be ascribed

to wind and atmosphere rather than to the will of the bird. One of

them might fly past you, running a hazard of both barrels, without

accelerating his wing strokes a particle, though doubtless he is as

much frightened as any other bird. As much cannot be said of the duck

tribe who sprint or loiter as the occasion demands, always appearing

able to let out another link or two when danger is pressing.

The velocities here given are taken in feet per second rather than

miles per hour which is less readily comprehended or applied by the

gunner.

TABLE OF FLIGHTS.

_Bird._ _Feet per Second._ _Average._

Quail 65 to 85 75

Prairie chicken 65 to 85 75

Ruffed grouse 60 to 90 75

Dove 70 to 100 85

Jack snipe 50 to 70 65

Curlew 45 to 65 55

Plovers 50 to 80 according to variety.

Crow 35 to 55 45

Mallard 55 to 90 75

Black duck 55 to 90 75

Spoonbill 55 to 85 70

Pintail 60 to 100 80

Wood duck 70 to 90 80

Widgeon 80 to 100 90

Gadwell 80 to 100 90

Red head 110 to 130 120

Bluewing Teal 120 to 140 130

Greenwing Teal 100 to 130 115

Canvasback 130 to 160 145

Canada geese 100 to 120 110

Brant, different varieties, average speed 100

Some species of hawks have a speed of 200 feet a second.

There may be much greater variation in the flight of some of these

birds than could be given in any table. An old mallard might plug

lazily along, looking for a place to alight and not travel above thirty

feet a second; on the other hand he has a tremendous sprint when

frightened. It might be said that given a good scare any of these ducks

can reach maximum speed at will, and this sprinting flight is usually

what the gunner has to make allowance for.

Give a bluewing teal a forty-mile breeze behind him, have the little

rascal dropping down with it, and he comes on so fast as to be simply

unhittable--some writers have claimed a speed for him of a hundred

and fifty miles an hour or two hundred and twenty feet a second. The

canvasback, redhead and bluebill have a way of driving before a gale,

too, that will be found fast enough in all conscience. Much of the

fascination of wing-shooting comes from the fact that shots will always

be afforded quite beyond skill of mortal man.

On the contrary many wildfowl are jumped, killed when hovering over

decoys, or shot while unsuspicious of danger and moving slowly; enough

of such shots are the rule to keep the tyro in good heart. Moreover

many birds like snipe, quail, chickens, and grouse are generally killed

before they have attained full speed, perhaps ninety per cent. of

such birds falling before they have reached normal flight velocity.

Generally speaking, upland birds are not shot while passing the gun at

right angles, but are going straight away, quartering, or twisting. It

follows that in the fields our gravest shooting problems are other than

reckoning speed of flight, but on the marshes our ability to calculate

distances both horizontal and vertical has full play.

As a consequence wildfowl work may be said to be the most scientific

wing-shooting in the world, while the expert of the uplands displays

such uncanny quickness of perception that we can only explain it as

instinct. Comparing the work of the men who follow either of these

branches of sport, we might say that the sportsman of the fields has

much to unlearn ere he can perform creditably upon the web-feet, and

the man of the duck boat has only a foundation for partridge shooting

skill. Having learned to kill quail we can no more double up a whizzing

canvasback than a man can play golf because he has learned croquet, or

a ninety per cent. clay saucer breaker can hit a jack snipe.

MATHEMATICAL LEAD

The figures given below are based upon a shot charge having a mean

velocity over a fifty foot course of one thousand feet; over a one

hundred foot range, of nine hundred feet; and for the distance of

one hundred and fifty feet, eight hundred feet a second. Of course

these calculations for shot velocity are only approximately correct,

since they would alter with the size of the pellets, the larger shot

maintaining a higher momentum at the longer ranges. Then, too, the

initial velocity of the load might be greater or less than that given.

Nevertheless, as it would be obviously impossible to work out the

problems to fit every different charge, without taking up the space of

a book, these will do as well as any.

No allowance has been made for the time required to pull trigger, the

action of the lock, or the time necessary for the charge to pass from

breech to muzzle, these being variable quantities that would only

render the matter more complex. Mathematical lead, as here given, means

simply the distance the bird would fly at his stated rate of speed

while the shot were reaching him at the velocity mentioned.

A snipe, curlew, or plover, flying at the rate of sixty feet a second,

would require a lead of two and one-half feet at fifty feet; five and

five-ninth feet at one hundred feet; and nine and three-eighths feet at

fifty yards.

A quail, prairie chicken, ruffed grouse, or mallard, covering space

at a speed of seventy-five feet a second, would have to be led three

and three-quarter feet at fifty feet; eight and one-third feet at one

hundred; and fourteen feet at fifty yards.

A wood-duck, widgeon, or pintail flying ninety feet a second, would

necessitate a lead of four and one-half feet at fifty feet; ten feet at

one hundred; and at fifty yards sixteen and seven-eighths feet.

A gadwell, greenwing, or wild goose traveling one hundred feet a second

would call for a lead of five feet at fifty feet; eleven and one-ninth

feet at one hundred; and eighteen and three-quarters feet at fifty

yards.

A bluewing teal, canvasback, or redhead, passing at the rate of one

hundred and twenty feet a second would need a lead of six feet at a

distance of fifty; thirteen and three-ninths at one hundred; and at

fifty yards twenty-two and one-half feet.

Should a canvasback or bluewing flash by at the rate of one hundred

and fifty feet a second, which they doubtless sometimes do in a wind,

the lead for fifty feet would be seven and one-half feet, that for

one hundred, sixteen and two-thirds; for fifty yards twenty-eight and

one-eighth feet.

Granted that a hawk is able to fly two hundred feet a second, as

stated, this means that over a fifty yard range the shot charge would

travel but four times as fast as the bird, and the lead required to

connect with him at the distance would be thirty-seven and one-half

feet. Even in the case of many of the ducks the shot have a velocity

barely eight times as great as the target. Bearing this in mind, the

need of correctly estimating distance and lead may strike the reader

with new force.

It should be noted that these allowances for lead are all theoretical.

The average experienced man, who fires with a rapidly swinging gun,

would cut the given lead in half, and many expert wildfowlers would do

better than that. It might be added here that any apparent lead greater

than ten feet becomes pretty much guesswork. I have myself killed teal

in a Minnesota gale by holding what I considered twenty feet ahead of

them, but the feat was performed so seldom as to be readily recalled.

It should be remembered that consciously giving a lead of twenty feet

means really a much greater allowance if the gun is swinging true and

fast. Naturally difficult shots like those are the “home runs” of

wing-shooting.

It is hardly necessary to state that all the calculations here

presented call for the bird’s passing at right angles to the gun, any

other angle of flight obviously changing the lead.

JUDGING DISTANCES

Within shotgun range it is a comparatively easy matter to judge

distances along the ground, especially stationary objects of recognized

dimensions. Even birds a-wing that fly low nearly always pass a tree or

something else that will afford us a basis for calculations. But with

birds of unknown size, passing overhead, the matter assumes different

proportions.

As previously stated, in upland shooting, where the birds generally

rise near us the matter of estimating distances need not concern us

seriously. To be sure some shots will be missed through an incorrect

lead due to badly judged flight, but such chances will not occur often

enough to make a great difference in the size of the bag.

