in Sussex, of bringing the rabbits out of their haunts with a small pack
of rough beagles, the charming cry of these little hounds adding greatly
to the pleasure of the day. About four couples are quite enough, and
they should be well under control or you may find yourself toiling
after your vanishing pack as they run the line of a hare, or even a fox.
Beagles which are wanted for this kind of work should be kept strictly
to rabbits and well exercised, so that they may be steady. Some
preparation is desirable for a day of this kind, and in order to keep
the rabbits above ground it is wise to run muzzled ferrets through the
burrows a day or two before. The rabbits will then lie above ground.
There is near my home a hill covered with patches of gorse, which we
keep for this kind of shooting. We are very careful about our invited
guns, as a careless shot easily mistakes a beagle for a rabbit. Indeed
this sport requires great care and steadiness. But to my mind it is one
of the most exciting and enjoyable of sports, the cry of the little
hounds, the ringing shots, the dart of the little brown forms with their
snowy patches of white down, the pleasure of success as the
neatly-killed "bunny" turns over dead in his tracks, make up a most
delightful whole for the enthusiastic gunner. The same kind of sport can
be followed by spaniels, free-tongued dogs of any race being the best.
Spaniels are better than any other dogs for working thick hedgerows,
into which rabbits have been previously bolted by ferrets. Some people
use terriers, but I only advise these when you have no other dogs handy.
It is most difficult to keep terriers above ground. They should at any
rate never be taken out in the spring, if you know of an earth in which
a vixen fox may have lain up, or into coverts where foxes are.
If you wish to enjoy the pleasures of deer stalking on a small scale,
take out a small rifle and stalk rabbits. You will find it a most
entrancing sport, calling out all your knowledge of woodcraft, and
teaching you much you did not know before. You will not shoot many
rabbits, but those you do get will be well earned. Remember, however,
that bullets from these rifles travel a long way, and that you should
always know what is behind the rabbit when you shoot. By the time you
can kill a rabbit fairly often, at from fifty to sixty yards with a
bullet, you will be a good shot.
[Illustration: _From a Painting by Miss Maud Earl._
_FLAT-COATED RETRIEVER._
_CHAMPION DARENTH._]
Of other kinds of shooting it is not necessary that I should write much,
for if you can shoot easily and well under the circumstances I have
spoken of, you will be able to fire at anything with a fair and
reasonable chance of hitting it. One form of shooting is both difficult
and interesting, and that is catching wood pigeons on the return flight
in the evening. Many a time have I waited an hour or more for a few
shots, though often returning home empty-handed after all. But when
successful, I have had the greatest possible pleasure in getting only
one or two pigeons, which have been due to really creditable shooting.
_Dogs and dog-breaking._ This is a subject on which I can speak with
enthusiasm, and with a certain amount of practical knowledge. Everyone
knows that in these days landowners have to consider all ways possible
of utilising their land, and of making money. Some years ago our home
farm came back on our hands in a very poor state. Never very good land,
the last tenant who had been insolvent for years, had not been able to
afford to keep the stock required, much less to use artificial manures.
My father and I decided to take it in hand ourselves, and to use it
partly as a game farm and partly as ground on which to break our dogs.
The cultivation of the farm was carried on in such a way as to form
covert for all sorts of game, and I may say that by care and personal
management, the farm is now one of the most profitable on the estate.
We always had some good retrievers, and we decided to increase the size
of our kennels, and to raise and break a certain number of retrievers
and setters for the market. My father and I reckoned that there was now
a real market for good thoroughly broken retrievers. I had seen enough
of keepers and their ways with dogs, to feel sure that very few of them
understood and cared for dogs, and I determined to see to the breaking
process myself.
We have never shown, because we think the show bench and judging ring
are not good for dogs which are really meant for business, but we use
many of the leading prize strains. "Dinah," the best retriever I ever
had, and a bitch which seems to have the power of transmitting her
virtues to her descendants, is a black retriever of a well-known strain.
She is a model of intelligence and a beautiful worker. She watches the
birds fall, and is wonderfully good in marking the spot where they come
to the ground. No bird ever escapes her, unless it goes to ground, as
pheasants will sometimes, and you can call her up at any moment. I
attribute her obedience and docility to the fact that she has been my
constant companion, for retrievers cannot be too much with their
owners, and the first thing in training is to make friends with the
puppy, and get him thoroughly in hand before his field education begins.
