Front matter (continued 7)

1888. Sept. 1 2 3

G R R M M G R M M R RR

Pearl 1 0 1 ％ 1 1 1 1 1 0 1

p p a p h a p p

M M G M M M R

Ruby ¾ 0 1 1 ％ 1 ? L (1) C

a p a pp a

M R M R M G G R R

Diamond ¼ 1 0 0 1 1 1 0 1

p p a

Wind Fresh. Strong. Moderate.

Weather Cloudy. Showery. Hot.

Here, taking the first hawk’s score, it appears that on the afternoon of September 1 she took one ground lark (G) (see Chapter IX.). Secondly, that she flew a ringing lark (R), which she beat in the air, forcing it to put in (p), and that it could not be found or got up again, and therefore does not count as a kill, but as a miss. Thirdly, that she flew and killed another ringer, and that after these two hard flights she was not flown again, but fed up. The next day, the wind being strong, she began with a double flight at a mounting lark, in which Ruby was her companion, and they bested the quarry, which put in, but could not be found; then flew a mounting lark (M), and took it in the air (a); and then a ground lark, which put in, but was routed up and taken. Finally, having killed a ringer, she was fed up and excused further flying. On September 3 the weather conditions were better, and in the afternoon Pearl flew a mounting lark, which put in, and was taken up by the hand (h). Had it been a good ringer probably it would have been kicked up instead, on the chance of a good flight; and if killed, the hawk might have been fed up. As, however, it was only a “mounter,” it was thought best to keep the hawk for the chance of a ringer later on. The second lark, however, was also a mounter, and the hawk, having taken it in the air, was flown again Then came a ringer, which was well flown, and bested in the air, but escaped by putting in. At length there was a successful flight at a ringer, which, however, was not killed until it had been routed out from the shelter to which it had put in, and afforded a second flight. The double RR over the record of this item in the score shows that at the second start as well as the first the flight was a ringing one.

Ruby’s score begins on the morning of September 1 with a double flight at a mounting lark, in which he did most of the work, and took the quarry in the air. He is therefore credited with ¾ of the lark, to mark his superiority, whereas only ¼ is scored to Diamond, who was his companion in the flight. In the afternoon he puts in a mounter, which is lost, kills a ground lark, and then puts in another mounter, which is routed out, but puts in again, and is only taken when driven out a second time from his hiding-place. Having stuck to this lark well, and accurately marked the places where he put in, the little jack is excused from further flying. Next day he begins with the unsuccessful flight which he flew with Pearl. Then he takes a mounter in the air, and at the next attempt goes up so far after a first-rate ringer that no one can keep him in sight. As this lark was obviously making for a big plantation towards which the flight went, and as the hawk, though usually obedient to the lure, did not come to it or appear again, it is almost certain that he must have killed. The fairest way in such cases is to mark the flight by a (?), and not count it either as a kill or a miss in the general score. The L shows that Ruby was left out, and the (1) on the following morning shows that it was ascertained in some way that while roaming about on his own account he killed (and ate) a lark. The C indicates his recovery late in the day; and the manner of his recapture, of course, is referred to in the notes.

Diamond’s first item is the ¼ credited to him for the part he played in the double flight with Ruby. He goes on by killing a ringer in the morning; and for his pains is rewarded with a good half of it, being then reserved for the last of the afternoon’s flights, when the half-lark may have ceased to trouble his digestive organs. In the evening he puts in first a mounter and then a ringer, and then having with some difficulty and after a long flight killed a good mounter, is fed up just before it gets dark. On the morrow he falls in with two ground larks in succession, and kills them both. Hitherto, ever since the double flight with Ruby, in which he was outpaced, he has been doing well. Though not a fast hawk he has persevered and bested all his larks in the air, though he has put them in so far off that it was difficult to find them. But now he is to disgrace himself by showing the white feather. He starts at a good ringer, but, finding it too fast for him, comes back humbly to the lure. The little (a), which is a mark of honour when seen under a kill, is a terrible blemish to a score when found under a “duck’s egg”—showing that not the quarry but the hawk has been beaten in the air. After this sad exhibition Diamond is fed up, and examined to see whether by some mistake he has perchance been allowed to get thin. If he has, there is an excuse for his poltroonery. Anyhow he will be well fed now, and if he does not fly better to-morrow physicking may be advisable. A medical council must be held over his case. On the next day, however, he re-establishes his character. Lighting at the first trial upon a ringer, he sticks to it like a man, puts it in, and then takes it cleverly enough. Of course after this success, following upon the fiasco of yesterday, he is at once fed up. Peeping a little behind the scenes we may, it is true, suspect that the ringer, though quite properly marked so in the score-sheet, would not have figured as such if Pearl had had to deal with him instead of Diamond. He would have tried to take the air, certainly, and mounted as if intending to go up in circles. But Pearl would have been up to him before he completed the first ring, and from that moment, keeping the upper hand of him, she would have given him trouble enough to shift from her stoops without nursing any such ambition as to fly right away from her.

A score-sheet thus kept gives at a glance an excellent idea of the performances of the hawks referred to. As their several scores are usually kept on the same page in successive lines, a comparison between them can be readily made at any time; and if a period of two or three weeks is taken, the best average made in the time will usually belong to the best hawk. If only a week or less is brought into the account, it may easily be that a very good hawk by a run of bad luck scores fewer kills and makes a lower average than a more moderate performer. The true test of merit is the ringing flights; and if these alone are considered, the result of an analysis will infallibly settle the question which is the better hawk. Thus in the score last above given, there is no difficulty in perceiving that Pearl, who killed three ringers out of five, and put in the other two, was a much better hawk during the short period under notice than Diamond, who killed two out of four and failed once to put his ringer in. The mere number of quarry killed in a season is not a conclusive test of merit; for it is more creditable to a hawk to kill one ringer than half a dozen ground larks. The greatest number of larks I have killed in one season with any hawk in single flights is 106. But Jubilee, who accomplished this feat, was certainly not so good as his sister, Queen, who killed 95 in the same time. Nor was the latter—I think—as good as Eva, who killed only about 65.

The same method of scoring might be, with some adaptation, used for rook-hawks, and possibly for game-hawks. The short-winged varieties are usually flown at such a number of different quarry that another system would have to be employed. But in all cases the quarry-book should be a sort of diary in which may be traced the history of each hawk as she improved from time to time or fell off in merit. The less experience the falconer has the fuller he should make his notes. Both in making them and in referring to them questions will arise about which he is in doubt; and practice alone, or timely hints from a master in the art, will solve the difficulties. Any falconer who has kept diaries for any long period will find that at the end of it he has altered several of the methods which he practised at the beginning. It requires some time and trouble, no doubt, to write up the notes every day. But, as it has been before observed, no one can expect without a good deal of toil to become a successful falconer.

It will be seen by a look at the score-sheet, as well as by perusing any falconer’s notes, that first-rate results are arrived at partly by the excellence of the hawks flown and partly by the activity and diligence of the falconer and his assistants. It is no use for a falcon to bring down her ringing rook from the clouds, or a merlin her lark from out of sight in the sky, if when the quarry has put in there is no man forthcoming to drive it out again. The sparrow-hawk will make but a poor show unless she is backed up energetically by an excited field of beaters; and tiercels will soon give up flying magpies with any zest if they find that their friends down below are slack or incompetent in playing their part of the game. You think yourself entitled to grumble at your hawk, and perhaps call her ugly names, if just at the moment you call upon her she does not fly her best. Do you not think that she also is aggrieved if you at the same time, chosen as it is by you, do not give her the necessary amount of help? Incapacity or laziness on the part of a man or a dog provokes the contempt and disgust of a trained hawk, who is often a much better critic in such matters than the ignorant may suppose. Be careful, therefore, if you want to retain the respect of your hawk, not to give her just cause to complain of you; not to be slow when you should be quick, or hasty when caution or deliberation is needed; not to seem inattentive to her fair and just requirements. And above all, not to commit in her presence anything which she knows is a gross mistake—in short, not to make a fool either of yourself or her.

