PASSING from recounting the feats of legitimate sportsmen, let us unbend, and indulge in a contemporary account of his cockney congener—Times, September 2, 1803:
“A Cockney’s Account of Yesterday,
being
The First of September.
“Having sat up all night to be ready and fresh in the morning, four of us met at the Obelisk, in St. George’s Fields, from whence we proceeded with our dogs, arms, and ammunition, to Lambeth Marsh, where we expected to have great sport, but found nothing except a cat, which we all fired at; but being only four in number, and a cat having nine lives, we missed killing her, though, as we believe, she was severely wounded. In this discharge we broke a bell glass in a gardener’s ground, so, fearing that we might, on that account, be taken up for poachers, we made the best of our way to Tothill Fields; here we reloaded our pieces, and gave our dogs a piece of bread each, but the fox dog would not eat his. We then proceeded to look about for sport, when two Westminster boys claimed the place as their manor, and drove us out of it. We now beat all about Jenny’s Whim, and seeing something swimming across the water, which a waterman’s boy told us was a dab-chick, we all fired, but without success, but the terrier caught it, as it ran up the bank and it proved to be the largest rat we had ever seen.
“As we passed through the five Fields, Chelsea, we saw several pigeons, but they flew so fast that none of us could take aim.
“On the other side of Battersea Bridge, met two men driving geese. Offered them eighteenpence, which they accepted, for a shot at the flock, at twenty yards. Drew lots who should fire first; it fell to Billy Candlewick’s chance, who, from his father belonging many years ago to one of the regiments of City Militia, knew something of taking aim.
“The goose driver stepped the ground, and Billy took aim for above ten minutes, when, shutting both his eyes lest the pan might flash in his sight, he snapped, and missed fire. He took aim a second time, snapped and missed again. Borrowed Bob Tape’s scissars, and hammered the flint—snapped, and missed fire a third time—thought the Devil had got hold of the gun, examined her, found she was neither loaded nor primed. The goose driver refused to let Billy try again, so we gave him another sixpence, and he sold us a lame gander, which we placed at about six yards, and, taking a shot apiece at him, killed him, and put him in Ned Thimble’s cabbage net.
“Passed over Clapham Common, where we saw several parties, but would not interfere with their sport.
“In our way to Stockwell, Ned Simple fired at a pigeon, which was perched on the top of a tree, and shot a man’s hat and wig off, who stood underneath it. As we thought he might be killed, we set off as hard as we could run, but were pursued and overtaken by two gardeners, who insisted upon being paid two shillings for destroying a scarecrow. We paid the money very readily, and kept our counsel.
“When we came in sight of the Swan, at Stockwell, we all ran as hard as we could to see who should get in first as we had settled to breakfast there. Unfortunately, our gun being cock’d, I made a stumble, and the trigger being touched by something, off went the piece, and lodged the contents in the body of a sucking pig that was crossing the road. The squeaking of the poor little animal roused the maternal affections of the sow, and set the fox dog, the terrier, the Newfoundland bitch, and the mastiff, a barking. The noise of the sow, the pig, and the dog, with the report of the gun, brought the people of the house, and, indeed, of the neighbourhood; and, being threatened by one, and laughed at by another, we thought it best to buy the pig at four shillings, which we did, and put it into Bob Tape’s game bag, which, by the bye, was nothing but half a bolster tick.
“We now beat every bush with the muzzle of our guns, set the dogs on the pigs, and found but one chaffinch, which was rather wild, not letting us come within eight yards, so that we could not make sure of our bird. We hunted him from spray to spray for above an hour, without being able to get in a parallel line, so as to take sure aim when, at last, he was killed by a little boy, who knocked him down with a stone. Bought him, and put him into the net with the goose.