Nothing is more fatal than a headstrong disposition, which I am
convinced is often the result of bad treatment. "In for a penny, in for
a pound," seems to be the reflection of a retriever, when looking back
at his raging master and evidently understanding that he will be beaten
in any case, he goes off for an entrancing chase after a hare, thus
perhaps spoiling half a day's sport for you. And vice once contracted is
most difficult to eradicate, indeed it was my bitter experience on this
point which led me to undertake the education of my retrievers myself.
As soon as I had attained to some skill in shooting, it was my custom to
take my gun with me whenever I went out for a walk. Now, there is a
small river which runs through our grounds, and at a part of its course
feeds a number of ponds in which probably were fish stews in the time of
the monks, who were our predecessors. There are one or two small islands
on these ponds. One day I had out with me a new purchase, a good-looking
black dog. He came to heel, and retrieved a rabbit I shot, fairly well.
It so happened, however, that not far from the river an old cock
pheasant got out of the hedgerow, and as it was late in the season and
we had done covert shooting, this was a chance for me, so I fired and
hit him. The bird, however, went on, towered and fell into one of the
ponds. Directly I gave the word off went my dog, and I began to think I
had got a treasure. He went straight for the water, plunged boldly in,
and swam direct to the bird, but then to my horror, he went off to the
island, and taking the pheasant ashore proceeded to eat it.
It was then and there that I determined to break my own dogs, and such
success attended my first efforts that we have since done it on a large
scale. "Dinah" was my first attempt. It so happened that a friend of
ours who used to breed retrievers for show purposes, took me to see a
wonderful litter of champion-bred puppies. There were eight, all black
except one which had a white star on her chest. This last, the owner
said, he was going to drown. "Oh! give it to me," I said, moved to pity
for the little round sleek victim. "Well, if you will take it away now,
you can have it." So I carried off "Dinah," and brought her up by hand.
From very early years I was able to teach her obedience, and to fetch
and carry, being greatly helped in her training, by her affection for
me. She has always lived in the house, and consequently understands a
great deal, and I had but little trouble with her. Her lessons in
seeking for hidden bits of meat were a delight to her, but I was very
careful never to allow her to chase. I believe if a dog once does this,
it is most difficult to cure, and that the vice is always liable to
break out again.
I break all the dogs to my own voice and whistle, being attended by a
kennel boy who manipulates the check cords. As to punishment, I carry a
small dog whip, the crack of which is generally sufficient. If a young
persistent offender requires a blow, three stripes will be found enough,
but my experience is that if I cannot break a dog without beating, he is
beyond my powers. The great secret of breaking, however, is
companionship, my retriever for the time being never leaves me, and I
have the kennel dogs in my company as much as possible. Above all, I
always take them out for a run, at least once every day.
The cardinal rules for retriever breaking are:
(_a_) To get the dog thoroughly obedient and under control.
(_b_) To make them perfect at the down charge before you attempt to
shoot over them.
(_c_) To make friends of them.
(_d_) To check faults at once, and never pass them over.
(_e_) If a dog shows real vice to get rid of him.
(_f_) To be patient, and not confound a headstrong disposition with
vice, for some dogs that are troublesome to break, turn out the best.
I believe in high feeding for sporting dogs, and hard work. The fewer
dogs you have and the harder you work them in reason, the better. The
kennel food of our dogs is really the same as that of a pack of hounds,
viz.: good Scotch oatmeal, after it has been kept for a year, horseflesh
or mutton--I dislike beef--with a certain proportion of cabbage boiled
up with it. Once a week I give a _raw_ bone to each dog. No biscuits,
except as rewards.
As to the best kind of retriever, we have had of all kinds, and perhaps
the best after "Dinah" herself, is a cross-bred between her and an Irish
water spaniel. But we do not now keep cross-bred dogs, as they are no
use after the first generation, though you may often get very good ones
then. We now use curly and flat-coated blacks, bred from prize strains.
