HUNTING WITH A FERRET
Having many times tried with indifferent success to photograph the
rabbit in his native fields and woods, I cast about for a means of
stalking him at close range, and had for some time cherished the idea of
taking a hunt with my kodak in a good tracking snow. Thus intent, I
jumped from a passenger coach one day in the late fall, equipped with an
Eastman twelve-shooter and ammunition enough to make a big bag.
I had left the station scarcely more than a couple of hundred yards
behind along the public road, when I leaped a stake and rider fence,
crossed a stubble field, bound for the bottom land. A field covered with
tall, dry grass, right at the edge of a brier patch, looked a very
likely place for cottontail. Just as I reached the little creek covered
with ice, save where here and there the rippling water crossed the
shallow, pebbly places, I struck a fresh trail. Carefully examining the
footprints in the snow, which had fallen early the preceding day, I
reached the conclusion, from the trodden condition of the ground and the
little round brownish excrement lying here and there on the surface of
the snow, that this was his playground and I must look elsewhere for the
quarry. So I began a large circle around the brier patch to catch the
trail to his bed. After passing several times around the thicket, I
finally discovered the latest trail out. Bunny usually travels by long
jumps from the time he makes up his mind to retire for the day. The
trail followed what seemed the most cautious route--under an old fallen
tree, then two long jumps and into an abandoned ground-hog hole. I cut a
pole with the intention, if possible, of routing Bunny from his
quarters. About the time the pole was half way in, out he popped from an
unexpected direction like a flash, made a dash for a brush heap nearby,
and disappeared even before I could get the camera into action.
When a rabbit is once driven out of a hole, it seldom re-enters unless
hard pressed by the dogs. I have trailed them in the snow for hours,
reading the story from the footprints as they ran, now hopping along
leisurely, now doubling and following old tracks under, through, and
over logs. In one instance Br'er Rabbit showed considerable ingenuity in
making a long side jump to a board fence and squatting where the color
of fence and rabbit was almost the same, by this simple ruse eluding his
pursuers.
[Illustration: Color Blending]
Later I accidentally came upon some fellows who had put a ferret into a
hole. In a short time he stuck his nose out, sniffing the air for the
scent of the quarry, circling the open for the lost trail. When the owner
made a slight movement towards him he instantly disappeared into the
hole. For fully an hour the men tried in vain to catch him as he appeared
alternately at either end of the tunnel. Grass had grown around the
entrance, and the ferret was busy trying to carry enough into the hole
to make a comfortable bed and take up his abode there, unceremoniously
abandoning the snug quarters in his master's pocket. Several times they
almost succeeded in getting hold of him by taking a bunch of grass and
poking it towards him. This he would grab, hold until his owner had
pulled him out almost far enough to catch him, then let go, sniffing as
he scurried back out of reach. Finally they were obliged to try a new
scheme, and one of them was sent to a neighboring house for a piece of
fresh meat. They tied a string to the meat and lowered it into the hole;
whereupon the ferret instantly snatched it, and forgetting his late
resolve, held on so tenaciously that the hunter soon had him back into
the bag.
[Illustration: Putting in the Ferret]
On the second day out, the snow was fast disappearing from the open
under the influence of a bright sunshine, though it was still quite deep
in the woods and on the northerly slopes of the high hills. While
looking for tracks I succeeded in gaining the confidence of another
party of rabbit hunters who had a good dog and a "long pole," as they
called it, and directly I obtained an invitation to accompany them as
they hunted for signs of the little cottontail. I accepted with some
hesitation, determined to take a few observations of the operations of
modern "game hogs." Soon we heard the short, sharp bark of the old
hound, indicating that a start had been made; and about the same time a
shout rent the air, "Here he goes!" as the little white tail dodged in
and out from one cover to another, disappearing in the distance with the
old hound in hot pursuit and baying at every jump. Presently, in the
language of the coon-hunter, the dogs tongued "Treed," which in the
dialect of the rabbit hunter is "Holed," and erelong the law breakers
gathered around the hole at the root of the tree. I was hoping the tree
was hollow and that the little rabbit who had made such a good long run
for his life had climbed the tree and would be safe from the ferret, but
my hopes soon vanished when I heard the rumbling noise, first faint in
the depths, then coming nearer and nearer as he approached the opening.
A hasty scramble by the man on his knees, a muffled "d----", a wish
expressed that he had used his net, and the little rabbit was away again
in a race for his life, minus a tail taken by the ferret and a patch of
skin and hair taken from his back by the big fellow at the hole. Then
follows a long chase during which the old dog overleaps a little bunch
of gray as it squats in the grass. For, knowing that the enemy is fleet
of foot and is likely to pass hurriedly by, overlooking in his haste the
clod of color that blends with the dry grass, he crouches low and gains
an opportunity to double on his tracks. His ruse misleads the pursuer
for a short time at least and requires a halt in the chase, which gives
the fugitive an opportunity to reach some oft-frequented harbor of
refuge.
Again he is tracked to his hiding-place, and again the little
bloodthirsty creature is turned loose to drive him from cover. Bunny,
always on the alert, makes a bolt for his life with the ferret at his
back and the old hound waiting at the other end of the hole to crush his
life out. He stops a moment at the entrance as the dog makes a vicious
snap at him, returns to meet his arch enemy, lets out a pitiful squeal,
and meekly allows his life blood to be sucked without further
resistance. His courage and dash are gone and he quietly submits to his
cruel fate at the hands of the lawless "game hogs." After the entrance
is dug out a long arm is extended into the hole and Bunny is slowly
dragged forth with the ferret hanging on like grim death.
