The Confessions of a Poacher

by F.L.S. John Watson

I had finished the last chapter I thought I had completed my work, but the gentleman who is to edit these "Confessions" now tells me that I am to confess more. He reminds me that I cannot have been an active poacher nearly all my life without having had numerous personal encounters with keepers and others. And in this he is right. But there is some difficulty in my additional task for the following reasons: I have never cared to take much credit to myself for having broken the head of a keeper, and there is but little pleasure to me in recounting the occasions when keepers have broken mine. However, speaking of broken heads reminds me of an incident which was amusing, though, at the time, somewhat painful to me.

One night in November when the trees were bare, and the pheasants had taken to the branches, we were in a mixed wood of pine and beech. A good many birds roosted on its confines, and, to a practised eye, were not difficult to see against the moon as they sat on the lower limbs of the trees, near the trunks. I and my companion had old, strong guns with barrels filed down, and, as we got very near to the birds, we were using small charges of powder. As the night was windy the shots would not be heard very far, and we felt fairly safe. When we had obtained about three brace of birds, however, I heard a sudden crash among the underwood, when I immediately jumped behind the bole of a tree, and kept closely against it.

The head-keeper had my companion down before he could resist, and I only remained undiscovered for a few seconds. One of the under-keepers seized me, but, being a good wrestler, I soon threw him into a dense brake of brambles and blackthorn. Then I bolted with the third man close behind. I could easily have outrun him over the rough country that lay outside the wood, but—ah! these "buts"—there was a stiff stone fence fully five feet high betwixt me and the open. Unless I could "fly" the fence he would have me. I clutched my pockets, steadied myself for the leap—and then sprang. I heard my pursuer stop for a second to await the issue. Weighted as I was I caught the coping, and fell back heavily into the wood. As soon as the keeper saw I was down he rushed forward and hit me heavily on the head with a stave. The sharp corner cut right through the skin, and blood spurted out in little jets. Then I turned about, determined to close with my opponent if he was inclined for further roughness. But he was not. When he saw that the blood was almost blinding me he dropped his hedge-stake, and ran, apparently terrified at what he had done. I leaned for a few moments against the wall, then dragged myself over, and started for a stream which ran down the field. But I felt weaker at every step, and soon crept into a bed of tall brackens, and plugged the wound in my head with a handful of wet moss, keeping it in position with my neckerchief. After this I munched some bread and hard cheese, sucked the dew from the fern fronds, and then fell into a broken sleep. I must have slept for four or five hours, when I woke thirsty and feverish, and very weak. I tried to walk, but again and again fell down. Then I crawled for about a hundred yards, but this caused my wound to bleed afresh, and I fainted. Just as day was coming a farm labourer came across, and kindly helped me to his cottage. He and his wife bathed my head and eyes, and then assisted me to the bed from which they had just risen. At noon I was able to take some bread and milk, and at night, an hour after darkness had fallen, I was able to start for home.

Well, the sequel came in due time. We each received a summons (my companion had been released after identification), we were tried in about a fortnight from the date of our capture. There was a full bench of Magistrates; my companion pleaded guilty (with a view to a lenient sentence); myself—not guilty. In the first instance the case was clear, but not one of the three keepers (to their credit) would swear to me. They looked me carefully over, particularly my assailant. He was reminded that it was a fine, moonlight night. Yes, but his man, he thought, was taller, was more strongly built, and looked pale and haggard—no, he would not say that I was the man—in short, he thought I was not. Then came my innings. The keeper had sworn that, after running a mile, the poacher he chased had turned on him, and threatened to "do for him," if he advanced; that he had hit him on the head with his stick, and must have wounded him severely. He was also careful to explain that he had done this in "self defence." I then pointed out to the "bench" that it was no longer a matter of opinion; that I claimed to have my head examined, and asked that the Police Superintendent, who was conducting the case, should settle the point.

But my assumption of an air of injured innocence had already done its work, and the presiding Magistrate said there was no evidence against me; that the case as against me was dismissed.

I had hard work to get out of the box without smiling, for even then the pain in my head was acute, and I was not right for weeks after. I knew, however, that my wound was a dangerous possession, and close attention to my thick, soft hair, enabled me to hide it, always providing that it was not too closely examined. My companion was less fortunate, and his share of the proceedings, poor fellow, was "two months."

Here is the record of another encounter. There was a certain wood, the timber in which had been felled and carted. It had previously contained a good deal of "coppice," and after the wood-cutters had done their work, this had been utilized by the charcoal burners. The ashes from the charcoal had promoted quite an unseasonable growth, and everywhere about the stoles of the ash roots and hazel snags, fresh green grass and clover were springing. The hares on the neighbouring estate had found out this, and came nightly to the clearing to feed. As there were neither gaps nor gates we found it impossible to net them, and so had to resort to another device. Before the wood had been cleared rabbits had swarmed in it, and these had found ingress and egress through "smoots" in the stone fences. Upon examination we found that the larger of these were regularly used by our quarry, and, as we could not net them, we determined to plant a purse net at every smoot, drive the wood with fast dogs, and so bag our game. When everything was ready the lurchers commenced their work, and, thoroughly grasping the programme, worked up to it admirably. Each dog that "found" drove its hare fast and furiously (this was necessary), and, in an hour, a dozen were bagged. There was only this disadvantage. The wood was so large, the smoots so far apart, that many of the hares screamed for some seconds before they could be dispatched. The continuance of this screaming brought up the keepers, and our game was up, and with it what we had bagged. The watchers numbered four or five, and, leaving everything, we ran. In our line of retreat was an abandoned hut built by the charcoal burners, consisting of poles, with heather and fern for roof and sides. We made for this, hoping, in the darkness, to elude our pursuers, then double in our tracks as soon as they had passed. But they were not so easily deceived. As soon as the crackling of the dead sticks caused by our tread had ceased, they evidently suspected some trick, and knew that we were still in the wood. And the hut was the first object of search. As they were quite unaware of our number they declined to enter, but invited us into the open. We replied by barricading the narrow doorway with poles and planks which we found within. Of course this was only completing our imprisonment, but we felt that one or more of their number would be sent for

further help, and that then we would make a dash to escape. We agreed to take off in different directions, to divide the attacking force, and then lead them across the roughest country we could find. A deep stream was not far off, and here we would probably escape. But our scheme went wrong—or, rather, we had no opportunity to put it into practice. After waiting and listening awhile we saw lights glisten in the chinks of the heather walls, and then fumes of smoke began to creep up them. They were burning us out. Quietly as we could we undid the barricading, and, as the air rushed in, tiny tongues of flame shot up the heather. Now we lay low with our faces on the damp floor. Then a pole was thrust through. Another current of air and the flames shot everywhere. The thick smoke nearly stifled us, and the heat became intense. The fire ran up the poles, and burning bits of the heather roof began to fall. Then came the crisis. A fir pole had been raised without, and then was to crash through the hut. This was the first outside proceeding we had seen—we saw it through the riddled walls. As soon as the men loosed their hold of the tree for its fall we sprang from the doorway; and then for a few seconds the sight was magnificent. As the roof crashed in the whole hut was one bright mass of flame, and a sheet of fire shot upwards into the night. The burning brackens and ling sent out myriads of sparks, and these falling around gave us a few seconds' start. As agreed, we each hurled a burning brand among the keepers, then disappeared in the darkness. Certainly no one followed us out of the wood. We had simply scored by lying low with the fire about us, taking advantage of the confusion and dazzling light, and then knowing our way out of the difficulty. The squire's son, we saw, was one of the attacking party. We were a bit burnt, we lost the game and nets, but were quite content to have escaped so easily.