CHAPTER XV

Lost Hawks

After a day of unsuccessful flights the falconer returning sadly with his discouraged hawks may derive some consolation from the thought that he has at least brought them all safe back. On the other hand, the triumphs of the most successful afternoon are a good deal marred when one of the best performers has been left out, and the quarry-book has to be noted up, opposite her name, with the unpleasant word “lost.” Foremost amongst the dangers and difficulties which beset the falconer, more plentifully than any other sportsman, is the risk which constantly hangs over him of losing the faithful ally upon whose service he depends for carrying on his sport. Every time that he puts a hawk upon the wing he has to face this contingency, which is more or less probable according to the nature of the flight which is attempted. No questions are more often addressed by the uninitiated to a falconer than these: “How do you get your hawks back?” and “Do they always come to you?” If he is rash enough to answer the last query in the affirmative he may be utterly confounded by having to confess that the very next time he flew his hawk she did not come back! Of course, in exercising an obedient hawk when she is sharp-set the risk run is infinitesimally small. But it would be wrong even then to say that it does not exist. And unfortunately the harder the flight undertaken, and the better the hawk, the greater is the danger which her owner has to face.

It is unnecessary to enumerate the many causes which may lead to the loss of a hawk. They have been mentioned incidentally in many of the foregoing pages. But it is well to remember that a very large percentage of the losses which annually occur is due to mere carelessness on the part of the falconer. As long as you make no mistake, and give your hawks a fair chance, the danger of an out-and-out loss is reduced to very moderate dimensions. The worst cases, as well as the commonest, are those in which the man is blamable for some imprudence, and not the hawk for any vice or fault. A much greater number of hawks annually get loose with the leash still attached to their jesses than anyone would be likely to suppose. Whenever such a mishap occurs a search should instantly be made for the fugitive, for every minute which elapses between the time of her loss and her recovery makes it more probable that she will not again be seen alive. The long tail of the leash becomes a sort of death-trap affixed to the hawk herself. As often as she takes perch in a tree, or flies over a telegraph-wire, or near to anything around which the hanging strap can coil itself, there is the chance of its getting entangled, in which case the hawk, hanging head downwards will, after many struggles, perish ignominiously, perhaps before the eyes of her helpless owner.

Even if the leash is not attached when the hawk gets away, or luckily drops out of the swivel, there is no little danger that the jesses, joined together at their ends by the swivel, will get hitched up, and a similar disaster result. All accidents which occur in this way are due to sheer carelessness. No hawk should ever be put upon the wing at all unless her swivel has first been detached. Even the jesses, if they have big slits in their ends, should be straightened out when they have been freed from the swivel, so that there is no chance of their getting hooked up on a nail or strong thorn.

On the first intelligence that a trained hawk has got loose, the falconer should start in pursuit, provided with a dead lure in any case, and, if the hawk was not sharp-set at the time, with a live lure also. The more searchers that can be sent out, the better; and these should make inquiries of every person they meet. Any of them who are not competent to take up a hawk themselves may carry a whistle, or pistol, or any signal agreed upon, by which they may call up the falconer if they get tidings or a view of the truant. In the latter case they must take care not to alarm the hawk or give her any inducement to move about, for each time she moves she runs a fresh risk of getting entangled and brought to grief. The search for a hawk which has a leash or swivel attached is not altogether the same as the search for one that has only her bells and jesses. For the fear is now not that the runaway, having tasted the sweets of liberty, will little by little acquire or resume the habits of a wild hawk, but that, being still as ready as ever to come to the lure or the fist, she will involuntarily commit suicide by hanging herself head downwards before you have time to find her and interfere. Thus the searchers will go about their work with all the speed consistent with thoroughness, visiting first the places where there is most danger of a fatal disaster, such as wire fencing, telegraph lines, and such bushy or thorny trees as the lost hawk has ever been known to frequent. In an open country loose hawks with their leashes on will sometimes escape with their lives for days together, and even kill quarry, and keep themselves in high condition. These, however, are the exceptions; and in a wooded country such a fortunate issue to the adventure would be unlikely.

When the loss of a hawk has occurred in consequence of her having killed out of sight, and gorged herself before she could be discovered, the chances are that she will remain for the night in the neighbourhood of the place where she flew the quarry upon which she dined. A visit will be paid, therefore, next morning at daybreak to this part of the country; and the falconer must not assume that if he fails to find quickly the object of his search she is to be looked for somewhere else. For it is unlikely, wherever she is, that she will pay any attention to him or his lure until she has cast. This she may not do, especially if it was late in the previous day when she was lost, until some hours after a spring or summer sunrise. Consequently, even if the searcher gets away from this most likely spot, and explores the plantations for considerable distances round about, he should return to it from time to time, on the chance that she has been there all the while, waiting till her appetite came before making her presence known. As the day grows older, the radius within which the search is continued may be indefinitely enlarged. Every labourer going to his work, every farmer going his rounds, every shepherd walking towards his fold, should be interrogated when met, and asked, if they see anything of the lost hawk, to report it in some way. The neighbouring keepers may be warned, although probably they will long before this have been informed that trained hawks are in the neighbourhood. A man will hardly fly his hawks in a part of the world where he does not know that the keepers are to be relied upon.

When the hawk has been lost through raking away or checking at chance quarry, the work of finding her necessitates often very great exertions and fatigue. There is nothing particularly unusual in the fact of a passage peregrine wandering off in an afternoon seven or eight miles from the place where she was lost sight of. To explore at all thoroughly an area eight miles long and ten broad at the far end means, of course, a great many miles travelling, even if the country is exceptionally open and clear of trees. Nevertheless, the dull and dreary journey must be undertaken if there is a real desire to recover the wanderer. The best hawk-finder is he who travels the farthest and sees the greatest number of possible assistants in his search. If you make an excuse for shirking a visit to a particular copse or valley, it is as likely as not that you will hear afterwards, to your chagrin, that the missing hawk was seen there, and might easily have been caught. If you will not walk a quarter of a mile out of the way to hail a passer-by who is going in what you think an unlikely direction, that will perhaps be the very man who, ten minutes afterwards, comes across the object of your pursuit.

There is not much to guide a man in choosing what direction he should prefer for going about his search. But, other influences being equal, the truant is more likely to have gone down-wind than up. Weak hawks especially, when they have no particular object in facing the wind, are apt to shirk the trouble of flying against it, and drift away to leeward. Of course, if it is an eyess that has gone astray, and the place where she was hacked is within easy reach, there is a more or less strong probability that she may have gone towards it. Eyess hobbies, when lost, are said almost invariably to go back to the hack place in this way. Merlins have been known to do so, though not within my own experience. But a really strong and fast hawk, in full flying order, seems often to assume almost at once the rôle of a wild one. Such a hawk, especially if fond of soaring, soon sees that there will be little difficulty in finding her own living. And she sets about it without any particular influence to guide her, starting in whatever direction chance may decide, and shifting her ground as capriciously as it is possible to imagine. When Tagrag, already mentioned, was out, he would be reported one night in a certain plantation, and early the next morning would be seen three or four miles off on the opposite side of the small village where he ought to have been housed, and where his brothers were (or ought to have been) lamenting his absence from the screen-perch.