When wildfowl are in question, however, the subject is one that cannot

be studied too closely. Ducks frequently maintain a line of flight so

regular that striking them could present no great difficulty if we knew

how far they were away from the gun and exactly what lead to give them.

Nine misses in ten upon the marsh are caused by faulty lead, which in

turn must be attributed to poor judgment of distance or speed of flight.

Expert gunners estimate the distance of their mark, first, by knowing

the kind of bird that is coming in and the size that it should appear

at a given time. This makes it imperative that we should always be

able to recognize the species of fowl that is approaching, be it teal,

mallard, or pintail, for we cannot reckon nearness by size unless

the size is well known. Secondly, the closeness of wildfowl can be

approximately figured by keenly observing their markings. The shooter

may say that he knew the bird was within range because he could see the

white on its cheeks or the bars on its wings. The third method is to

observe the apparent time required for the fowl to pass the gun. A bird

that is well out will seemingly be much longer in passing than he would

if he whistled by our heads.

One of the first things for a wildfowler to learn is to recognize the

kind of duck which is approaching while it is yet at a distance. Until

he can do this simply by the manner of the bird’s flying he cannot

hope to do a great deal of execution. This is true for more than one

reason, but the particular one which concerns us now is the necessity

for judging the bird’s range by its size and appearance. The novice

quickly comes to know that a mallard shows markings about as far as he

can be killed, but if he is looking for trimmings of chestnut, white,

and green, and a little black teal whizzes by at half gunshot he will

never believe that it was within reach.

Nevertheless when experience has taught us to recognize at sight the

different species of fowl there is no better key to the mysteries of

unknown range than the markings of the birds. So many yards away we can

distinguish the drakes from the ducks. A certain nearer approach and

the chestnut and white of the mallard drake’s breast no longer blend.

Close up the very eyes of the bird may be seen, or the curl upon his

tail, and then even the tyro knows that his mark is within easy reach.

[Illustration: Estimating a bird’s distance by his apparent size and

the plainness of his markings. Lower bird 50 feet, middle one 100 feet,

upper, 150.]

Probably judging the distance of a wildfowl by his markings is the mode

most commonly practiced. It is usually very reliable, though to be

sure atmospheric conditions would have an influence. In rainy or foggy

weather the colors might blend when the bird was nearly on top of you.

And, by the way, estimating the distance or size of the flying game in

a fog is almost impossible.

The apparent size of the mark also gives the gunner a very good line

on its vicinity to the gun. When the bird looms up as big as a balloon

you know that he ought to be within gunshot. It is here, however,

that a man’s eyes often deceive his reason. After killing a mallard

at forty yards, he permits a teal at thirty-five to escape because he

fully believes it is out of range. In like manner, impressed with the

appearance of the ducks, an old Canada honker will not seem to be half

as far away as he really is and a lot of forbearance is needed to keep

from cutting loose while he is yet two gunshot lengths off. A safe

plan with the big bird is to let him come just as close as he will if

he drops into the pit. As a matter of fact, that is a pretty good plan

with any kind of a waterfowl larger than a teal, for almost invariably

they are not so close as they appear to be.

With very small birds the opposite might be true, as for example a

quail at forty yards looks a long distance off, many would pronounce

him from fifty to sixty yards away. This accounts for most of the

sixty-yard shots on quail that we read about, the bird really being

under forty oftener than not.

Judging the distance of the target by the rapidity with which it

approached and passed the gun would be reliable if a man had his bump

of mathematics highly developed and nothing else to do. The fowl being

above our heads, with its markings showing clearly, should it seemingly

require a long time to pass out of range, so that if need be a half

dozen shots could be fired at it, we can safely assume that it was

quite out of gunshot to begin with.

This reminds me of the efforts of a young friend of mine on his first

duck shoot. He said that he had no trouble about getting an aim on some

of the birds, but that others drummed by so fast that he couldn’t shoot

at them at all. I found that he was banging away at all the high-flying

flocks while the birds that whistled by his head escaped without

drawing fire. In a modified way this happens to more than one novice.

Correctly estimating the distance of the mark will not avail us much

unless we can at the same time closely calculate the speed of flight.

The lead that would kill mallards right along will miss every teal

that wings past us; or if by accident the beginner first learns to

connect with the teal, he will be disgusted at missing the slow flying

greenheads and pintail while apparently hanging right over his head.

Indeed, the expert gunner is often dismayed to find that he cannot

change his swing to adapt it to a slow moving mark after becoming

accustomed to a speedy one. He perceives at once that he should do so,

but shooting instinct and habit betray him. It is often laughable to

see a crack shot lead a rabbit three feet too much when bunny hops up

among the scattered quail.

[Illustration: Estimating distance to hold ahead in lengths of the bird]

The ordinary manner of estimating the lead for a bird is not in feet,

as might be expected, but in lengths of the bird. For instance, at

fifty yards ten feet appears a very short distance, but a bird that is

known to be twelve inches long seems very small also; nevertheless, by

taking ten of his lengths we can safely assume that we are ten feet

ahead of him. This rule, of course, pertains to any distance, while

by attempting to work in feet we will find that the eye will deceive

us with every varying range. Not one inexperienced shot in a dozen can

come closer than two feet to estimating the distance apart of two poles

at fifty yards, not to mention measuring off ten feet in the air with

nothing to serve as a guide or comparison. Despite this, the novice may

guess off ten lengths with sufficient accuracy to insure a kill.

After a time the final dependence of every veteran shot comes to be

shooting habit. He glances at the flying quarry, swings upon it, and

pulls when he feels he is right, with deadly results. The feeling

of where to hold becomes so strong that no manner of reasoning or

instruction would change his point of aim. This is not from any form of

instinct, but simply because he swung so and killed many times before.

He finally does it all without second thought, or first thought either,

and should you ask him how much he led he wouldn’t remember, either

feet or lengths. Perhaps he might declare that he didn’t lead at all,

or barely shot in front; this because his mind was upon other things.

Notwithstanding the above this style of shooting can be safely imitated

by the novice. Humanity is so constituted that it must learn things

slowly, through a process of reasoning, and reason only can lay a sure

foundation for the so-called shooting instinct. If there is any royal

road to success in wing-shooting the writer has never known anyone

to strike it. Practice and study, practice and study; you will never

become perfect, but you can become expert.

CHAPTER VII

HINTS ON SHOOTING DIFFERENT GAME BIRDS

The limits of this book will not permit me to treat shooting the

various game birds at length. Indeed, full instructions for handling

the ordinary varieties of game which fall before the shotgun in this

country would require a volume of itself. The best that I can do in

this one chapter on the subject is to give a few hints which the

beginner may find worth consulting.

THE BOB WHITE QUAIL

This little fellow is to head the list because he is the most widely

distributed and best loved of all our game birds. In all the South,

the West to the mountains, and throughout the Middle States, not

a sportsman can be found who will not assert a fondness for quail

shooting, the sport of many being limited to this one bird. The

friendly brown chap ranges from Minnesota to the southern extremity of

Florida, and in all this region the lad who has any shooting instinct

born in him must have longed to follow the pointers and the quail,

years ere he was able to bear the weight of a gun.

