The Art and Practice of Hawking

by E. B. Michell

Black-game are still more difficult to take than grouse. An old cock will hardly be taken unless from a good pitch and under favourable circumstances. Grey-hens, however, have a way early in the season of sometimes lying very close; and when this happens, and the hawk happens to be waiting on near, she will cut the poor wretch down easily. With black-game the first stoop is generally the most deadly, but it must be made from a high pitch. A gerfalcon or tiercel stooping at an old blackcock in a really open place is the perfection of game-hawking, and from certain points of view—that of mere speed, for instance—the ne plus ultra of all hawking.

Partridges, on the other hand, are easier in all respects—easier to find, easier to approach, easier to kill. The modus operandi is exactly the same as for the larger game. If you can work with a pointer or setter, so much the better; the hawk will generally know after a while what the dog means and where the birds are likely to get up. An old game-hawk will often display marvellous intelligence in waiting on in the right position. When this is the case, and the country is good, the bag fills rapidly. No sooner is there a point than off goes the hood. After a short delay the hawk is at her pitch, and you can walk or ride in. Any partridge must be clever which avoids the first stoop of an old peregrine. Even if he does, except in a country where there are thick covers, the fatal blow is merely deferred. Putting in at a thin hedge is only a temporary escape, for you can mark the place. The hawk will mark it also, by making her point, i.e. throwing up into the air over the spot, and she will wait on while you beat. A spaniel or retriever will generally rout out the fugitive. The orthodox cry for encouraging the hawk when the game is so routed out is “Howit! howit!” Sometimes the partridge which has put in is, as an old author says, “so surcharged with fear” as to be caught by the dog or picked up by the hand. It should then generally be thrown out for the hawk to take, especially if she is a young one, and the dog admonished by the cry of “Ware, hawk! ware!”

If you use no dogs, mark down a bird or a covey, and put your hawk on the wing to windward of the place, then, as she waits on, walk or ride down-wind towards the spot. If the hawk flies wide make a halt till she is coming up, and then go on at full speed again. As long as she is facing the birds, and not down-wind of them, you have a good chance of a kill. When you are quite sure that there are birds on a ground you need not wait to mark any down, but beat the ground down-wind, keeping the men in line, with the hawk in the air. When the birds are wild this is often the only way in which you can get a flight. The worst of it is that the first bird which gets up may get up a quarter of a mile ahead, though there are plenty of nearer ones on the ground. Of course the hawk will go at the first which gets up, and there will be a long stern chase, with small chance of a kill, and perhaps a long delay before the hawk is got back. If you have to go down-wind after her—which ought not to be the case, but often is—you must make a dead beat in coming back so as to get up-wind again, and begin afresh to drive to leeward.

Such, as far as the aërial part of it is concerned, is game-hawking. A much more complicated affair than rook-hawking, as the hawk has to be trusted all alone to mount to her pitch, and stay there sometimes for many minutes without raking away, and, above all, without checking at other quarry. The hawk, moreover, is not the only actor in the play. You must arrange your beaters and markers properly, even for partridge-hawking, and much more for moor-game. If you intend to hawk over dogs, which you should certainly do if you have the chance, the hawk, while being manned and entered, must be induced to make friends with them and they with her. In the nature of things a hawk mistrusts a dog, even if she does not actively dislike him, and you must get rid of this mistrust. Your pointer or setter, and your retriever too, or whatever dog you intend to use for any purpose, must often be present while her ladyship is being fed and carried. First, of course, at a respectful distance, but by degrees nearer and nearer, until the pair of them are on quite good terms with one another. A few raps over the nose will teach Ponto not to be too familiar; and a nice wing of chicken offered to Stella within a foot of that same nose will do wonders in reconciling her to its proximity. A long step will have been gained when you can let the dogs play about on the lawn while the hawks sit still on their blocks, watching with contemptuous eye movements which are clownish and undignified as compared with their own in the air. But the real triumph will come when they have all been out for a day together; when, with Ponto standing at the point, Stella has glittered high above him in the sunshine, circling gracefully with expectant eye turned down; when Ponto, down-charging humbly, has seen the lightning-like stoop a hundred yards ahead; when the partridge, shifting cleverly, has put in to a hedge; and when Pompey the retriever, tugging at his leash, has been led up to the spot and has enjoyed the felicity of putting out that same partridge for Stella to finish off with another dash from the sky. Then it will be a pretty sight, if you have time to enjoy it, to see the hawk, with the pride of victory in her eyes, pluming the dead quarry on the ground, while the two dogs, stretched at length close by, look on contentedly, conscious that part of the credit for the whole performance is due to them.