Farm-houses and all habitations near the spot where a hawk was lost should be visited without delay. Not only are they generally frequented by either pigeons or fowls, towards which a stray peregrine or goshawk may well cast a hungry glance, but their shelter is always a tempting haven for any wandering house-pigeon which may have been chased and bested in the air. As the falconer proceeds from place to place, swinging his lure and calling or whistling, if it is his custom to use such means of bringing up his hawk, he should note the behaviour of the rooks and other birds within sight The presence of any hawk, especially if carrying a bell, causes some excitement amongst the feathered world. The unwarlike wanderers of the air, when an armed cruiser comes in sight, exhibit some such signs of panic as might be expected of a fleet of merchantmen if a hostile battleship were viewed in the offing. The symptoms most remarkable are generally those observed in a flight of rooks, which often begins to whirl about in the air, as if it were composed of escaped lunatics, shooting up and wheeling suddenly in unexpected directions, filling the air at the same time with discordant croaks and screams, and with big black specks, which hurl themselves about as if driven by impulses which they themselves cannot understand or control. But many other birds, by their strange movements and queer attitudes, will betray the near presence of a hawk to whose visits they are unaccustomed. When a hawk has killed anything, and is pluming or eating it, crows, magpies, and jays have a way of sitting on the top of a neighbouring tree, craning their necks, and peering down with a morbid curiosity as they watch an operation of which they strongly disapprove.

Rooks, starlings, and small birds are all fond of mobbing a strange hawk when they think they can do it with impunity, and swallows occasionally indulge in the same rather adventurous amusement. It is therefore often worth while to make a détour and investigate, whenever any bird seems to be engaged in eccentric and unusual movements. Of the thousand and one causes which may have given rise to such vagaries, only the most practised eye can determine which are likely to be connected with the appearance of the lost hawk, and which are not. The safest plan is to go up and make sure that the commotion is not to be explained in this way. Of course when a hawk has been in the habit of flying any particular quarry, a disturbance amongst birds of that species is more likely to arise from her presence than in other cases. But most peregrines, when they are at large, are fond of taking occasional shots at lapwings, though very seldom with success. Merlins, though they are most partial to skylarks, will make stoops at any bird which they suppose they can tackle, from a wood-pigeon to a wren; and the short-winged hawks are, of course, almost always ready for any bloodthirsty adventure.

Fortunately stray hawks, at least of the long-winged kinds, do not usually betake themselves to thick places where they cannot easily be seen. In open countries, where alone they should be flown, there is no great choice for them of convenient perching-places. Probably the most likely of all stations for them to take up are the tops of ricks; and here a peregrine, or even a merlin, can be distinguished at a great distance by a pair of good field-glasses. As a rule, the best hawks like the highest perches, where they can command, as from a watch-tower, the farthest view of the country over which they hope for a chance flight. A hawk which takes perch on low railings or on the ground is not usually much of a performer. Some of these are very fond of perching on fallow-fields, where it is almost impossible for an unpractised eye to distinguish their plumage against the colour of the ground. A knowledge of their ways will make the falconer aware that in such a field, however apparently flat, there will be either mounds or small peaks and projections of earth where clods have been unevenly turned up, which a hawk is sure to choose as a resting-place in preference to the surrounding ground for some distance on every side. The predilections of each of his hawks for particular kinds of perching-places will generally have been noted to some extent by the falconer, who will naturally look for each of them on the sort of stand which he knows that she most often prefers. Trees, while still leafy, are some of the worst places in which to have to search, and of course they are very common resorts. A lost hawk may be watching her pursuers as unseen as King Charles in the oak, and not deigning to come down to the most enticing dead lure, until, having cast, she feels an inclination to do so.

When a lost hawk is not recovered early in the morning a very good plan is to fly another, either at the lure or at some quarry, in the neighbourhood of the place where the loss occurred, or where you have ascertained that the truant was last seen. And the higher the decoy hawk can be induced to go the more chance will there naturally be that the other may come up and join her. Whenever one hawk is on the wing for any length of time, there is a good chance that every other hawk within about a mile will catch sight of her, and not a bad chance that the other may come up. In case of a high ringing flight, wild hawks will come up from much farther than a mile. And lost hawks will, of course, come and fraternise much more readily, especially if the stable-companion flown as a decoy happens to have been a comrade at hack or in some double flights. They will, however, do so quickly enough without any special inducement at all. A friend of mine brought a hawk, newly trained, from a distance to Salisbury Plain. She was lost in a very long flight before she had passed a single night in the house to which she was being taken, and was not even seen by her owner for two or three whole days. One morning I was exercising a hawk which the lost one had never seen, and suddenly there were two hawks stooping to the lure instead of one. I had never seen the wanderer, but understood at once what had occurred, and tried to so arrange that the lure should be struck by the new-comer. Either by accident or design she failed two or three times in succession to do this, and I was obliged to take down my own hawk and carry her in, and bring out a live lure for the other, upon which she was quickly taken up. Both Tagrag, which had been out a week, and a merlin, which had been out for nine days, were brought up from the unknown hack ground to join in a ringing flight by another hawk, and recaptured in the same way.

A trained hawk will sometimes be taken off by wild ones, with which she will go soaring and otherwise amusing herself for a while. But the good-fellowship between them does not usually last long. In the open places where long-winged hawks are flown there are often a good many wild hawks about—peregrines, merlins, and occasionally even hobbies, besides the ubiquitous kestrel, with which the higher quality hawks disdain to associate. But each wild hawk, or at least each pair or family of wild hawks, seems to have its own appointed beat, and resents the intrusion into it of a stranger. Everyone knows that birds will frequently attack any interloper which comes with any intention of staying and quartering itself in the country already appropriated by its own denizens. Now the wild hawks, though they will often attack a trained one as soon as they have set eyes upon her, yet will also often go playing with her as long as their idea is that she is merely a visitor, and will not permanently poach on their preserves. It is when they find that the new-comer is really intending to take up her abode in the neighbourhood, and appropriate her share of the booty, which they looked upon as reserved for themselves, that they begin to really make it so hot for her that she is fain to get on into a less-favoured district which has not been already effectively occupied. Thus the copse haunted by a couple of young peregrines, or the down quartered by a wild merlin every day, is not the best place to look for a trained bird of the same species which has been lost for more than twenty-four hours, although during the first period the tame and the wild bird may be seen stooping at one another or racing together in a most amicable style. If you have seen them together one day, and been unable to get down your own hawk, you will do well to seek her afterwards not on the same ground, but in a different, though not very distant, district.

As soon as you can get well within sight of your lost hawk, the live lure may be relied upon to effect her capture, until she has been out several days—in the case of eyesses for at least a week. But I should not advise forcing it upon her notice at a time when she has a full crop, if you can defer this at all safely until she has had time to get a bit hungry again. For though she will probably take and kill the bird offered, she may, if she is not hungry, refuse to stay on it while you can secure her; whereas when she is keen after her meal you will be able to wind her up as she stands over it on any reasonably level piece of ground. The process of winding up consists in merely dragging a fine line, the end of which is affixed to the quarry or to a stone or weight, round and round the feet of a hawk which is feeding on the ground. The difficulty is to pass the line under the tail, which, of course, acts as a mild sort of shield to keep the cord off. As the falconer walks round and round his hawk with the end of the line in his hand he must wait, as the line gets to the hawk’s tail, for a favourable opportunity of pulling it under. If the hawk is fidgety and keeps disengaging her feet from the loops which have been already wound round her, it may be necessary to make many circles, and to begin the work several times all over again. But if the hawk is not frightened by any violent pulls on the line, or by unsuccessful attempts to take her up, the loops will sooner or later be so securely hitched round one or both feet that she cannot possibly escape. In the case of a hawk which has been out long, and is shy and suspicious, a long line must be used, and much care must be taken not to alarm her by jerking or tugging at it as you wind. Some hawks will, during a week’s holiday, have retained a great many of the habits and much of the tameness which a course of training has deeply instilled into them, while others will in the same space of time have developed into almost wild creatures. This method of recapture is usually the simplest and handiest, when it is found impossible to take the hawk up by hand in the ordinary way. For no preparation or paraphernalia are required except a live lure and a long coil of string. If, however, you prefer to haul about with you a bow net with its pegs and rings, and do not mind the trouble and delay of setting the net, with the bait in the proper place, that will, of course, effect your purpose in many instances very well. But it is rather an intricate business compared with the other, and one in which an unpractised hand may easily make a mistake.