Little Bob affords shooting under many conditions, some of them so easy

as to make him one of the least difficult of all our game birds to bag,

and others quite hard enough to call forth the highest skill of the

most expert gun. The tyro can kill some quail, and the practiced shot

will fall far short of securing them all.

The marked characteristics of quail are that he lies best to the dog

and rises nearer the gun than any other game bird of the uplands; he is

found both in the open and in heavy cover; he can be pursued on foot,

on horseback, and sometimes in wagons; the bevies break away all in

a bunch, with a tremendous rush and whir of wings, with a startling

rapidity only rivaled by the ruffed grouse; and he is a winged athlete,

capable of swerving and dodging when occasion demands in a manner to

shame a jack snipe. Parenthetically permit me to venture here the

opinion that quail do not dodge maliciously, their powers in this

respect being merely called forth by circumstances.

In an open, level, ragweed field, where the vegetation is from knee to

waist high, Bob sails away on an even keel, as straight as an arrow,

whereupon a right and left should be within the powers of the average

shot. However, let trees and brush intervene and the course of the

little bird is beyond the foresight of man; then, too, he will swerve

so quickly as to escape a charge of shot that has been sent direct for

him.

One of the difficulties of quail shooting lies in the very fact that

would apparently make his killing a simple proposition, his rising near

the gun. Let me illustrate: If a quail rose within ten feet of the gun

and continued sailing around the shooter’s head at a mile a minute

gait, the chances are that he couldn’t be killed in ten shots, both

the bird and the gun changing angle with a rapidity beyond the ability

of the mind to calculate. In the same way a close springing bird may

change his angle with regard to the gun so rapidly as to entail a long

and accurate swing before he can be covered.

He may rise within twenty feet of the gun, be killed within fifty feet,

and yet meantime he has half boxed the compass. For such a shot as this

the poise of the gunner’s body must be maintained very nicely, if he

is to turn half about without disturbing the balance, and at the same

time cover a small, rapidly moving object with precision. This lengthy

swing is a mechanically troublesome proposition on the principle that

anything at all hard to accomplish becomes more trying the longer

continued. Making a long and accurate swing with a shotgun might aptly

be compared with rifle shooting at a thousand yards. Any rifleman could

hit the bull’s-eye if you put him close enough, and the shotgun shooter

could best place his charge upon the mark when he did not have to

swing the arm at all.

[Illustration: Turning on him]

The nature of the quail’s flight frequently makes this long swing

unavoidable. The bird may rise to the north, pass to the west, and be

killed to the south. Had it been possible to foresee that the bird

would swing about to the south before being killed, the gun might have

been pointed there, rendering unnecessary a complex gun movement, but

meantime the quarry would probably have gone in some other direction.

The quail work that calls for care and skill is cover shooting, and the

only safe rule there is to point your gun as near the bird as you can

when he breaks and shoot as quickly as you can get on.

It is all well enough to give the trite advice not to shoot too

quickly, give the bird time enough to straighten out, but half the

time that this is done no shot will be fired at all. An old German

hunting axiom covers this ground: “Any time you fail to shoot you have

made a miss.” We have all been out with the individual who withheld

his fire because he “couldn’t get on to that fellow,” and he is a

most exasperating companion where the other gun is waiting for him

to shoot. The promptest possible work is requisite in quail shooting,

the nerves of the gunner awaiting a rise being really keyed up as high

as those of a sprinter on the mark listening for the pistol shot. A

trained quail shot can be made to fairly jump into the air by roughly

imitating the rush of the bird’s wings.

This idea of waiting for a quail to fly a certain distance reminds me

of the advice of dear old Frank Forester. His scheme was never to cock

his piece until the bird was on the wing, then raise the left hammer,

shift and pull up the right, by which time the shooter would have

recovered his coolness, and the mark would be just the distance to be

killed with ease and absolute certainty. I tried the plan when a boy,

and can fully believe an old market gunner who said that Frank Forester

never could shoot quail. The time to shoot a quail in the brush is

when and where you can see him; the opportunity perhaps not lasting a

quarter of a second.

The quail shot must possess mechanical steadiness, rapidity of action,

nerve force, and nerve control. Mechanically there is no comparison

between following, making a half turn and cutting down a quail at fifty

feet, and throwing up the gun with a five-inch swing to lead a mallard

ten feet at fifty yards. Which of the shots will be the more difficult

of accomplishment is a matter of training and experience. The quail

shot must possess mechanics and nerve, the duck hunter, shooting

knowledge. Personally I believe that quail work takes a great deal

more out of a man, so that killing fifty quail will result in a nerve

exhaustion that would not accompany bagging a hundred ducks.

Sporting writers are disposed to dwell upon the necessity for holding

high in quail shooting, didactically stating that nearly all misses

either go low or fall behind. Our literary gunners either get this

idea from one another, accepting it without question as people do most

of their wisdom, or their logic, so far as they have any, is that as

the bird is rising from the ground, the charge must necessarily drop

beneath unless care be taken to hold above. This theory really applies

to pigeon shooting from the traps, originating from the demands of that

sport.

The plain principle that should be remembered is that any bird flying

away from the gun, beneath the line of aim, demands high holding

whether or not the mark is rising; on the other hand, a target above

the level of the eye may require low holding even when it is gradually

rising. Let us make this plain. A bird rises near the gun and the

weapon is pointed there, the muzzle being directed down toward the

ground. Now the mark may fly away nearly along the ground, as pigeons

often do, and yet the line of aim must steadily rise until the gun is

nearly in a horizontal position.

On the contrary, if the bird rises sharply at the first bound to a

height some distance above the gun and then goes off level, or even

rises somewhat, the gun will first be elevated to an angle of perhaps

forty-five degrees and then with the receding target must drop until

near the horizontal. Applying this principle we find that shots must be

directed high for all outgoing birds that are beneath the level of the

eye and low for all outgoing birds that are above the level of the eye

unless they continue to rise at a very sharp angle.

I shall call attention briefly to the shots that are liable to go high;

those in which the tendency is to fall under; the manner of flight when

the charge often strikes behind; and where the error will be leading

too much. To begin with, permit me to repeat a statement previously

made that in upland shooting only the occasional bird requires any

great amount of lead. The obvious reason for this is that any target

which rises close to the gun must in the nature of things go away from

it and cannot maintain a right-angled flight for any great distance.

A bird may be readily overshot when he is flying straight away and

perfectly level, in consequence of the line of swing being so very

short. The gun comes to the shoulder pointing but a few inches beneath

the target; then if it is brought up quickly the probability is that it

travels above the mark while the trigger is being pressed. The problem

of the shooter here is to start his line of swing sufficiently below

the mark so that the finger can receive fair warning before the time

comes to pull. Another shot often going high is when the bird rises

to some little elevation and then drives away with a lowering flight

before the aim is secured.

One of the most troublesome of open quail shots to gauge is when the

little chap rises near the gun to a height of twenty or thirty feet and

then goes off level. The natural inclination is to swing after him,

unconscious that he is really going down toward the horizontal line

and that the aim must in many instances be taken at least a foot low.

Another quail shot in which few ever become proficient is the incomer.