The grooming of sporting dogs, especially of setters and retrievers is
most important, and cleanliness, assisted by a good disinfectant, will
be found after all the chief element in kennel management.
I have not said anything about the breaking of pointers and setters,
because there is nothing to add to General Hutchinson's system.
Patience, kindness and perseverance will lead you to success, but the
patience required is often great, for it is sometimes not till the third
season that a dog is really at its best. On the other hand there is much
pleasure in it and some profit, and as time goes on, it becomes much
easier, for the young dogs not only inherit the capacities of their
parents, but learn a great deal from them in the field, especially from
their mothers.
_Books._ The general topics concerning shooting have been so ably dealt
with in several recent books, that it may be well to give a short list
of those likely to be of service to the beginner. I would especially
recommend
_The Art of Shooting_, by C. Lancaster. The diagrams in this book are
most valuable and practical, and there are many useful hints.
The Badminton Library, _Shooting_, 2 vols. The chapters dealing with
Pheasant shooting are particularly good.
The Fur and Feather Series, _The Partridge_, a book as delightful to
read as it is useful to study.
Hutchinson on _Dog Breaking_, a book which has never been approached,
much less surpassed.
Daniel's _Rural Sports_, to be found in most country house libraries, a
thoroughly useful and practical book from which many subsequent writers
have borrowed. It deals of course with sport from an old-fashioned point
of view, but is none the worse for that.
Tegetmeier's _Pheasants_, a first-rate standard work, by an expert.
Now let me give a few useful cautions to young shooters:
Don't point your gun at anything but the game you wish to shoot.
Don't risk a shot if you have doubts as to its safety.
Don't fire at birds when too near.
Don't try long gallery shots. It is cruel.
Don't fire at your birds, but in front of them. The exceptions to this,
are birds coming direct to you or going away.
Don't potter in your aim, but aim and fire quickly.
Don't, if you can help it, shut either eye.
Don't wound. If you can't kill neatly, don't fire.
Don't fire at a pheasant's tail feathers, but try to intercept his head.
Don't climb over stiles with a loaded gun.
Don't keep your cartridges in the gun, except when actually waiting for
game.
Don't talk when shooting, or if you must do so, let it be in a low
voice.
Don't fire at fur going directly from or to you.
Don't talk about shooting except to sportsmen and sportswomen.
Don't stay out too long and get over-tired, or some or the foregoing
warnings may be forgotten.
[Illustration: _MRS. MURPHY-GRIMSHAW._
(_With a Tarpon caught at Fort Myers. Weight, 147-lbs. Length, 6-ft.
7-in. Time, 1 hour 25 minutes._)]
FISHING FOR TARPON.
Whether there be any truth in the saying "that opportunity makes the
thief," it is decidedly the case that it makes the sportswoman, for
although I now find myself in such goodly company, low be it spoken that
until I went to Florida I had never fished in my life. Such being the
case, it will easily be understood that when I found myself one blazing
day in a very small boat, with a sturdy rod in my hand, listening to a
very black guide retailing many wonderful stories of what tarpon did
when they were hooked, my feelings were chiefly those of trepidation.
However I was destined to have a large and varied experience with
sharks, jew fish, bass and many other monsters of the deep, before the
eventful day arrived on which I killed my first tarpon, and here let me
advise anyone who may be meditating an expedition to Florida for tarpon
fishing, to beware of going to Punta Gorda.
This most charming and picturesque place was once a very favourite haunt
of the tarpon, but owing to works which have been recently started,
which entail a constant passing of steamers up and down the river, the
fish have quite deserted it. We fished there for six whole weeks,
starting often at 5 a.m. and generally staying out till 7.30 or so, and
we never saw one fish the whole time. We proved a fruitful source of
revenue to the guides and boatmen who had ever some fresh reason for our
non-success, and we had on the whole a charming time, for the hotel is
comfort itself and is a perfect paradise of flowers. We had lovely
expeditions up the river, and any amount of bass, sea trout and other
fishing, but neither we nor anyone else ever saw a tarpon. We got tired
of this at last and decided to move further down, to a place called Fort
Myers on the Caloosahatchie River. This we found to be an extremely
pretty little town, with low white-painted houses, nestling in roses and
magnolias, surrounded by gardens full of brilliant-coloured flowers and
luxuriant orange plantations, with however most primitive arrangements
in the shape of an hotel. We were fortunate in securing the two best
guides on the river and a good sailing boat, and at last our luck
changed.