Another plan which has been recommended is to fly a bagged pigeon or other quarry in a light creance, and let the lost hawk take it. Then, as she is breaking in, walk slowly in and endeavour to take her up with the hand. If she objects and tries to carry, let her go, but keep hold of her victim, which she will be obliged to drop. Then, pegging that victim down firmly to the ground, take a few feathers and stick them up in the earth on every side of the body, the tips bending inwards, but not quite touching it. Round these feathers pass the loop of a cord with a running slip-knot in it, and carry the end of the cord right away to a distance, where you can hide, or where at least your presence will not prevent the hawk from coming back. As soon as she has come back pull the string, which will tighten the noose round her legs, and, keeping it taut, run in and secure your prisoner. The plan is ingenious and sounds feasible. I cannot doubt that it has been found so. Only—what if the hawk never comes back at all? You may sit for hours, with the string ready in your hand, waiting for her to reappear, and if she does not, will you not look rather small? Often, perhaps, hawks do so reappear. But sometimes I can affirm that they do not. A lost hawk in full condition and feather will, if scared away from one quarry, not always sit disconsolate watching for a chance of getting back to it, but go off simply and kill something else. A third-rate hawk may be so overjoyed at having for once captured some live creature, and so diffident about getting another before nightfall, that she will hang about and come back to her much-prized victim. But remember that it is the best hawks which run most risk of being lost, and which one is most anxious to get back.

Some hawks seem to have a natural aptitude for feeding themselves. They will do so at hack, before their sisters and brothers have even chased anything except in fun; and when left out for a night they may be seen in the early morning careering about after their favourite quarry, or some other. When tidings are brought in as to their whereabouts, the message is either that she was “see’d on a bird,” or “very near got ’im,” or at least was “chasin’ of ’em like one o’clock.” Such hawks are easier to track, no doubt, than the dull ones which sit still by the hour together; but on the other hand, more activity is required to come up with them and disabuse them of the idea that their rôle is now merely that of a wild bird. Liberty often acts as a wonderful stimulant to a trained hawk’s energies. The same falcon which has persistently refused rooks, and can seldom score off a partridge, will perhaps after twenty-four hours’ fasting in the tree-tops bowl over with alacrity whichever of these quarries first offers her a chance, and then, having been reduced again into bondage, relapse into the same indifference, and refuse to be induced by any amount either of feeding up or starving to fly a yard after one or the other. It is extraordinary what feats a bad hawk can be made to do by the schooling of the hard mistress Necessity. There was once a lame merlin which had injured her wing badly against a wire, and could only just fly at all, and that with a clumsy wobbling action. She was turned out loose in a place where some rebellious hobbies were being hacked, on the chance of her bringing them down to participate in her meals; but finding one day that her rations were not forthcoming until much later than usual, she wandered off in search of what she could pick up for herself, and was caught by a lad about three miles away from where she had started, on a small bird which she had actually killed single-handed!

It is a good plan, when a hawk is out, and there are more searchers available than one, for one of them to stay at home a good deal, so that if news of the truant is brought from any quarter he may at once set off with his lure, and hurry straight to the spot indicated. It is vexatious after a twenty-mile walk to find on returning that if you had saved your trouble and sat quietly at home you would probably have been by now in possession of your fugitive. The labourers and other people who are likely to catch sight of a lost hawk should be warned not to attempt to catch it,—which is a feat that yokels have an almost insuperable desire to undertake,—but to come at once and bring word to the owner or his falconer. Rewards should be offered and paid for any such information which results in the recapture, but not otherwise, unless there is corroborative evidence as to the facts reported; for otherwise the too generous falconer may find that whenever one of his hawks is lost several King Richards are reported in the field at the same time, though not at the same place.

After a hawk has been recaptured, it behoves the captor to consider what sort of preparation, if any, is required before she is flown again. Much will depend, of course, upon the character of the individual. A case has been very recently mentioned in print, where a falcon lost in a flight at rooks in the spring was only recaptured in autumn, after more than twenty weeks’ liberty, and yet was then nearly as tame as when his holiday began. On the other hand, I have known a hawk in one week become so wild and shy that the manning of him and making him to the lure took nearly as long as if he had just been caught on the passage. A day, or even two, naturally has little enough effect in nullifying in an eyess the lessons which she began in early life. Two or three days' flying at the lure, and a slight reduction in the quantity and quality of her repasts, will generally make her obedient and reliable enough. But with a passage hawk it is quite a different story. Often you will have to hark back to some of the practical arguments which you used before, when she was being laboriously converted from a wild into a tame creature. Washed meat may have to be put in requisition, and when the moment does come to put her on the wing again in the field, great endeavours should be made to give her a good start at her quarry, so that she may again grow reconciled to her master’s mode of operations, and not go off to commence a fresh campaign on her own account.

Very often a hawk, especially if not a very first-class performer, comes back from an outing a good deal improved, not only in health, but in flying powers. Occasionally, however, I have known it to turn out otherwise. The danger is with some hawks that while they are out they may learn to run cunning. This abominable vice is, I think, rare in hawks, especially in young ones. But I have known it in a jack-merlin—not of my own training—as early as in August; and it developed itself very badly in another jack which I lost for three days in September, and which before he was left out had shown no signs of it. The line adopted by the offender is to fly lazily after the quarry, waiting for it to put in, when he marks the place, and going straight to it jumps (if he can) upon the fugitive. Sometimes the offence originates in double flights, when an inferior hawk, having allowed her partner to do all or most of the work, cuts in at the finish and secures the quarry. But it is more rare in merlins than in jacks, which seem to me the most prone of any hawks to this vice. A game-hawk has, of course, little or no temptation to indulge in it, and a rook-hawk would spoil her own game by doing so, as she cannot follow into covert. The fault, when once developed, is difficult, or perhaps impossible, to entirely cure. Double flights should be entirely eschewed; and when the hawk has flown cunning and failed she may be left where she is, unlured and unfed, until later in the day, and then flown again and again until she tries harder. Wild hawks (and trained ones, if long left out) often fall into a habit of picking their flights, i.e. starting at a quarry, and, if they find it a good one, turning back and waiting for an easier chance. On the whole, therefore, if only for this reason, I am averse to leaving out a trained hawk longer than is absolutely unavoidable.

CHAPTER XVI

Accidents and Maladies

The care of a hawk’s feathers is a very important and elementary part of the falconer’s duties. If he is naturally clumsy or careless, and yet hopes to do any good in this vocation, he must be continually on his guard against a mishap. Experience and persistent watchfulness will cure him of these defects, or at least deprive them of any very bad effects. But an innate adroitness is certainly much to be desired in any youth whom it is intended to train up as a falconer. The most important of a hawk’s feathers are exactly those which are most easily broken. A single vigorous flap of the wing against any hard obstacle within reach of them may very likely knock off the end of one or two of the long flight feathers, or at least fracture the shaft where it is quite thin, so that the end below the injury has to be taken off and the feather mended. Great care must therefore be taken in carrying a hawk that no such hard substance is ever so near to her that by a sudden movement she can strike it with either wing. Narrow doorways should be avoided entirely, or never entered unless the hawk is hooded and quite quiet on the fist. When walking through a gateway or near an iron railing, stile, post, carriage, or branch of a tree, give it a wide berth. When mounting a horse with a hawk on the hand, get up on the wrong, i.e. the off, side—unless, of course, you carry your hawk habitually on the right hand, like the Indian falconers. Never wear a hat with a hard brim. It is impossible for you to be sure that at some unexpected moment a hawk, hooded or unhooded, will not by a sudden movement just touch the edge with a wing feather.