Flying low as this bird does, should he be allowed to approach within

less than forty-five feet it is almost impossible to strike him owing

to the rapidity with which the gun must be moved to keep pace with the

flight. The nearer the bird comes to you the faster the muzzle swing,

and at that the bird either outpaces you or you jerk ahead blindly

without any aim and kill only by accident. The incomer should be fired

upon when fifty feet or more away, should he be seen in time, or,

failing to get in the shot there, turn on the bird and take him after

he passes by. When attempting this last feat always hold under such a

distance as would appear a sure miss, usually a foot and a half unless

the bird is rising.

Naturally the shape of a man’s gunstock will modify his holding for

any of the shots that should go high or low. This particular flight,

the bird passing overhead and going away, was the most successfully

accomplished with the use of one peculiar weapon which the author

owned fifteen or twenty years ago. It was a straight stocked gun to

begin with, made emphatically so by the addition of a Monte Carlo comb

which caused it to shoot high and to the left. With this piece there

was never any of the trouble with the incomers that I have experienced

with other arms. The incomer was allowed to pass and then the aim taken

about two feet low and four inches to the right, and down he came stone

dead, seemingly the most certain shot that could be taken.

[Illustration: Shooting high for a quail topping the brush]

Shot charges should be delivered high when the game rises so wild as

to require snapping before reaching the end of its climbing bound,

the snap shot being demanded to prevent the quarry getting beyond

range. Under such circumstances the line of aim would not follow the

line of flight with a swing, but would pass straight up in front to

the connecting point. Such shots as this more often occur in prairie

chicken shooting than with quail. Another problem that necessitates

quick perception is when the bird meets some obstruction to his flight.

The inclination of a quail is always to jump over rather than dodge

under anything that comes in his way, the rise beginning some distance

ere he reaches the obstruction. Hence watch your mark closely, should

he be winging toward a low tree or brush, for he is nearly certain to

rise, and it is then a safe rule to hold over anyway.

It should be known that the majority of under shots are due, not so

much to the flight of the bird, as to the nerves of the gunner. When

there is need of quick action, in a semi-snap or rapid swing, with the

sportsman’s nerves tensely strung, there is more than a possibility

of the finger betraying the judgment by letting off ere the piece has

quite traveled up to cover the mark. In every instance of this kind the

charge must either go low or behind, and usually both.

Take it for granted that in upland shooting two-thirds of the misses

that fall beneath and back are the result of rebellious nerves. Nerves

are especially hard to manage where the swing is a long one, which we

have shown it must often be with quail, and hence the pigeon shooter’s

axiom of “shoot high and in front” might apply to Bob White, only it

should read “don’t pull until you are on.” If you cannot avoid doing

this, harden the trigger of your gun.

Individuals differ, and the personality of the gunner must always

govern largely, but the writer has always had his best success in quail

shooting by firing a semi-snap shot with the first barrel and swinging

after with the second. With practice, too, it will be found that the

gun can be swung with greater ease and certainty, and a better view

maintained of the mark, when the head is held upright, free of the

gunstock.

PRAIRIE CHICKEN SHOOTING

Chicken shooting was once such a simple business as scarcely to deserve

the name of sport, for the half-grown chicks were killed in August

while still under charge of the old hen. At present the hunting of

these grouse begins with October, and the work upon the mature and

powerful fowl is not only elegant sport, but of a nature to test the

skill of any man. The bevies now become broken up, scattering about

singly, in pairs, and small bunches, and then with the approach of

winter packing into coveys of several hundred. The larger the packs or

the colder the weather, the wilder chickens become.

The very finest of prairie grouse shooting is to be had on the

occasional warm, sunny days that come in November and December. Then

while the big fellows are not tame, and certainly not tame shooting,

they will frequently permit the gunner to approach within half gunshot,

and a few brace of the powerful birds in the strength of their lusty

growth and the beauty of their winter plumage will afford intense

satisfaction to any sportsman who prefers quality to quantity. We will

treat of bagging these strong, brown fellows rather than the September

fledglings that even the tyro would require no special instruction to

kill.

The full-grown pinnated grouse is rather more powerful of wing than a

quail, though from his size he seems to move slower. He is, however,

not so sharp in getting away from the mark as his little cousin, and

hence if he lay to a point like the latter would be easier shooting,

but the late fall chicken doesn’t lie as close as a quail, the rise

being anywhere from twenty yards to a long gunshot. It follows that

straightaway chances are the exception rather than the rule, and the

distance of the spring makes it needful that nearly every shot be well

judged and given its proper allowance ahead. Almost invariably daylight

should be seen between the point of aim and the bird, the lead being

anywhere from a foot to eight feet where an old cock is crossing at

forty-five yards.

In the course of a day upon the prairies nearly every description of

shot known in wing-shooting may be afforded. Occasionally a bird will

rise under your feet and drive away low over the short coated prairie,

but the majority will be quartering shots at every conceivable angle

from a straightaway to a direct incomer. Frequently the cackling chaps

will spring to a height of thirty or forty feet, and then drop away

with whip and twist and flash of wings toward the distant horizon--the

most careful gunner finding plenty of empty space along these curves

of flight. Numbers will cross at right angles, demanding as much lead

as a mallard duck, and sometimes a pack will come stringing along like

English driven game, yielding the sportsman as hot a thirty seconds as

he ever experienced.

The chicken being a heavy bird cannot reach top speed so promptly as

a quail, and they have a way of climbing for the first few yards that

keeps them within gunshot, when a quail or ruffed grouse would be

putting such space between himself and the gun that shooting at him

would be useless.

I should estimate that a quail would fly forty-five feet the first

second after his jump, a ruffed grouse from forty-five to fifty-five

feet, a chicken perhaps not above thirty, though in doing this he might

rise to a height of twenty feet. As a consequence pinnated grouse

can sometimes be bagged that take wing forty yards from the gun, but

it calls for a high degree of shooting skill to gauge both his speed

away from the gun and his angle of elevation. With these long range

shots the gun should always come up to the point of discharge with the

least possible lost motion, something of accuracy being sacrificed

to prompt delivery of the charge, care being taken to shoot plenty

high--sometimes as much as two feet above the climbing fowl. This work

has more resemblance to jumping ducks than anything quail shooting

develops.

The mature chicken is suspicious, preferring rather to trust in the

strength of his strong wings than to any ability to hide. With the

wild fellows it is better to chance a miss with a rough snap that has

power to drive the pellets home in place of a precise aim that could

only rattle the shot upon his stiff wing feathers. Nevertheless, I have

found the quick half snap to be the most killing style, care being

taken to steady the gun before lifting it to the mark.

The second barrel will naturally follow the first in a quick swing and

should snap in after the first with the same celerity as in pigeon

shooting from the traps. The best policy in all wing-shooting is to

consider any bird near enough for the second barrel that was within

reach of the first. Otherwise an indecisive second barrel will grow

upon you to the detriment of all your shooting.

Where the utmost rapidity is requisite the obvious thing to do is to

get your weapon to shoulder with the flash of the springing bird; then

in the slight interim needed to steady the piece the calculation for

lead can be made, and the charge sent there instantly, care being taken

not to jerk the weapon with uncontrollable roughness. With the shooter

walking up his bird, and of course without having gun, legs, or body in

shooting position, a grouse can be stopped by a fast man within five

yards of where it breaks cover, the time taken to accomplish all the

separate, complex movements not being over half a second.

