Thither have ever resorted sportsmen of every degree—the lord of the land and the peasant, the farmer, the Padre Cura of the parish, or the local medico—all free to shoot, and each carrying the traitor reclamo in its narrow cage. The central idea is, of course, that the reclamo, by its siren song, shall call up to the gun any partridge within hearing, when its owner, concealed in the bush hard by, has every opportunity of potting the unconscious game as it runs towards the decoy—two at a shot preferred, or more if possible. ‘Twere unjust to reproach the peasant-gunner for the deed; flying shots with his old “flinter” would merely mean wasted ammunition and an empty pot—misfortunes both in his res angustae domi. We have ourselves, on African veld, where dinner depends on the gun, meted out similar measure to strings of cackling guinea-fowl without compunction; but in Spain we have never tried the reclamo, nor wish to.
That the race of redlegs should have survived it all—year in and year out—bespeaks a wondrous fecundity, and has inspired new-born ideas of “preservation,” which have been initiated in Spain with marked success. To this subject we refer later.
Though we have ourselves (maybe from “insular prejudice”) systematically refused to see the reclamo work his treacherous rôle, yet many Spanish sportsmen are enthusiastic over the system, which they describe as una faena muy interesante, and are as proud of their call-birds as we of our setters. The reclamos may be of either sex. The cock-partridges become past-masters of the art of calling up their wild rivals from afar; and by a softer note the wild hen is also lured to her doom—for the dual influences of love and war are both called into play. The male hears the defiant challenge of battle and, all aflame, hurries by alternative flights and runs to seek the unseen challenger. As distance lessens the fire of each taunt increases, and, blind with passion, the luckless champion dashes on to that fatal opening where he is aligned by barrels peeping from the thicket. The female, with more tender purpose, also draws near—the seductive love-note entices; but, oh! the wooing o’t—a few pellets of lead end that idyll. It is then—when either rival or lover, it matters not which, lies low in death alongside his cage—that the well-constituted reclamo shows his fibre. So overcome with savage joy, the narrow cage will scarce contain him as he bursts into exultant pæons of victory. On the other hand, sullen disappointment is exhibited by the decoy when his exploit has only resulted in a missed shot.
In the spring the female call-note is more effective than that of the male.
Well-trained reclamos may be worth anything from £2 up to £10. Recently a yearly licence of ten shillings per bird has been levied. This has either reduced their numbers, or perhaps caused them to be kept more secretly. Formerly a cicada in a tiny cage and a reclamo in its conical prison were contiguous objects in almost every doorway.
Ground-game is the special favourite of the Spanish cazador. He will search hundreds of acres for a problematical hare, and a long day’s hunt with his trusty pachón is amply rewarded by a couple or two of diminutive rabbits about half the weight of ours, but whose speed verily stands in inverse ratio. For the life of the Spanish rabbit is passed in the midst of alarms; supremely conscious of soaring eagles and hawks overhead, he never willingly shows in the open by daylight, or if forced to it, then terror lends wings to his feet. The death of a hare, however, represents to the cazador the climax of terrestrial triumph. In those ecstatic moments the animal (average weight 4½ lbs.) is held aloft by the hind-legs, a subject for admiration and self-gratulation; mentally it is weighed again and again to a chorus of soliloquising ejaculations, “Grande como un chivo” = as big as a kid!
The quail, though extremely abundant at its passage-seasons (when in September the Levante, or S.E. wind, blows for days together, blocking their transit to Africa, Andalucia is crammed with accumulated quails), yet represents but a small morsel in a culinary sense, and is swift of wing to boot. Neither of these attributes commend its pursuit to our friend with the rusty single-barrel; and similar reasons bear, with increased force, on the case of snipe. These game-birds are left severely alone—that is, with the gun.
Bags of twenty brace of quail (and in former years of forty or fifty brace) may then be made where, on the wind changing next day, never a quail will be found.
In spring, again, great numbers pass northward, but many remain to nest on the fertile vegas of Guadalquivir and on the plains of Castile. At that season quail are chiefly taken by nets; but on systems so cunning and elaborate that we regret having no space for descriptive detail. Put briefly, in Andalucia the fowler spreads a gossamer-woven fabric loosely over the growing corn; then, lying alongside, by means of a pito (an instrument that exactly reproduces the dactylic call-note of the quarry) induces every combative male within earshot either to run beneath or to alight precisely upon the outspread snare. So perfect is the imitation that quail will even run over the fowler’s prostrate form in their search for the adversary. In Valencia living call-birds (hung in cages on poles) are substituted for the pito, and the net is more of a fixture—small patches of the previous autumn’s crop being left uncut expressly to attract quail to definite points.
The Andalucian quail frequents palmetto-scrub and is very local—rarely can more than two or three couple be killed in a day, and that only in September. Some appear then to retire to Africa, along with the turtle-doves—the latter a bird that surely deserves passing note, since few are smarter on wing or afford quicker snap-shooting while passing by millions through this country every autumn.