The wing feathers of the short-winged hawks are more yielding and elastic than the straighter ones of the long-winged, and will stand a greater strain. Worst of all are merlins, whose principal feathers are almost brittle, especially when the hawk is at all poor in condition. As for the tail feathers, although they are of less importance to a hawk’s flying, they require almost more care than those of the wing. In this particular, short-winged hawks, with their very long trains, are more liable to injury than the others. A very common occasion of damaging a tail feather arises while a hawk is being broken to the hood. As the attempt is made to push the hood on and over the head, the patient flinches and draws back the upper part of her body, forcing the tail strongly against the wrist of the operator, if this is in the way. Those feathers upon which the strain bears hardest are very apt to give way; and even if the awkward falconer has succeeded in getting the hood on, he finds to his chagrin that he has done so at the expense of a damaged hawk. It is of course for this reason that I have advised the tying up of the tail whilst hooding lessons are being given. In actual flights there are certain risks of injury to tail feathers, although if they are all in perfect condition these risks are less than might be supposed. The struggle which occurs on the ground between the hawk and a robust quarry which is bigger than herself severely tries these feathers, as the former is obliged to make use of them to steady herself and resist the efforts of the desperate victim to upset her or drag her along the ground. The fight between a merlin and a partridge or pigeon is of comparatively short duration, as the little hawk, having her foot tightly clenched round the neck of her captive, is sure of its death within a minute or so. But a sparrow-hawk battling with a full-grown partridge has a tough job before her, and is sometimes forced backwards on to her expanded tail, so that it may give way at any weak spot, if there is one. A goshawk which has bound to a full-grown hare, or even a big buck rabbit, has even a hotter time of it.

In double flights, when both hawks have fastened on to the same quarry, and are dragging at it in the hope of obtaining sole possession, there is also danger to the tails. I must admit that I know of no case in which mischief has been done, but it is impossible to watch such a struggle, while hastening up to interfere, without seeing that it may be fatal to some of the feathers so roughly used. The arrival of the falconer on such occasions, in the rôle of mediator, must be welcome to both hawks; and he should at once catch hold of the quarry by one wing, and, holding it tight down, proceed to the work of separating the hawks. When the quarry is a large bird, he will offer to the hawk which seems to have the least firm hold a substitute for the real quarry, and get her to devote her attention to it until the arrival of the second man, when both hawks can be taken up. If both hawks and quarry are small, the first falconer to come up may catch hold of the pelt and lift it up, hawks and all, from the ground against which the tails are being pressed and bent. Once on the fist, the danger is past; and one or other of the combatants may be handed over, with a tiring to replace the contested victim, to the next man who comes up. When double flights are the order of the day, every man who is likely to be up at the death should wear a glove and carry a spare leash, as well as a morsel of tiring for use in a possible emergency. He should also, if mounted, carry a weight and tethering rein at the side of his saddle, so that he may dismount at any time quickly and run in to the struggling hawks.

When a feather is bent, without any actual breakage of the shaft, it will come straight if dipped in very hot water, but may not improbably remain weak for some time at the place where the bend was. Very often such a bent feather will come straight when the hawk bathes; but it is just as well to apply the hot-water remedy at once, and if it does not return to its proper position, there will be little doubt that the shaft is damaged. Whenever this is the case, the broken part should be cut neatly off and the feather imped. When the breakage is not near the end, and consequently in a very thin part of the shaft, the piece removed can be put on again by imping. But if it is the tip which has gone, as is only too often the case with beginners, the owner must make up his mind either to keep and fly his hawk in that damaged condition, incurring the jibes or pity of facetious or sympathetic friends, or to undertake the rather delicate operation required for grafting a fresh feather on the remnant of the old one. Possibly the novice may be within reach of a professional falconer, or an experienced amateur, who will come to his rescue, and perform this troublesome job. If so, he should certainly attend while it is being accomplished, and carefully note the manner in which the professor sets about it. If not, he must attempt it himself, and do the best he can by the aid of his own ingenuity, and perhaps of the following directions:—

Hood the hawk, and have an operating-table ready, on which you have placed a tolerably stout but soft cushion. Get an assistant to take firm hold of the patient with both hands round the body, over which may be previously thrown a silk handkerchief to preserve the feathers. The assistant should place his hands over the hawk’s body with the palms downwards and the thumbs joined, the tips of his fingers being towards the hawk’s tail, and the wrists over her hood. Lowering them quickly and gently, and bringing the outer parts of the hands towards one another, he will get a firm grip round the upper part of the wings and the thickest part of the body, and will hold the hawk down firmly, but without unduly squeezing her, upon the cushion, her feet being pressed down underneath the body. The falconer will thus be free to operate more boldly upon the feather to which he proposes to direct his attention. The latter must have provided himself beforehand with a very sharp penknife, a small saucer of vinegar or strong brine, an imping-needle of the proper size, and a feather of the proper sort. The imping-needle should be of iron or steel, filed down lengthwise to a triangular shape and pointed at the ends. It should be in the middle about two-thirds as thick as the feather at the place of breakage. The new feather with which the damaged hawk is to be adorned must exactly match the one which it is to replace; that is to say, it must have occupied the same place in the same wing, or the same side of the tail, in a hawk of the same kind as the one now under treatment. Before commencing operations, the imping-needle to be used should be immersed in the bath of vinegar or salt water. With the forefinger and thumb of the left hand, take hold of the damaged feather just above the place of breakage, and separate it carefully from the adjacent feathers. Then with the right hand pass the blade of the penknife obliquely upwards along the web of the feather on its thinner side till the edge touches the shaft just above the place of breakage. As soon as it has done this, turn the blade so that the flat of it, instead of being inclined obliquely upwards with the edge pointing towards the stouter part of the feather, is directed downwards in a plane with the web on the broad side of the feather. Having got it into this position, make a clean cut right through the shaft so that the portion of it below the blade falls off. The next thing is to measure off on the loose new feather as much of the end as will, when fitted on to the other where it has been cut through, add to it the exact length which it originally had. The shaft of the new feather must then be cut through at exactly the same angle or inclination as the other.

Now take an ordinary needle, and stick its point a little way into the pith of that part of the old feather which has not been cut off, and afterwards into the pith of the piece of new feather which is to be grafted on, taking care that the needle goes in straight down the middle of the pith. Into the small apertures thus made, the imping-needle will be more easily passed in the proper direction than if there had been no such preliminary boring. It remains only to effect the junction of the new and old feather. Before attempting this, dip the shaft of the new piece into the vinegar, and also moisten the end of the old feather just above the place where it has been cut. Then taking the imping-needle, push one half of it into the pith of the new piece of feather, and the other half into that of the old. By this means the two will necessarily become one and the same feather. Be sure, as you push the two together, that their flat surfaces are level with one another, and not inclined at different angles. When the new end is pushed home up to the old amputated shaft, it will fit on to it, and the web on both sides will meet and form a uniform surface. Then release the hawk and replace her, still hooded, on the screen-perch, where she must be left quite quiet. It is a good plan to do the imping in the evening, so that very soon afterwards the hawk will naturally be ready to go to sleep; and if the hood is to be left on, her last meal should, of course, have been without castings. If not, the room where her perch is should be darkened. She is less likely, when in the dark or hooded, to meddle with the mended feather; and when it has been left alone for twelve hours, the needle will have begun to rust in the pith of it, and thus be firmly stuck fast at both ends.

When skilfully and neatly performed, the operation of imping not only replaces effectually the part of a feather which has become useless, but repairs the mischief so thoroughly that no trace whatever remains of any injury having ever been done to it. I have known feathers so imped that the eye could not discern the place of juncture, and it was difficult even to discover it by passing the thumb-nail down the shaft of the imped feather. The tenacity of the rusted iron keeps the needle immovably in its place; and an imped feather, if it afterwards breaks at all, will break more readily in any part of it than near the place where the juncture has been made. Of course the smaller the hawk the more difficult is the operation. Merlins are particularly troublesome, owing to their vivacity and the smallness of their feathers. It is, however, quite possible for an experienced imper to mend up one of these tiny hawks, even without an assistant to help him in holding her down.

