The education of the cheeta is no less progressive than that of the dog; and whatever patience the latter may require from his instructor, the former demands far greater; not so much from want of docility, as from the nearly total absence of all the feelings of attachment so conspicuous in the canine race. The cubs when they are very young are stolen from the rocky fastnesses where they are usually bred. They are immediately hooded, and allowed no other exercise than what they can take when they are led about by their keeper. While he is feeding them, he invariably shouts in a peculiar key. In a month or so their eager looks, animated gestures, and possibly cheerful purring, testify that they comprehend its import as fully as a hungry young ensign does “the roast beef of old England.” They are then slightly chained, each to a separate bandy (bullock-cart), and habituated to its motion. They are always fed during the drive. They thus learn to expect a good meal in the course of their airing. After a time the keeper, instead of feeding a promising pupil while he is a prisoner, goes to a little distance from the bandy and utters the singular cries now so joyfully heard, upon which—an attendant slipping off the chain and hood—the liberated cheeta runs to his trainer to be fed. By degrees this is done at increased distances. He is always conducted back to the carriage by the keeper’s dragging at the lump of meat of which the animal retains a firm hold. The next step is for the man again to commence feeding near the cart, but without making any noise,—the removal of the hood being the only thing that tells the spotted beast to look about him for his dinner. The last step is the substitution of a kid or wounded antelope, for the keeper with his provision basket, when it rarely happens that nature’s strong instinct does not make the cheeta seize with eagerness the proffered prey. His education is now completed; but for many months he is never unhooded at a herd unless the driver has managed to get the cart within a very favouring distance.
The cheeta knocks over the buck with a blow of his paw on the hind-quarters, given so rapidly that the eye cannot follow the motion, and then grasps him firmly by the throat; nor will he quit hold of the windpipe as long as the prostrate animal can make the slightest struggle for breath. This affords the keeper ample time to cut off a limb, which he thrusts against the cheeta’s nose, and as soon as the still quivering dainty tempts him to grasp it, he is again led off to his cart. He is then further rewarded with a drink of warm blood taken from the inside of the antelope, and the scene concludes by the carcass being strapped under the bandy.
{1} A dealer often says in praise of a small horse,—and great praise it is—“You may fancy him a little one now, but wait till you see him move, and then you’ll think him a big one.”
[53] Many think that grouse feed more down wind than partridges.
[54] A pace that keeps the sportsman at a brisk walk is obviously the best. It is very annoying to be unable, by any quiet encouragement, to get a dog to “road” as rapidly as you wish—an annoyance often experienced with naturally timid dogs, or with those which have been overpunished.
[55] “Suwarrow’s” manœuvre ([530]) clearly shows the true reason.
[56] The speed with which one of these extremely beautiful, but in every other respect far, far inferior partridges will run, when only slightly wounded, is quite marvellous.
[57] The force of the word “Dead” (preceding the command “Find”)—that joyous, exciting note of triumph—ought never to be lessened by being employed, as I have heard it, to stimulate a dog to hunt when no bird is down; or, like the shepherd-boy’s cry of “Wolf! wolf!” it will have little influence at the moment when it should most animate to unremitting exertions.
[58] After a touseling you may have observed the dog rubbing his nose in the grass. He did right. I have lately had reason to think that when from the absence of grass a dog could not effectually wipe his nose, the fine down adhering to it has for some time interfered with the delicacy and discrimination of his olfactory organs. He got too near his birds before acknowledging them. Would you be shocked if I asked you to assist him occasionally in freeing his nostrils from the offending feathers?
[59] In favour of such unsportsman-like haste they ingeniously argue that a continued noise after firing makes birds lie, from attracting their attention. They say that a sudden change to quiet (and a great change it must be, for a chasseur is always talking) alarms the birds. As an evidence of this, they adduce the well-known fact of its frequently happening that a partridge gets up the moment the guns have left the spot, though no previous noise had induced it to stir.