Only the wisest old chicken dog will be found serviceable on November

grouse, an animal which can scent his game at from fifty to two hundred

yards and one that will not attempt to approach it except in close

company with the gun. On birds that have packed and become excessively

wild, two men may often work together to advantage, the one hiding in

the grass while the other drives the game over him.

There are times when not a single chicken will permit an unconcealed

gunner to approach a foot within one hundred yards. Under the

circumstances the only recourse is to either drive the birds or to

endeavor to shoot them from horseback or wagon. A horse can sometimes

be galloped right among the fowl, especially in a country where they

have become accustomed to the unmolesting cowpuncher. A driven wagon

sometimes proves equally serviceable, but the second time you endeavor

to drive up to a flushed pack you will learn that the wise birds have

sized up the situation perfectly, and chickens can fly about over the

rough prairie faster than horses can trot.

THE RUFFED GROUSE

The ruffed grouse is the wisest of all his tribe, of which all have

brains, and as a winged sprinter is the quickest away from scratch

of anything that flies. The quail dodges with phenomenal suddenness

when anything obstructs his path, the wind sometimes unbalances a

jack snipe, giving his flight the acme of eccentricity, but the

partridge does it all deliberately and maliciously. With gunner and

ruffed grouse, as with pitcher and batter, it is a guessing game, and

whichever outguesses comes off the victor. Flush a quail in the thick

woods and should there be an opening he may fly straight down it; a

partridge might, too, but be sure he will not. I have seen one of

the birds sitting before a dog’s point in a perfectly open spot, but

there was a tree within twenty feet. I planned to get a shot at him

before he could reach that tree, and ordered the dog to crawl in while

I stood with gun ready. The wise old scoundrel got up with provoking

deliberation, spread his tail, legged it around behind the tree and

then took wing with a tremendous hurrah.

In partridge shooting, knowledge of the bird’s habits will avail more

than shooting skill. The hunter should have that rare sort of partridge

wisdom that few are born with and less ever acquire. One man always

luckily selects the spot where the fish will bite if there are any,

and the old partridge crank can forever place himself in just the spot

to get his opportunity, while all the other fellows have to take what

happens to come.

The thing for the ruffed grouse hunter to do is to shoot and never

count shells. Should the bird fly behind a tree and not reappear, shoot

the tree in two if you can. When he simply roars in beyond the limbs,

make no hesitation, for that is the very place to kill him. Swing along

on the line of flight, so much of it as you have seen, take it for

granted that he is still going the same course, at the same rate of

speed, and when you know you are right pull with as much confidence as

though the bird were yet in plain sight. Then listen for the bird to

fall--and sometimes he will. If he doesn’t simply blame the limbs, they

have no shooting conceit to be aggrieved. Seeing sparkles and flashes

of light glinting through the woods, left there by the partridge’s

wings, shoot as far ahead as your conscience will let you, and more

than likely another bird will be added to the bag.

In the rare times when you catch a ruffed grouse in the open, as in

little isolated clumps from which he must fly, or along old, overgrown

fencerows, he is no more difficult target than a quail or chicken. He

is quicker away from the gun in heavy cover, but in full flight has no

greater speed than either of the others. Generally no great amount of

lead need be taken, but the shots he affords are of such diversified

character that there can be no such thing as systematic partridge

shooting. The marksman must simply suit his style to the nature of the

shot as it comes. At the odd times when an easy shot appears, make

sure of that bird, with all the precision and steadiness possessed, for

he is the bird that should add weight to the back coat pocket.

When there is but a ten-foot opening in the trees snap the bird there

no matter what the odds against a kill, that is where the fun comes in

and the rare pleasure of a kill that occurs rarely. The ruffed grouse,

by the way, is the only bird upon which the ethics of sportsmanship

should tolerate the use of a cylinder bored gun. When this bird is

killed fairly upon the wing I should not feel disposed to lecture

the man who used a bell muzzled piece. Like the grouse hunter, the

partridge dog just happens to be one. If nature hasn’t done a great

deal for him man can do little. Training can teach the dog to hunt

close to the gun, to flush to order, and to be stanch, and then he may

or may not be a partridge dog.

It is well to hunt ruffed grouse with a reliable companion, one that

can be depended upon not to shoot you first and feel sorry afterwards.

The right kind of a hunting partner will enable both guns to secure

better results, since the second gun will often get its chance while

the wily bird is out-maneuvering the other. Further advantages, such as

marking the birds, will be obvious without dwelling upon them.

Next to purely open shots the easiest partridge problem is when

the bird is climbing through the thin limbs or just as he tops the

undergrowth; the hardest is where he drops, like a bullet, out of a

tree and skims the ground. One partridge killed in three shots is good

shooting; fifty per cent. on quail is of about the same order, and

three out of four chickens.

SNIPE SHOOTING

The writer once hung a jury because he knew the other eleven fellows

were wrong. They wished to clear a man of the charge of murder who

had shot another in the back, the plea being self-defense. Utterly

regardless of the risk of being in a minority of one, I propose to

maintain now that snipe are the easiest to kill of all our common game

birds with the exception of the rail which at best doesn’t deserve to

be listed as game. That the snipe is a difficult shooting proposition

seems to be one of the popular sporting errors that appear to have

been accepted as an inheritance. Naturally the fiction writer and the

book-learned gunner perpetuate the error, considering themselves surely

upon safe ground when dwelling upon the difficulties of snipe shooting.

It is true that jack sometimes flies very erratically on windy days

when he finds trouble in balancing himself while gaining sufficient

momentum to progress steadily. Like other birds, too, his temper is

affected by cold, raw weather, or when he is hungry and food scarce; at

such times he has little hesitation about getting up well out of range

and leaving promptly for some more genial snipe world. When flushing

wild it is quite a literal statement of fact that snipe are hard to

hit, for if tied to a post out of gun range not many would be hurt. It

appears, too, that a snipe really requires some ballast of fat if he is

to sail upon an even keel, the thin little chaps surprising themselves

with aerial gymnastics.

But in actual snipe weather, warm, sunny days, with cover good and food

plentiful, jack snipe shooting is little more of a feat than smashing

clay birds, than which there is no simpler shotgun work with which to

compare.

The statement often made that the shooter should always withhold his

fire until the bird is from twenty-five to thirty yards distant is

the height of absurdity. The same shooting principle applies to snipe

that holds with any other game bird, catch him before he becomes hard.

When these birds are lying well to the dog and gun they get up lazily

and float away with long, easy bounds. The first jump may carry his

snipeship twenty feet, and then with a twist of his body he covers half

a dozen yards at a more or less acute angle, but at the end of one of

these aerial leaps the bird hangs for the fraction of a second, and

there you can almost catch him with a rifle bullet.

The preliminary spring with accompanying saucy “scaipe” should warn

the gunner and the end of the next leg of the zigzag ought to find

poor jack ready to be smoothed down and placed in the bag, the man of

ordinary quickness striking his mark inside of sixty feet or not over

forty-five from where it broke cover. The motion of a snipe is really

something like that of a skater who shoves out first upon one foot and

then the other, the bird, however, making longer and quicker strokes,

which become very choppy when he is sprinting.