The falconer should keep by him, in a box or drawer where they are safe from moths, a few feathers in readiness for imping the kind of hawks which he flies. When he is in the habit of moulting them he will be able to supply his needs by saving up the long feathers dropped in the moult. These should be so stowed away that it is possible to identify the year in which they were dropped; for it is not advisable to use a very old feather, as it may be brittle, and crack in pieces round the needle. A spare tail feather or two of any of the hawks which are most commonly trained may often be begged from a brother-falconer. But when a ger, saker, or one of the rarer falcons needs imping, it may be necessary to purchase a whole skin, which will entail some trouble and expense. It should be noted that there is one exception to the rule that a feather from any one kind of hawk must not be used for one of another kind. This is when the broken feather is to be imped merely for the purpose of the moult. Whenever hawks are moulting, the new feathers, as they come down, must be protected on each side by others of at least equal length to those of the natural plumage. But unless the hawk is being flown while she moults, it is immaterial whether the new feather matches the others in shape or colour. If it is long enough, and of about equal breadth, it will serve the required purpose. But every hawk before going into moult should be well set up in feathers of one kind or other, which are of a proper length and sufficient strength. A new feather, while growing down, needs more protection than any other.

If a feather is broken so high up that the shaft at the place of fracture is hollow, there are at least two ways in which it may be mended. The simplest is to slit the shaft on its under side, and then, cutting off the base of the new feather which is intended to be used, push the latter in bodily to the hollow of the old shaft. When it is far enough in, pass a small needle with strong waxed thread right through both quills, starting from below, and, winding the two ends of the thread round the quills in opposite directions, tie tightly together underneath the feather. When the feather is big enough there may be two such lashings of thread, one a little lower down than the other. A second plan, which is known as plugging, consists in first stuffing up the hollow quill, of the injured feather, above where it has been cut through, with a chunk of some feather which is not hollow, but has a solid pith. The plug thus inserted is firmly fixed in by means of some glutinous compound. When it has had time to become immovably settled in its place the imping can be done with an imping-needle in the ordinary way, the new piece of feather having been plugged also in a similar way, if necessary. If a feather should have been pulled out, base and all, it is advisable to put some solid grease into the place, to keep it from closing up and preventing the new feather from growing down.

When only the tip of a wing feather is gone it would of course be only for the sake of appearances that it would be imped. Considering that wild hawks, and some trained ones also, kill quarry while they are moulting, and have four or more of their biggest feathers wanting, or only half-grown, at the same time, it would be a bad hawk which could not fly passably because she was short of an inch square of the sail area she ought to spread. Occasionally, as for instance when you have not long to wait before the moult will begin, you may leave a hawk unimped though she is very ragged. But the worst of allowing any feather to remain with its end off is that the next feathers to it, especially in the tail, are pretty sure to go too. The strain which the tail has to bear is such as it can just resist by the collective strength of all the feathers together; but when one is unable to take its full share of the resistance, the others are unequal to the pressure, and give way. What difference in a hawk’s flying power does the loss of a whole feather or half a feather imply? It is, of course, quite impossible to say. But arguing from the analogy of pigeons, the tails of which are sometimes removed in order to increase their speed, it would seem that in mere straight-forward flying the tail is of very small assistance. I once had an eyess jack-merlin sent to me from the nest in a deplorable condition. The tail was clogged at the end with dirt, and so many of the tail feathers were bent and broken that he was at once christened “Tagrag”; and while he was at hack was regarded as unworthy of much attention. By the time he was ready to enter, his tail, which it had not been thought worth while to mend, was reduced to about half its proper length, more than an inch having been knocked off every one of the feathers. This hawk developed later on into the fastest hawk I ever saw. When he was out on his own account, as he was once for seven days together, he could be distinguished from a wild merlin less by the stumpy tail than by the headlong speed with which he flew, even when not in pursuit of anything. When engaged in a double flight he would put in about three stoops to two of the other hawk; and these were not only more quickly made, but were longer, straighter, and more telling. This hawk was an exceptionally good one. He was the brother (though senior by a year) of Queen and Jubilee, which between them killed 200 larks, in single flights, in one season. He was therefore no doubt naturally a very fast hawk; but I mention him in order to show how little difference, in his case, was made in his flying power by the loss of nearly half a tail. I have also flown merlins at the lure, when in course of being broken to the hood, with their tails tied up, and noticed how admirably they stoop and throw up, without apparently being incommoded by the temporary inability to spread out their tails.

Much more serious and alarming than the breakage of a feather is the fracture of a bone. When the hawk is a favourite, a cure is often attempted, and occasionally with success. I have known a peregrine to be shot at and brought down with a broken wing, and to recover without any treatment at all; but this was no doubt a very exceptional case. Usually any grave damage to the wing, whether by way of a sprain or a fracture, is incurable. The bones of the leg are more get-at-able, more easily set, and subjected, when set, to less strain than those of the wing. Splints and bandages should be applied (though it is very difficult to adjust a bandage to the wing) under the direction and advice, if possible, of some person who has a good practical knowledge of surgery. The hawk, after being operated upon, should be placed in a sock as described in Chapter V., and fed by the hand with strips of washed meat or light food without castings. Before the sock is put on it must be ascertained that the injured limb has been placed in the natural position; and every precaution must be taken that the patient is left undisturbed, so that it is impossible, or at least unlikely, that she should displace the setting which has been attempted.

Hawks are sometimes troubled with a weakness in the outer joint of the wing, causing the outer part of it, where the primaries are, to droop. The affection is more or less pronounced in different cases, sometimes being so severe that the wing seems to hang down powerless, as if merely hooked on loosely at the joint, and at other times merely to be a little out of place and to be carried slightly lower than the other. Occasionally the weakness is so great that the hawk cannot fly, while at other times, after perhaps wobbling a little when thrown off, the hawk, once fairly on the wing, seems to fly almost or quite as well as if there was nothing the matter. Generally a hawk which is so affected keeps hitching up the bad wing, as it were, into its proper place, only to find it droop again in a few minutes into its old position. The old writers, who were well acquainted with the symptoms, say that the injury is one which must have arisen from a blow received by the hawk; but I have known it come on suddenly at a time when the sufferer could hardly have come by such an accident without its being observed. The following is a prescription given by Turbervile for curing the malady:—“Master Cassian (a Greek falconer of Rhodes) sayeth that yee must take Sage, Myntes, and Pelamountaine, and boyle them all togyther in a new earthen pot full of good wyne, and when they bee well sodden, take the potte and set it uppon hotte imbers as close stopped as maye bee. Then make a rounde hole of the bygnesse of an Apple in the clothe that your potte is stopped withal for the steam to issue out at. Which done, take your Hawke upon your fiste and holde out hir hurte wing handsomely a great whyle over the hole, that it may take the fume whiche steameth up out of the potte. Afterwarde lette hir be well dryed by keeping hir warme by the fire, for if she should catche sodaine cold upon it, it would becomme woorse than it was before. Use her thus twyce a daye for three or foure dayes togyther, and shee shall bee recovered.”

The beak and nares of a hawk should be kept clean, and a good falconer will, after she has finished her meal, wipe off any remnants of food or blood which may remain attached to the upper mandible. Unless this is done—sometimes, indeed, in spite of its being done—the nostrils and upper parts of the cere, where the feathers begin, may become infested with acari, or mites, which, unless destroyed, will eat into the horn and the flesh and cause great annoyance, if not actual sores and inflamed ulcers. Hawks which are in low condition are particularly subject to this pest; but at all times a sharp look-out should be kept, so as to detect the presence of the minute parasites, which may be seen running about somewhere near the nostrils. Fortunately it is easy to get rid of them. A solution of tobacco soaked in water should be made, and mixed with brandy or some strong spirit, and then applied with a small brush to the parts visited by the parasites. After a few applications they will be found to have disappeared.

