The Confessions of a Poacher

by F.L.S. John Watson

Then I scanned the "smoots" and gates through which she passed, and was always careful to approach these laterally. I left no trace of hand nor print of foot, nor disturbed the rough herbage. Late afternoon brought me home, and upon the hearth the wires and nets were spread for inspection. When all was ready, and the dogs whined impatiently to be gone, I would strike right into the heart of the land, and away from the high-road.

Mention of the dogs brings me to my fastest friends. Without them poaching for fur would be almost impossible. I invariably used bitches, and as success depended almost wholly upon them, I was bound to keep only the best. Lurchers take long to train, but when perfected are invaluable. I have had, maybe, a dozen dogs in all, the best being the result of a pure cross between greyhound and sheepdog. In night work silence is essential to success, and such dogs never bark; they have the good nose of the one, and the speed of the other. In selecting puppies it is best to choose rough-coated ones, as they are better able to stand the exposure of cold, rough nights. Shades of brown and fawn are preferable for colour, as these best assimilate to the duns and browns of the fields and woods. The process of training would take long to describe; but it is wonderful how soon the dog takes on the habits of its master. They soon learn to slink along by hedge and ditch, and but rarely shew in the open. They know every field-cut and by-path for miles, and are as much aware as their masters that county constables have a nasty habit of loitering about unfrequented lanes at daybreak.

The difficulty lies not so much in obtaining game as in getting it home safely; but for all that I was but rarely surprised with game upon me in this way. Disused buildings, stacks, and dry ditches are made to contain the "haul" until it can be sent for—an office which I usually got some of the field-women to perform for me. Failing these, country carriers and early morning milk-carts were useful. When I was night poaching, it was important that I should have the earliest intimation of the approach of a possible enemy, and to secure this the dogs were always trained to run on a few hundred yards in advance. A well-trained lurcher is almost infallible in detecting a foe, and upon meeting one he runs back to his master under cover of the far side of a fence. When the dog came back to me in this way I lost not a second in accepting the shelter of the nearest hedge or deepest ditch till the danger was past. If suddenly surprised and without means of hiding, myself and the dog would make off in different directions. Then there were times when it was inconvenient that we should know each other, and upon such occasions the dogs would not recognise me even upon the strongest provocation.

My best lurchers knew as much of the habits of game as I did. According to the class of land to be worked they were aware whether hares, partridges, or rabbits were to constitute the game for the night. They judged to a nicety the speed at which a hare should be driven to make a snare effective, and acted accordingly. At night the piercing scream of a netted hare can be heard to a great distance, and no sound sooner puts the keeper on the alert.

Consequently, when "puss" puts her neck into a wire, or madly jumps into a gate-net, the dog is on her in an instant, and quickly stops her piteous squeal. In field-netting rabbits, lurchers are equally quick, seeming quite to appreciate the danger of noise. Once only have I heard a lurcher give mouth. "Rough" was a powerful, deep-chested bitch, but upon one occasion she failed to jump a stiff, stone fence, with a nine-pound hare in her mouth. She did not bark, however, until she had several times failed at the fence, and when she thought her whereabouts were unknown. Hares and partridges invariably squat on the fallow or in the stubble when alarmed, and remain absolutely still till the danger is passed. This act is much more likely to be observed by the dog than its master, and in such cases the lurchers gently rubbed my shins to apprise me of the fact. Then I moved more cautiously. Out-lying pheasants, rabbits in the clumps, red grouse on the heather—the old dog missed none of them. Every movement was noted, and each came to the capacious pocket in turn. The only serious fights I ever had were when keepers threatened to shoot the dogs. This was a serious matter. Lurchers take long to train, and a keeper's summary proceeding often stops a whole winter's work, as the best dogs cannot easily be replaced. Many a one of our craft would as soon have been shot himself as seen his dog destroyed; and there are few good dogs which have not, at one time or other, been riddled with pellets during their lawless (save the mark!) career. If a hare happens to be seen, the dog sometimes works it so cleverly as to "chop" it in its "form"; and both hares and rabbits are not unfrequently snapped up without being run at all. In fact, depredations in fur would be exceedingly limited without the aid of dogs; and one country squire saved his ground game for a season by buying my best brace of lurchers at a very fancy price; while upon another occasion a bench of magistrates demanded to see the dogs of whose doings they had heard so much. In short, my lurchers at night embodied all my senses.

Whilst preparing my nets and wires, the dogs would whine impatiently to be gone. Soon their ears were pricked out on the track, though until told to leave they stuck doggedly to heel. Soon the darkness would blot out even the forms of surrounding objects, and our movements were made more cautiously. A couple of snares are set in gaps in an old thorn fence not more than a yard

apart. These are delicately manipulated, as we know from previous knowledge that the hare will take one of them. The black dog is sent over, the younger fawn bitch staying behind. The former slinks slowly down the field, sticking close to the cover of a fence running at right angles to the one in which the wires are set. I have arranged that the wind shall blow from the dog and across to the hare's seat when the former shall come opposite. The ruse acts; "puss" is alarmed, but not terrified; she gets up and goes quietly away for the hedge. The dog is crouched, anxiously watching; she is making right for the snare, though something must be added to her speed to make the wire effective. As the dog closes in, I wait, bowed, with hands on knees, still as death, for her coming. I hear the brush of the grass, the trip, trip, trip, as the herbage is brushed. There is a rustle among the dead leaves, a desperate rush, a momentary squeal—and the wire has tightened round her throat.

Again we trudge silently along the lane, but soon stop to listen. Then we disperse, but to any on-looker would seem to have dissolved. This dry ditch is capacious, and its dead herbage tall and tangled. A heavy foot, with regular beat, approaches along the road, and dies slowly away in the distance.

Hares love green cornstalks, and a field of young wheat is at hand; I spread a net, twelve feet by six, at the gate, and at a sign the dogs depart different ways. Their paths soon converge, for the night is torn by a piteous cry; the road is enveloped in a cloud of dust; and in the midst of the confusion the dogs dash over the fence. They must have found their game near the middle of the field, and driven the hares—for there are two—so hard that they carried the net right before them; every struggle wraps another mesh about them, and, in a moment, their screams are quieted. By a quick movement I wrap the long net about my arm, and, taking the noiseless sward, get hastily away from the spot.