We always followed the same routine. Breakfast about 6 a.m., sometimes
earlier, then we sailed down the river towing our tarpon-boats (for each
person has his own guide and boat), till we found some place where the
fish was feeding, when we anchored the sailing-boat and went off each on
our own account. I wish I could convey the charm of those early morning
sails, the crisp, exhilarating feeling in the air, before the heat of
the day began, the brilliant sunshine, the pale blue vault above,
reflected in the shining depths beneath, where we and our snow-white
boat seemed to be floating in some delicious ether in a crystalline
bowl. Or again it might be a cloudy grey morning, when the heavens above
and the wide expanse of river below, were all one lovely pearly
opalescent haze of pinks and greys and soft indefinite blues, suffused
with a warm light, telling of the golden glory of the sun which would
presently melt the clouds away; and all the teeming population of the
river seemed to be rejoicing with us in having awakened to another long,
happy, busy day. The solemn pelicans decorating every post and
sand-bank, too intent on their breakfasts to notice us, excitable
flocks of little black duck which would rise scolding and chattering
like a crowd of school-children to settle, still volubly objecting to
us, a few hundred yards or so further on, gaunt fishing-eagles and
turkey buzzards, leviathan-like porpoises gambolling round our boat, and
everywhere the flash of the silver mullet as they leapt and played; both
the bird and animal life being an incessant source of amusement and
interest to watch.
When we arrived in Florida on the 6th of March, we found the weather
just like that of a perfect English summer, cool mornings and evenings,
in which a thick cloak was always acceptable, for the air on the water
was invariably fresh, then blazing hot in the middle of the day. One's
poor face suffers terribly from the glare off the water, and till you
get hardened it is quite painful from the intense burning, though at
last you settle down to a uniform tomato-red or brick-dust tint. So far
as clothes are concerned, you require the very loosest form possible.
Thin silk shirts, and light serge or holland skirts for fishing, and
thin, very high boots, for when you land on sand banks or on one of the
fascinating little islands which dot the river, your ankles will be
devoured by what is euphoniously named "the red bug," and then you will
be driven nearly mad with the irritation. Indeed one English woman I met
in Florida had been quite lamed and laid up for weeks from these bites,
after having walked in low shoes along the beach. Then you must have a
large and shady hat, or do as most of the American women do, and wear
sun-bonnets. I adopted the latter plan, as the sun-bonnet shelters the
back and sides of the neck, which otherwise suffer from the heat. Then
for days when you are not fishing, you will want the thinnest of white
frocks, and for the evening or sitting on the piazza, where it is always
deliciously cool and shady, being surrounded by orange trees and a
tangle of roses, I found some muslin tea-gowns which I happened to have
with me, the greatest comfort.
Last, but most important of all, you must be well provided with the
thickest leather driving gloves, at least one size too large, indeed
men's gloves will be found the best, as otherwise your hands may get cut
to ribbons by the line swishing out. I have had all the fingers of one
hand cut to the bone through this, and it is of course most painful. A
leather tarpon belt such as is sold at the Army and Navy Stores, is
also quite necessary. The rod I killed most of my fish on was a bamboo,
about 7 feet long. In choosing a rod, remember it must not have too much
spring, and you will require from 150 to 200 yards of linen line. But
all requisites of this sort are to be found at the Army and Navy Stores.
The great difficulty is to find a really satisfactory hook. We tried all
kinds and varieties, but I think the chief thing is to be sure that they
are made of the best steel, with good large eyes. The hooks are attached
to the line by a raw hide snooding, which is far better than wire or any
other kind, though it is true that sharks, which very frequently take
the bait, can bite through that much easier than piano wire.