Again the biggest "game hog" of the party could be heard shouting to the
dogs, "Whoop her up, Dan," urging them on the trail of another innocent
little rabbit that has a slim chance for life.
While hunting for fresh signs we ran across a little cottontail hanging
by his head, caught in a snare set by another type of hunters who bag
their game by means of knife, twine, and apple. A nibble at the apple,
the trap is sprung, and the noose tightens around his neck, dangling
little cottontail in the air just low enough for his hind feet to touch
the ground, and slow strangulation continues until life is extinct. In
the morning when the trapper reaches his snare he finds the rabbit
frozen stiff, with tongue protruding and eyes bulging from their
sockets. Surely he is not without a pang of conscience as he gathers up
his catch.
[Illustration: His Last Nibble]
I was startled out of my contemplation by the sound of the old dog
giving tongue, and the bang of the musket echoing in the tree-tops.
Listening, I could hear the dogs baying on the trail some distance from
where the shot was fired,--plainly a clean miss. In a short time the
language of the hound again announced "Holed," and the gathering of the
heartless around the spot told the same old story. At my suggestion,
"Give the rabbit a chance," the dog was removed from the hole, when out
popped the rabbit. The dog in hot pursuit soon overtook him, but failed
to pick him up. Twice the little fellow fooled the dog, but the third
time his doom was sealed. The dog returned with the rabbit kicking in
his mouth, and laid it at the feet of his master as a trophy worthy of
the chase, occasionally nosing it to see if any life remained. Truly
this cannot be sport.
[Illustration: In Hot Pursuit]
[Illustration: Picked Up]
Crossing the hill we caught a view from the distance of a beautiful
meadow flanked on one side by an old orchard, which long needed pruning
and was grown up with blackberry briers. On the other side was a thicket
of locust, sumac, and elder, which had been cleared several years before
and the debris piled on the stone heaps ready for the match that had
never been applied. Here and there were stretches of stake and rider
fence; in fact, it was an old farm neglected for many years owing to the
death of the owner and continued litigation among the heirs for the
possession of the land,--an ideal home for the cottontail.
Crossing the meadow the dogs started a rabbit which had been basking in
the sun, coiled up in a bed built in the middle of a bunch of dry swamp
grass. The little fellow had remained perfectly quiet, although one of
the party passed within two feet without seeing him, so well did his
color harmonize with the surroundings. He remained unobserved until one
of the dogs passing by started him and warned the other dogs, whereupon
away they went in full chase. Through the orchard, down along the old
fence, sped the fugitive, the dogs close behind, tonguing at every jump.
Into the thicket he plunged, safe for the time being. The dogs began to
circle, caught the trail on the opposite side, and followed it into
another cover, where Bunny squatted and presently we saw him returning
on his own trail. I made a run to head him off so that I could get a
snap-shot, but observing me he stopped in the middle of a wheat field.
In the meantime the dogs had gathered enough information and were
working their way back over the track until the leader came on to him,
and away they went. The quarry returned towards the other dogs and was
picked up before cover could be reached.
[Illustration: Down the Old Fence]
Again the dogs were urged to hunt the old orchard. A start was made and
away went a rabbit across the meadow on the far side of which he darted
into a burrow. The ferret was put into a hole and out popped three
rabbits, one on the heels of the other. Each dog followed one, but soon
returned, evidently unable to keep the trails, for they all crisscrossed
around the orchard. In the meantime every effort was made to get the
ferret, without success, when finally one of the unfeeling suggested
shooting a bird. I protested against shooting a song bird and suggested
an English sparrow, whereupon he promised to go down to the barn for a
sparrow. However, upon returning he handed over a song sparrow
(_Melospiza fasciata_), with its long tail and brownish-streaked body
beautiful even in death. Charity impels me to believe the man was
ignorant rather than willful. Pulling a piece of twine from his
hunting-coat pocket, he tied fast the bird, a double hitch after hitch,
so that the ferret could not loose the bait and carry it into the hole.
When properly secured the bird was thrown to the ferret, and instantly
seized. Each began to pull, when off went the head into the hole.
Returning promptly for the body the ferret made another grab and was
finally coaxed out of the hole and caught by the owner.
[Illustration: The Dog Listening to the Last Sound]
The dogs began to work the trails and again had a rabbit crossing the
meadow for dear life, they following close behind. He went into a hole
among the roots of an old tree, to escape from his enemies, as he hoped,
but alas, only to a cruel fate! "Put in the long pole," said one of the
boys kneeling at the hole. The other started the ferret on its
death-dealing mission. In a few minutes we could hear the smothered
"Wah, wah, wah" of cottontail, and a curse from the heartless, not out
of sympathy for poor little bunny, but because he knew the rabbit would
not make another attempt to reach the opening and the ferret would stay
there for days. Fainter and fainter grew the pitiful moans, until
finally they ceased forever. One of the men went for an ax to cut a way
down to the ferret. The hole took a downward course into an old root,
and by cutting through they found the hole, reached in and pulled out
the dead rabbit. It was sickening to see the condition of its head. The
owner of the ferret had a cruel heart, but even it was softened a
little at the sight, for he threw the murderous creature away from him.
Instantly the big dog made a jump, grabbed the ferret, and tossed him
into the air several feet before his master could interfere. A feeling
of satisfaction came over me when I saw the toss, and I said to myself,
"That was your last kill." But landing on his feet he humped his back
and at the same time hissing through his teeth made several vicious
snaps at the dog and sought protection by running towards his master.
Fortunately for him his master had the sack open and the ferret
hastened into it to safety.
[Illustration: Did He Come Out?]
When I boarded the train for home that evening I felt as though I had
spent a day in the shambles. Such slaughter seems to me to be utterly
unjustifiable, even in the name of sport.