There is a bit of up and down movement to the flight of a snipe under

some conditions, but not a great deal, and when he is passing or

circling the gun, the in and out motion is little in evidence, and he

flies practically as level as other birds. When going straightaway his

criss-cross style is most apparent, and such shots are the hardest in

consequence. It is this feature of his flight that makes hunting down

wind the most effective, since the bird has a preference for rising

against the wind, and will then beat back, affording a crossing shot,

while should the shooter walk up wind his target would likely be a

straightaway. Nevertheless, up wind or down wind, should the quarry

rise within twenty yards, he cannot escape without hazarding both

barrels, one of which will generally suffice.

The movements of a snipe should never be followed by the line of

swing. To do so would render his flight as hard to solve as sporting

literature has pronounced. Get the gun up pointed under him and then

snap ahead on one of his long bounds before he can tack. The thing is

so easily done that I will leave it to any experienced snipe shot

if there is any great feat about cutting down twenty of the little

beauties straight.

Indeed, this bird is one that calls for a hunter’s forbearance in the

matter of bag. Some years ago immense bags of snipe were common. The

record so far as I know was something over six hundred birds killed

by a Louisiana planter in one day. In the vicinity of St. Louis two

hundred snipe a day were not considered shooting worthy of special

note, and no snipe were in unless fifty could be killed. To-day

twenty-five longbills should be considered the limit per gun, though

the number may be secured in a few hours’ shooting over favorable

ground.

Jack is the gentlest and most unsuspicious little vagabond in the

world. Should you miss him he will pitch about for a few minutes,

perhaps to settle down again within fifty yards of the gun for another

hazard with the death whistling lead.

A clever shot on snipe should account for eighty per cent. of the birds

shot at, a performance not to be expected with any other upland game

bird. They are not only a simple proposition to hit but are easily

killed, which permits the use of lightly charged and small gauge

weapons.

WILDFOWL SHOOTING

Duck shooting is the billiards of work with a scatter gun. The uniform

flight of the fowl, the absence of any interference with the aim, the

preparedness of the shooter from having been given due warning of the

approaching bird, tend to place every factor of the shooting problem

at the gunner’s command. Always, however, the hunter’s skill and

experience must equal the demand, the whole situation resolving itself

finally into a knowledge of where to hold. In quail shooting a man’s

difficulty lies in being unable to place his charge to the spot which

he knows is right; in duck shooting the main question is where to point

the gun, the pattern being readily sent to the estimated lead. It is

nearly as easy to direct the aim ten feet in front of the mark as two

feet, always provided you know it should lead ten feet and not two or

six. Therefore, conclude that every successful shot must be made with

an absolutely correct estimate of speed of flight and distance of mark.

When this can be done with regularity the pleasure of verifying the

judgment with a long, clean kill is superior to that connected with any

other style of shooting.

The most that I can do here is to call attention to some of the various

shots which the wildfowler will be called upon to solve as primary

lessons in the duck shooting game.

[Illustration: Shooting an incomer]

The overhead, incoming shot is made by throwing the gun beneath the

target and pitching it rapidly upward until it passes the bird, firing

the instant the mark is quite hidden by the barrels. Little conscious

allowance ahead will be found necessary in making this shot, but the

speedier the mark the more rapidly the gun should be swung. It can

readily be understood that with a rapidly moving muzzle a greater lead

will be taken automatically at a long distance than a short. In any

event it has been found in practice that swinging the gun from beneath

to cover and hide the mark will usually result in a kill. This is

probably the easiest shot made in duck shooting for the first barrel.

No sooner, though, has this first load been fired than the second

charge has its work cut out for it. Many species of ducks will tower

with the bang of the gun, maybe rising straight into the air or even

beating back upon the course they came. In consequence the left barrel

if not sent in promptly will have to be fired well above and possibly,

paradoxical as it may seem, behind the duck, considering the route it

was traveling when the right was pulled. Most likely the scared flock

will merely sheer off, mounting at the same time, and the new angle of

flight must be instantly reckoned with if the shot is to go home.

A duck that is coming at a high clip which he deflects into a

sheering, curving tower is about as hard a nut to crack as comes under

the wingshooter’s mallet. One half second may take the mark out of

range, and a man’s thinking apparatus must work fast. Certain other

varieties of duck, like the bluewing teal and the canvasback, will not

flinch or tower, but continue directly on with redoubled speed. Now

the bird will pass the gun which must turn on him, affording quite a

different shot from the other. Then in order to lead the hold must be

low--well under--sometimes as much as three feet, but the farther the

mark is allowed to go the closer it is covered, since with distance it

comes more directly into the line of fire.

Many birds passing well out will also swerve and rise with the report,

which necessitates a lessening of the front lead to direct the second

charge higher. A certain duck might be killed by shooting eight feet

ahead of him, but to kill his mate with the second barrel it should go

only two feet in front and two feet high. On firing the right barrel

an experienced shot ought to be able to foretell pretty well what the

remainder of the flock would do by knowing the species of fowl. The

acme of duck shooting is to make both shots tell, the indifferent

performer frequently being effective with the first.

It will usually be discovered that birds which pass to the right call

for a greater lead than those flying to the left, because a right-hand

gunner swings less freely and rapidly in that direction. In the

case of the writer, a third more lead must be given when swinging

to the right. Of course the opposite would be true were the shooter

left-handed.

The surest double is to be made while the birds are approaching the

gun, never permitting them to pass by. Turning to shoot in a restricted

blind is trying and more so from a duck boat. If the ducks are close

up take the leader first, but if farther out select the rear fowl and

those closer up can hardly escape being shot at. There is room for

coolness and good judgment in this. Should you choose the leading bird

and fire too quickly, those behind him may climb out of reach, while

trying for a rear fowl after they are well in may force a difficult

turn on the others.

A descending bird is a hard shot, both by reason of his increased

speed, and because a gun cannot will be swung down, and the descending

line of flight must be met by a still gun, as in snap shooting, causing

a loss of all the advantage of swinging with the target. A rising bird

is far easier, and hence it is well in decoy shooting to pull just as

the fowl is hovering to alight, or take him in his upward climb away

from danger.

In jumping ducks close study should be given as to the variety of fowl

we are starting. A mallard usually climbs nearly straight upward, a

shot just in front of the bill should get him. On the contrary, a teal

scurries off low along the marsh, and the holding must be well ahead

and only a trifle high. A widgeon makes one great bound upward and

then goes off at a sharp angle. If quick enough the hunter’s surest

shot on the widgeon is at the end of this leap when the duck will be

about ten feet high. Any dwelling upon the aim here is fatal since the

bird will change his line of flight acutely, and a long swing will have

to be made after the speeding mark.

A pintail climbs and gradually bears off, at the same time circling the

gun. When jumped he is one of the easiest birds to kill, because of

this circling habit which keeps him within range of the gun for such

a length of time. A greenwing teal behaves very like a mallard but is

quicker in action. It is seldom that any except fresh water ducks are

killed by jumping them from the edge of a marsh.

CHAPTER VIII

FIELD ETIQUETTE

I am aware that in writing of field etiquette the chapter must have a

didactic ring with its consequent dullness. My advice, therefore, to

all who are fully acquainted with the unwritten laws that govern the

sportsman on field and marsh, is to “cut this out.” However, I do not

feel that it would be right to close this book without a word on the

subject, for there are two classes that I wish to reach, the novice who

thinks he is privileged to shoot at everything that moves, saving only

those guides who wear red caps, and the veteran shot who thinks that he

_must_ make a bag.