Hawks will often get corns on their feet if allowed to stand constantly on hard blocks or perches. It is strange enough that there should be found any falconers who have so little thought for the comfort of their charges that they will use such resting-places. The screen-perch, at all events, which is kept permanently indoors, should have a padding of some kind—cloth, baize, or soft leather—underneath the canvas or sacking upon which the hawk has to stand. One of the cruellest of all the cruel things done in zoological gardens is the neglect to pad the miserable perches provided for the birds of prey, which are usually in consequence seen to have their feet adorned plentifully with corns and deformities. What with bad food, bad resting-places, and defective bathing accommodation, these poor captives are usually types of what the falconer should wish that his hawks may not become.

Of actual illnesses trained hawks undoubtedly have their full share. The old books devote many lengthy chapters to the description of these disorders, and of the remedies recommended for them. How far the elaborate concoctions prescribed by mediæval quacks and used, as it is to be presumed, by their very credulous customers, were efficacious in curing the evils for which they were prescribed, it is not easy to say. For in modern times we do not put much faith in nostrums of any such kind. But as the ancients certainly killed with their hawks several species of quarry which we hardly attempt in these days, it may not unreasonably be supposed that some of their medicines were at least useful in stimulating the energies of their patients, and inspiring them with a sort of artificial courage such as the Asiatic falconers still impart by the use of sal ammoniac and other powerful drugs. It is, I think, more than probable that the hobby, which has not for a long time past been successfully trained, was brought by physicking into such condition that she would fly keenly and well, and deserved the praises which some of the old writers lavish upon her. In the palmy days of falconry it was not only when a hawk was actually ill that physic was given. If she did not acquit herself in the field with all the credit expected by her trainer, he dosed her almost as a matter of course. Remedies of a more or less fanciful kind were supposed to exist for almost every failing which hawk-flesh is heir to; and the medicine-cupboard of a falconer who professed to know anything about physicking his charges must have contained as many herbs, spices, powders, decoctions, and tinctures as would stock a small druggist’s shop. As far as I know, no modern falconer has had the patience or temerity to test the value of these multifarious pills and potions.

The state of health of a hawk may be ascertained by various signs, more or less infallible. Mutes, castings, and the general demeanour furnish the most obvious symptoms; but the books, which bestow a vast amount of attention upon the two former, are much too silent as to the latter and more subtle indication of an incipient malady. The falconer should always observe the colour of every hawk’s mutes. If she is kept for any long time at a stretch upon a screen-perch under which the sawdust or sand is so thickly strewn as to absorb them altogether, a piece of paper must be placed occasionally under the perch, which will enable him to make the necessary inspection. And at the first appearance of anything wrong the proper remedy should be applied. The mutes of a hawk in good health should be of an almost uniform bright white colour, and of the consistency of the whiting with which a lawn-tennis ground is usually marked out. If there are specks of black in them there is no cause for alarm, but these should not be abundant or large in size. If any other colour is to be seen there is something amiss; and if the mutes are either watery or too thick the hawk is not in proper health. The sooner these symptoms are detected and the right steps taken the easier will be the cure; and in most cases a diet of freshly-killed birds given in moderation twice a day will set matters right without any resort to strong measures. If, however, the discoloration is great, and appears suddenly, a dose should be at once given before the sufferer loses her appetite and becomes unable to retain food or anything else in her crop.

Castings are easily found under the perch or round the block, though when hawks are tied very near to one another on the same screen-perch it is sometimes difficult enough to know which of them has thrown a casting which is picked up between her and her neighbour. The appearance of them should always be noticed before they are thrown away. They should be more or less egg-shaped and compact, with no great amount of oily matter adhering to the outside. The colour should be rather darker than that of the feathers, fur, wool, or whatever else has been taken to form the casting; and if it is not so, it is a sign that the crop is foul. A hawk in good health should also cast within a reasonable time after the casting has been swallowed; and otherwise you may suspect that the gorge is clogged. A hawk which has been fed late even in a summer evening should throw up her casting before eight at latest on the following morning. When a hawk is slow at casting, she should be carried a bit, and will then often cast on the fist, or immediately upon being put off it on to the block. A wild merlin will often eat the whole of a small bird between 8 and 9 a.m., put it over by about 2 p.m., cast, and then begin to look out for the evening meal.

A trained hawk may cast well and have fairly good mutes, and yet be all the better for a small dose. If she has a dull eye and stands stolidly on her block without taking notice of passing birds; if she eats without zest, or flies without animation; if, when standing on the fist, she takes a weak grip with her feet, or puffs out her feathers without cause, or folds her wings loosely together, she may indeed be healthy enough to get a doctor’s certificate, but she is not in the sort of fettle to do herself justice in the field. In such case do not, like some falconers who ought to know better, begin calling the hawk names, and neglect her, while bestowing extra attention upon one which exhibits more aptitude. Remember that in the wild state there is no such thing as a bad hawk. All find their living, even in the worst weather, and find it although continually plagued and thwarted by the knowledge that if they go within gunshot of a man they will probably be murdered. Cannot a trained hawk, well housed and regularly fed, and freed from the constant fear of gun and trap, be made as fast and as clever even as the worst of her wild brethren? Falconers must be a long way behind the professors of other arts and crafts if they cannot make their trained pets at least nearly as good as the wild and untrained. There is perhaps more delight in flying a hawk which is never out of sorts and always naturally ready to do her best. But it is more creditable to the trainer, and a greater test of his skill, if he can impart excellence where he found little sign of it, and in short make a bad hawk fly well. The Indian native falconers—from whom, by the way, we have a lot to learn—habitually fly some of their favourite hawks, such as the saker, under the stimulus of strong drugs; and there can be no doubt that many hawks of all species are bettered by frequent dosing, just as a Chinaman by opium, and certain literary celebrities by absinthe. In some cases these doses supply more or less effectually the lack of exercise from which a trained hawk suffers, and in other cases possibly they act as an antidote to the feeling of annoyance and discontent arising from captivity and confinement.

As to the particular remedy to be applied when a bird is thus out of sorts without being absolutely ill, I fear the reader must be referred to one of the old text-books, and not alarmed by quotations at length from their well-garnished pages. The mischief proceeds, of course, either from excessive cold or excessive heat in the system, which will require consequently either heating or cooling medicine. For the former purpose, spices and peppers will be preferred, with fatty substances, such as oil or bacon; while for the latter, purgatives may be used, and meat washed in the juice of certain vegetable products, such as endive, cucumber, or melon. If the malady is so strong as to amount to fever, the hawk’s feet may be bathed with water distilled from lettuce, plantain, or nightshade, or the juice of henbane. If, however, the earliest symptoms are noted, it will generally serve all purposes to give hot feeds, i.e. birds just killed, in the case of cold, and washed meat in the case of too great heat. Those who are not content to wait for such symptoms, but prefer a prophylactic treatment, may perhaps be satisfied with the following prescription: “If you intend to keepe and maintayne your Falcons and all other Hawkes in health, take Germander, Pelamountayne, Basill, Grimel-sede, and Broome flowers, of each of them halfe an ownce; of Isop, of Saxifrage, of Polipodic, and of Horse-mintes, of each of them a quarter of an ownce; of Nutmegges, a quarter of an ownce; of Cucubes, Borage, Mummy, Mogemort, Sage, of the four kinds of Mirobolans, Indorum, Kabulorum, Beliricorum, and Embelicorum, of each of them halfe an ownce; of Saffron, an ownce; and of Aloes Cicotrine, the fifth part of an ownce. All these things confect to a powder, and at every eygth day, or at every twelfth day, give your Hawkes (the big ones, that is) the quantitie of a beane of it with their meate. And if they will not take it so, put it in a Henne’s gutte, tied at both ends, or else after some other meanes, so as ye cause them to receive it downe; and lette them stand emptie one houre after.” A more simple preventive medicine is Aloes Cicotrine alone, given every eighteen days as an emetic, just after the hawk has cast, and followed in two hours’ time by a warm meal.