The bait used, is the soft part of the silver mullet, and the providing
of this bait was one of the greatest troubles we had. Each person
requires at least one dozen mullet a day, and the natives are very lazy
about catching them. We used to be down on the pier sometimes, with the
tide just right for starting, only to be told that the bait had not
come, and then we had to wait, fuming and fussing, for nearly an hour
perhaps, with all our chances of getting off on the flood tide
disappearing. At last a coloured man would come sauntering along with
the long-looked-for bait, and would meet all our remonstrances with the
most hopeless and exasperating good humour, and probably the same thing
would be repeated the next day. At Fort Myers however, we had less
trouble about it, our guides being white men, who very often caught the
mullet themselves. Such nice, cheery fellows these guides were, most
amusing and interesting companions, and real sportsmen.
After we had been at Fort Myers a few days, I caught my first tarpon. He
was a fine fellow, 6 ft. 7 in. long, and weighing 147 lbs. He gave me a
very hard fight indeed, lasting for an hour and twenty-five minutes. I
never felt so sorry for anything in my life as I did for that tarpon as
I played him. He made such a plucky struggle for life, and was worthy of
a better antagonist, for he could not know that it was no skill on my
part that finally conquered him, but a sheer determination to get the
better of him. I was thankful indeed when at last I succeeded in working
him near enough for Santi to gaff, for my arms and thumbs were
absolutely numb with the enormous weight and strain. One very quickly
learns the knack of playing the fish and tiring them out, and I rarely
took longer than twelve or fifteen minutes, and sometimes less, in
killing my fish after a little practice.
The tarpon were late in coming up the river the year we were there,
owing to the water being very cold after the dreadful "freeze" which
devastated so many flourishing orange plantations, so that the fishing
was not really good till about the middle of April. From then till we
left, however, about the 15th of May, we had splendid sport, killing
forty-eight tarpon between us, of which seventeen fell to my share. My
husband's biggest kill in one day was five, mine was three, and I found
that quite enough, for though it does not take long in point of time, to
kill your tarpon when once he is hooked, the strain on all your muscles
is enormous. It calls all your faculties into play, as may be imagined,
to kill a 150 lbs. fish on a small rod, and a line no thicker, if as
thick, as a salmon line. The one thing to avoid is letting your reel
over-run. If that happens, and it easily does, for the reels are on ball
bearings and run at a touch, your fish is practically lost, you can
rarely clear the line again.
I was miraculously lucky in never losing a fish through breaking the
line, but the danger of letting your reel over-run has been very
strongly impressed on me, and you quickly find out how much strain you
dare put on the rod. The great point to be remembered is always to keep
the rod as upright as possible, and your thumb on the brake.
I think very few things can equal the keen excitement of playing a
tarpon. You may have been sitting in the boat perhaps for hours, on the
look-out for the bubbles on the water, and the sound of the "puff,"
which show a tarpon is feeding near. Your line, of which twenty yards or
so have been coiled loosely in the bottom of the boat, suddenly begins
to creep out, gently, almost invisibly. You think, as you see it, "it is
those wretched cat-fish again," but no, it is too determined and
continuous for that. You watch the line, breathless with excitement,
till nearly all is gone, and the pace gets quicker and quicker, then you
take the rod up carefully, so as not to interfere with the line, for at
this stage the very slightest jerk or stoppage of the line will cause
the tarpon instantly to spit the bait out. Now the line is whizzing out.
You strike with all your might and main, and have a confused feeling of
having hooked an avalanche, an earthquake and a thunderbolt all in one,
for instantly a huge mass of shining silver leaps yards high into the
air, falling with a mighty splash, to leap again, and again, and again.
Your reel is screaming as the line whistles out, but long before the
tarpon has finished his first leaps the guide has hauled up his anchor
and is away, rowing with all his strength down on the fish, which soon
settles down to a long, steady, dash downstream. You do your utmost to
make him leap again and so exhaust himself, by reeling up a yard or so
of slack at a time, then pausing with both thumbs hard on break and line
as he throws himself wildly out of the water. But away he goes again,
taking out perhaps every foot of line on the reel, and again you reel
up, working him hard. Slowly and by degrees his leaps become shorter and
fainter, you work him nearer and nearer the boat till he lies exhausted
on his side, but with one wary eye on the gaff, ready to slew round and
make another dash for life and liberty. But you hold him tight. One
skilful blow with the gaff, and another gallant fish has met his fate.
[Illustration: _MRS. MURPHY-GRIMSHAW_
_ON BOARD THE TARPON BOAT._]