There is no place where the golden rule can be better applied than in

the shooting field. If we govern ourselves by this old precept in the

treatment of our fellows and apply the principles of a “square deal” to

shooting the game, there need be little fear of any hunter forfeiting

the title of sportsman.

Some wise man has said that every man is a barbarian at heart, and

only a gentleman from policy. There is just enough truth in this to

make the saying disagreeable. Whatever he may be by nature, military

discipline gives to every soldier the semblance of a brave man, the

needs of business and civilization force us all to masquerade in

garments of courtesy, the one suit much like another, but a man’s true

nature shows through his hunting clothes, and it has been aptly said

that you never know even a friend until you have gone camping with him

a week. Certainly pursuing wild things is an elementary sport, and

the elementary in us is liable to be thrown into relief, betraying

qualities good and bad that were never seen before.

Too many men afield are governed by the idea that it is every one for

himself and the devil take the hindmost. Put them in a pen and they

will have the biggest ear of corn, though they know that in the nature

of things this will lead to their dining alone in future. Courtesy

afield is bread cast upon the waters which will surely return, but many

seem bent upon eating their own bread at the time, taking chances on

picking up that of someone else as it comes back.

The absolutely selfish individual can get along nicely in all his

shooting and fishing trips, with the greatest satisfaction to everybody

with the possible exception of himself, by going entirely alone. Should

he need human companionship a darkey or well-trained English domestic

will serve him best. He can then take the first shot at every bevy, and

every bird that follows belongs to him; he can have the choice duck

blind and all the decoys; the best boat or the only boat is his; he

can have the snipe corner all to himself; there are none to question

his superiority as a marksman, and paid servants will be more pliable

than any good-tempered friend whom he may draft for the purpose. Such

a man will require no instructions in shooting etiquette or any other

etiquette, for the uses of politeness are only to make companionship

agreeable.

So far as the ethics of game shooting in a sportsmanlike manner are

concerned, a few words on the subject will suffice. With the possible

exception of the wild turkey, which should really be made the target

for a rifle only, no game bird should ever be fired upon when not in

full flight. This rule must never be broken under any circumstances

except to finish a cripple. I have known men who considered themselves

good sportsmen who would shoot a quail or a grouse out of a tree though

they would not fire upon him when on the ground. Their defense was that

the bird had forfeited his life by taking to a tree and thus refusing

them a fair shot. This is merely whipping the devil around the stump,

and such hair-splitters might be greatly tempted to take a potshot in

the first place were no one present.

No more should a wild duck ever be killed upon the water or at rest,

no matter how difficult the stalk or how scarce the birds may be. A

bag of birds killed in any manner except fairly upon the wing must

be regarded as having afforded absolutely no sport, as not a whit

better than an utterly blank day. Indeed, the latter can bring no after

regrets and the former surely ought to.

The only possible excuse for shooting a bird at rest is that we may

feed our vanity by displaying him, or that he is actually needed to

satisfy hunger--few modern sportsmen are going about hungry these days.

If the bag is of prime importance, if it must be filled regardless of

the laws of sport, there is nothing to be said further than that the

man who so feels is purely a meat hunter. Let the conscience of a good

sportsman govern your actions when out all alone where there can be

no policeman to knock you over the head for a failure to consider the

rights of others.

Rabbits should never be shot unless going full tilt, and squirrels are

not a fair target for a shotgun, not even when running. For that matter

many hold that nothing wearing hair or fur should ever fall before a

smooth bore, and they are not very far wrong, either. The rifle is the

proper arm for such game.

Shoot no immature birds in season or out, and never make a target of

anything that is not recognized as game. The temptation to shoot small

birds is great at times when the shooting is poor, but sportsmen will

not do it.

In flight shooting wildfowl the greatest pleasure comes from

selecting your bird and cutting him down stone dead. Flock shooting

is permissible because sanctioned by custom, but there is no great

satisfaction in letting go into the middle of a flock of ducks without

aim, however many may be bagged. This is especially true of shooting

shore birds which frequently fly slowly and in large bunches. Cripples

should always be knocked over where at all possible before another shot

is fired at the living birds. Taking wild shots that are admittedly

beyond the range of the gun is unsportsmanlike, though nearly all of us

must plead guilty to that.

It seems a waste of words to say don’t shoot quail, snipe, woodcock,

or any species of grouse upon the ground. As a sportsman, the man who

would do this has nothing in him worth appealing to.

SHOOTING IN COMPANY

Man is a gregarious animal, especially in his sports and games. Even

the solemn individual who plays solitaire likes to have an audience

to see whether he beats “bogy” or not. Few would enjoy shooting and

tramping alone for many days in succession, yet to enjoy the company of

another we must make ourselves agreeable. No rule of thumb will make a

selfish man generous, but possibly a word of warning will prevent the

novice from dropping into bad habits. Shooting I have found to develop

three characteristics in a great many: hoggishness, jealousy, and

envy, any one of which is liable to become a spoil-sport.

If your friend is a better shot than you, keep your mind off it and do

the best you can. Should you excel, then for sport’s sake give him a

show, for taking advantage of one who is weaker is not to be excused

under any code of ethics.

There are two abominable fellows to shoot with: the man who is a good

shot and thinks he must sustain his reputation at whatever cost, and

the “claimer.” Sometimes they are compounded in one, and the mixture

makes a bitter dose. This man knocks down your bird as well as his own

with the expressed fear that you might have missed. He takes all the

singles for the same reason--“feared you might lose that fellow.” He

sends his friend around to beat the brush for him and drive the game

out while he takes it in the open. His shooting companion always plays

dog when one is needed; the chump invariably pulls the boat and he

does the shooting. All the birds at which both fire are his because he

never misses and you probably did. At the close of the day’s shooting

he counts your birds and his own with ill-concealed triumph, and then

goes away to tell of how thoroughly he bested you. Have none of him; he

is playing you for a sucker, a foil to his vanity. While the individual

illustrated is known to all and will be with us always, yet it is not

necessary for the novice to pattern after him.

Such simple rules of procedure as I may give here are dictated by

common sense and a proper regard for the rights of others. They are in

such common observance among sportsmen that it might seem a waste of

time to put them in type, but I have seen them violated so often that

it is fair to assume that ignorance is as often to blame as selfishness.

Beginning with the wildfowl, in duck shooting upon public waters,

the first man out in the morning is entitled to choice of blinds, or

his pick of location for a blind. He is then not to be interfered

with either by another gun stopping near enough to scare his birds or

by getting upon his line of flight. Willfully spoiling the sport of

another without benefitting himself is the game of a city tough or a

country “rough neck.” Of course this has no reference to the friends

who may from choice shoot from the same or adjacent blinds.