PLUMING THE DEAD GROUSE

Even if there are no dogs, the falconer must have a watchful eye on his company in the field, especially if it includes new hands at the now unfashionable sport. These must be warned mildly, or it may be reminded sharply, to maintain that repose of demeanour which befits the sport of kings. To keep still as the falcon mounts is quite as essential as to press on when she has got to her pitch. If a kill occurs it is lawful enough to join in the death-cry, but not to hurry up. Such ill-timed zeal might cause an infinity of mischief, and even, in the case of a falcon or ger, the loss of her then and there. Everyone present should stop fifty or more yards from the fatal spot, except the one man who is authorised to take her up; and while he makes in, no noise or violent movement should disturb the solemn scene. Cigars may be lighted, and the incidents of the flight may be discussed; but it is only when the falconer, rising from his knees with the victor on his glove, gives the signal to come on, that curiosity may be gratified by a good look at the vanquished.

There is some variety in the mode employed by hawks in taking game. In rook-hawking they all “bind” to the quarry, that is, they clutch it in the air, and retain their hold as they come down to earth. I think I am right in saying that when a hawk strikes and does not hold a rook, it is almost always either accidentally or because her talon has not held fast. Many peregrines—perhaps all eyesses—begin by binding to grouse and partridges. But the tremendous speed of the stoop in game-hawking often carries the stooper so fast up to her quarry, and onwards after it is struck, that the talon will not hold. Something in the body of the victim gives way—the skin, or maybe a bone or two. Moreover, the strain upon a falcon’s foot, if she dragged along with her a heavy bird flying only half as fast at the moment as herself, might be painful and even dangerous. Consequently a hawk which has a very “hard” stoop, as all passage gers have and many wild-caught peregrines, will sometimes not endeavour to catch hold or bind. They then “strike” in the truest sense of the word. They deal a blow, either downwards or forwards, using the two hind talons for it, and either break some bone or knock all the wind out of the victim struck. The jar of the blow as they rush by tells them that it has come home, and instead of throwing up high, as they would if they had missed, they check their flight quickly, and, swinging round in the air, descend rapidly on the panting or dazed foe. Instances have been known when a stoop has cut the head clean off from a grouse, and one of Mr. Freeman’s falcons cut through several ribs of a partridge as she hit it down. And yet the ger’s stoop is accounted much “harder” than the peregrine’s.

Game-peregrines, when well entered, may very well be flown four or five times a day. Some of them, when in good fettle, more. Six kills in one day is a decided feat for a peregrine; though it has been accomplished in modern times, and probably surpassed occasionally. But it is unwise to overdo the thing, and so tax the hawk too severely. If you have a very high-mounter, you may as well remember a piece of advice upon which D’Arcussia insists. This is to fly her not many times in any one day. Her high mounting is such a grand thing in itself, he says, that it is better to maintain it, even if your bag and your score suffer, than by letting her kill more—which she could undoubtedly do—to run the risk of lowering her pitch. If, however, a hawk has had bad luck, and still seems “full of flying,” you may go on after several unsuccessful flights in the hope of rewarding her at last. It is a very good thing in all sorts of hawking to “leave off with a kill.” Accordingly, if the third or fourth flight is successful, the wise falconer will often feed up and leave well alone. I should like to go a little further, and say that at any time after a very hard flight, in which the hawk has triumphed over exceptional difficulties and greatly exerted herself, it is a wise thing to feed up. “Oh, do fly her again,” is a seductive cry which some friend is likely to raise. But though next time she could not fly better, she might perhaps fly worse. I should be inclined to tell such enthusiastic friend that I would wait until the morrow. I would let that hawk go to rest with the memory of that one big flight in her mind. It will be a pleasant memory, embittered by no thought of subsequent failure. One really severe flight, after a good bout of waiting on, is a fair day’s work for any long-winged hawk, unless she is owned by a mere pot-hunter. It may be the first flight of the day, or it may be the fifth—perhaps the sixth or seventh; but I think it will be well to finish up with it.