When two guns are shooting from the same hiding place the leader of an

incoming flock of ducks should be given to the rear man who is also

entitled to fire the first shot. If only one duck or a pair come in

they belong to the man upon whose side they approach. If a flock of

birds are passing, the gunner they reach last is entitled to give the

word to fire. Should a pair of blinds be situated a short distance

apart, as usually happens, one marksman must never be tempted to shoot

at birds that are passing directly over the other gun until its owner

has discharged both barrels. Few things are more provocative of ill

feeling than to have one gun take birds that plainly belonged to the

other, either killing them or driving them away. The shooters who will

do this belong to the impossible class--the go it alone and be hanged

to them. Neither should a man call to birds that are evidently decoying

to another.

Where two men are shooting from a boat, as in jumping ducks, the one

pulling while the other handles the gun, nothing should tempt the

oarsman to touch his gun--not even stopping cripples that are otherwise

sure to escape. For the time his sole business is to manage the boat.

With a fixed time to begin and desist from shooting upon a marsh,

whether the hour was set by law or a club, never fail to observe the

rule to the minute. Should the gunner permit himself to be tempted into

shooting previous to the prescribed time, he would be infringing upon

the rights of others by starting the fowl to flying before the blinds

had been occupied. Shooting after hours is also an unwarranted liberty,

as it may injure the sport of the following day.

If any man kills a bird that was undoubtedly your shot, claim the fowl

and place it in your bag; it may teach the selfish shooter a lesson.

In field shooting two are company and three a crowd unless the trio

of guns are very steady and accustomed to working together. More than

three guns should never follow one brace of dogs.

When two men are shooting together, each over his own dog, the bird or

shot belongs to the man whose dog found it, and his friend should never

fire first unless invited to do so. It is nothing short of dishonesty

to take the bird that has been found by the dog of another except

with the owner’s express permission. Should but one of the party own

a dog the duties of a host fall upon him, requiring that he give his

companion a fair share of the shooting.

In covey shooting an imaginary line should be kept in mind, the birds

going to the right of this belonging to the gun on that side, and all

upon the other to the left gun. A disagreeable thing that will happen

now and then is to have both guns discharged at one bird. This should

occur but rarely if care is exercised not to shoot upon the wrong side

of the line, and when it does the bird belongs to the man upon whose

ground it fell.

The business of “wiping the eye” of another, as it is called, is not

to be commended. The bird belongs to the man upon whose side it breaks

until he has fired both barrels, neither is he to be interfered with,

hurried, or rattled by the fear of another charge cutting in. When he

has finished shooting it will generally be too late for the second

man to deliver a killing shot, and one that merely pricks or wounds

is very unsportsmanlike. A continued and deliberate attempt to kill

game that has been missed by another can only result in developing

unpleasantness. Shooting at the bird of another before he has had time

to fire both barrels is an indefensible proceeding.

The owner of the dog which is standing game has the right to point out

the positions which other guns should occupy when the bevy breaks,

but his duty as host would demand that he did not select the place of

vantage for himself. If necessary for someone to walk the game up he

can delegate this duty to another or assume it himself. For the time

being he is master of ceremonies.

In cover shooting, at least, two guns hunting together should be the

limit, and these must keep in close touch with one another. When of

necessity they are forced to separate constant signals should be

exchanged. The man who violates this rule endangers both himself and

his companion. I can recall shooting quail with a friend in the hazel

thickets of Illinois. We took separate paths and lost sight of one

another for a few seconds. Looking down a hazel lane I saw my dog

pointing. As I started for him a quail broke, taking a course straight

for my head. I dodged and at the same time the other gun cracked,

overshooting the bird and thus missing me. My companion violated two

rules in thus shooting: flushing birds to the point of another’s dog

without permission, and firing at all without absolutely knowing the

whereabouts of the other gun.

In a nearly similar occurrence a fine young sportsman of St. Louis had

both eyes shot out. Remember that there is little time to think after

the game is on the wing, so every precaution must be taken previous to

flushing the bird, and the man who is willing to take the slightest

chance of injuring another for the sake of shooting is a criminal in

the guise of a sportsman.

I doubt if there is one experienced gunner who has not at some time

or other had his ears split with the sharp crack of nitro powder.

More than one gunner has had his hearing permanently injured by this

fool’s trick, and many a day has been spoiled by it. The author vividly

remembers shooting with a man who was partially deaf, and who, not

being able to hear much himself, was utterly reckless about other

people’s ears. When the gentleman did catch a sound it seemed that he

heard it most plainly, and finally while he was busy aiming I let off

my gun behind his head. The one lesson was enough.

When field shooting in a settled community never fire a shot within

less than forty rods of a house, or of people at work in the field.

There may be ladies and children about the place who will be rendered

nervous by the sound of a gun, and this will finally provoke the owner

into forbidding all shooting. That express permission may have been

given to shoot where you wished is all the more reason why the rights

of the generous proprietor should be carefully guarded. For the same

reason keep out of stock pastures and away from teams; half the ill

will of farmers toward hunters is engendered by reckless shooting that

_might_ do damage.

[Illustration: Right way to carry a gun afield]

In shooting by invitation over the lands or marshes of another,

carefully obey the instructions of your host. Should he send you to

a part of the estate where you know birds are scarce, go there and

nowhere else. Neither go outside of the grounds he marks out for you,

remembering that he and not you may be held responsible for your

conduct in poaching on forbidden lands. In the same way accept the

poorest duck blind without question or complaint, taking it for granted

that your host is doing the best he can for you and that your time will

come later. The position of host to a party of gunners is sufficiently

trying without your adding to it by grumbling even to yourself.

A word now as to the manner of carrying and handling the gun: The one

big thing to remember is never to point an unloaded gun at anything

you have no private reasons for wishing to kill. Little need be said

relative to carelessly handling loaded and cocked guns--they never

kill anybody. The man who keeps forever covering you with the muzzle

of his gun should be regarded simply as a vicious lunatic and proper

precautions taken.

In the field three positions for carrying the gun are recognized as

safe and good. The first is over the shoulder with the side of the

stock resting upon it and the muzzle of the gun pointing upward; the

second is over the hollow of the arm with the muzzle directed away

from your companion; the third is under the right arm with the barrels

pointed toward the ground. Carrying the arm across the back of the neck

is unsafe and marks a rowdy with the same certainty as tilting the hat

on the back of the head.

When walking up to a point, if on the left, hold the weapon across the

body nearly at right angles with the muzzle a trifle high, but if on

the right keep the piece directed straight out and down. A right and

left-handed man shoot together with greater ease and security than when

both are right handed.

Here are just a few things to be remembered: It hurts just as much to

be shot accidentally as with evil intent. You cannot impress anybody

with your skill as a shot by beating him through unfair means. You

cannot obtain a shooting reputation by telling people how well you have

shot or can shoot. It is easy to see hoggishness in the other fellow

and his eyes are as good as yours. Don’t borrow a dog or a gun or loan

either. Don’t exceed the bag limit or shoot out of season. Stand for a

“square deal” yourself and other people will see that you get it.

[Illustration: Proper position in waiting for a shot]

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes.

Italic text is indicated with _underscores_, bold text with =equals=.

Small/mixed capitals have been replaced with ALL CAPITALS.

Evident typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected

silently. Inconsistent spelling/hyphenation has been normalised.

Half-titles and other title reiterations have been discarded.

To improve text flow, illustrations have been relocated between

paragraphs.

Some tables have been reorganised.

Cover art created for this eBook is granted to the public domain.