Coming now to specific maladies, the commonest and not the least dangerous of the complaints to which trained hawks are subject is the “croaks” or “kecks,” an affection of the throat akin to what is called bronchitis in the human patient. Its existence is betrayed by a wheezing or hoarseness, noticeable as the hawk breathes. In slight cases the sound is scarcely audible, and only very occasionally; but when the attack is a bad one, the breath is impeded, and the invalid appears to be suffering from a sort of asthma. These severe attacks sometimes come on suddenly in bad weather, and generally prove fatal; but the milder attacks, if attended to in time, may often be mastered and vanish permanently. The cause is usually the same as that which would in men induce a cold in the head or throat,—a chill caused by sudden changes of temperature, excessive cold, or, most frequently of all, excessive damp. The remedy is to put the sufferer in a warm and dry place, and to give the most palatable and nourishing food in moderate quantities at reasonably short intervals, with a peppercorn or mustard-seed now and then. Freshly-killed birds are the best diet; but if sheep’s heart or butcher’s meat is given, it should be first warmed a little. The hawk should not be left out of doors after midday, or in a place exposed to the wind. Strangely enough, gers, whose habitat is in more northern latitudes than any other hawks, are the most susceptible of all to this malady; and special care should be taken, therefore, that they are not allowed to be in damp or draughty places.

Cramp is a terrible disorder, also caused by damp or cold. It is specially apt to attack the short-winged hawks, and is, I believe, always fatal. Eyess sparrow-hawks taken too early from the nest are pretty sure to develop it when there is no maternal wing to cover them at night. Possibly by keeping them in an artificial nest in a warm place the mischief might be averted; but the slightest chill seems to bring it on, and when once it takes hold of the feet and legs it appears to paralyse and permanently disable them. Beginning with a mere stiffness in the joints, it increases in malignity until the sufferer loses the use of one or more limbs, and then often paralyses the muscles of the back. When the very first symptoms of anything like stiffness appear in a goshawk or sparrow-hawk, no matter of what age, she should be taken at once into quite a warm place, and the affected limb fomented with hot water and embrocations. Unless these remedies speedily give relief the most humane thing to do is to put the hawk out of her misery at once. In this matter not only is prevention better than cure, it is the only means known of combating the dreaded disease.

Ague, or a low fever nearly resembling it, attacks hawks much in the same way as human beings. There are shivering fits and alternations of hot and cold, which may be discovered by feeling the body with the hand. The cause is often exposure to cold after becoming heated by flying or standing in the sun, or confinement in a draughty or cold place. The sufferer droops her wings, and looks miserable generally. She should be put in a sheltered place, rather warm than cold, and fed often, sparingly, on the best light food that is to be had. When the hot or cold fit is on she should be left as quiet as possible, but when it goes off she should be carried, and even flown a little, if she will; and she should by no means be left alone in any dismal place without company. When her attention is occupied she will have less inclination to mope or give way to the malady, and is much more likely to improve. If the affection is obstinate and the hot fits frequent, about two scruples of rhubarb may be given (for a falcon) in a casting of cotton wool, followed after two or three hours by a moderate meal of something freshly killed and light. If, however, the shivering fits predominate, or the hawk has become low in condition and has a poor appetite, the dose must be administered with caution and in moderation, and the patient should be coaxed and induced to take as much as she will, up to half a crop, of some heating food, such as freshly-killed sparrows, which are best of all, pigeons, or, in case of a goshawk, young rats; and if at a subsequent meal a sheep’s heart is given (which such hawks can very easily pick at) it may be washed in wine in which has been boiled sage, mint, cinnamon, cloves, or some such aromatic herb. In all cases the invalid must be petted and made much of until she has regained her robust health and appetite.

Apoplexy is no doubt the disorder most commonly fatal to trained hawks of the short-winged varieties. It was called by the ancients the falling evil, and it has carried off quite suddenly many a first-rate goshawk almost without any warning at all. And it is probably more to be feared in these days when the use of washed meat has been so generally abandoned. The cause of this effusion of blood on the brain is over-fulness of body or an accumulation of internal fat; and in order to guard against it care should be taken to avoid overfeeding a hawk with strong, heating, or fattening viands. Merlins are also very subject to apoplexy when short of exercise, and peregrines are by no means exempt from it. When any hawk is fat or full-blooded, any exposure to a hot sun, or any violent or unaccustomed exercise, or bating off and hanging head downwards, may cause a determination of blood to the brain; and death will follow without the chance of even attempting a cure. It is well, therefore, especially when any hawk is not taking daily exercise, and plenty of it, not only to avoid overfeeding, but also from time to time to give a purge and an emetic. One of the simplest prescriptions is lard or butter, well washed, and then steeped in rose-water, and given with a little powdered sugar.

Apostume of the head is called by Turbervile a “monstrous accident,” and a “very grievous evil,” and said by him to be infectious. “It is discerned by y^e swelling of y^e hawke’s eyes, by the moysture which sundrie tymes issueth and distilleth from the eares, and often eake by evyll savoure and smell of the apostume.” The invalid is inert, and cares little for her food, and will not pull at her tirings. The remedies he recommends are exceptionally commonplace. First, butter, well washed in rose-water, with honey of roses and powdered sugar. Then afterwards, for the relief of her poor head, rue, 4 grains; Aloes Epatie, 2 drams; saffron, 1 scruple, to be finely powdered and made into a pill with honey of roses. If the ear is stopped up, clear it with lint on a silver bodkin or needle, and, having infused warm oil of sweet almonds, stop it with another piece of lint. Which failing of success, he gives directions for cauterising, for which the original, or some surgeon, should be consulted.

Another sort of swelling in the head which affects the nares as well as the eyes, and is nothing else but a catarrh, may, it seems, often be cured by a pill made of agaric, 2 scruples; cinnamon, 1; liquorice, 1, powdered and mixed with honey of roses. The sufferer should be made to sneeze by giving her—not snuff, as one might expect, but pepper, cloves, and mustard-seed, powdered, and blown into the nares through a quill, or rubbed on to the nares and palate. After these, or indeed any doses have been administered, it is well to carry the hawk on the fist till they have taken effect.

For suffusion of the eye a purge of aloes or agaric is recommended, and local treatment by blowing the powder of aloes and sugar-candy into the eye.

Frounce is a malady which will pronounce itself sometimes without much apparent cause. The mucous membrane of the mouth and throat is inflamed, and the tongue swelled and coated with a brownish white matter. This coating should be scraped off with a quill or silver knife, and the mouth dressed with burnt alum and vinegar, or a weak solution of nitrate of silver. The dressing may be done with a piece of lint on a small stick. Another lotion is made by taking the leaves of woodbine, with sage, honey, and alum, and seething them till the leaves are quite soft, and straining the decoction through a cloth.

Inflammation of the crop may be the result of bad food or neglect to give proper castings. The first signs of it will be in the castings themselves, which may be discoloured or misshapen, and sometimes charged with undigested food. In aggravated cases the mutes may be reddish, and the hawk may often throw up her food, and be unable to keep anything down. A purge and an emetic should be given before this stage is reached; and great care must be taken not to overload the crop, or to give anything which will nauseate the hawk. If the malady has been neglected, it becomes dangerous and very difficult to cure. The hawk wastes away, and it may be a long time before you are able to restore her strength—if you pull her through at all.

Pantas is an old name given to a malady of the liver, when it becomes hot and dried up. The hawk is costive, and opens her beak often, as if gasping for more air. The mutes are blackish, thick, and scanty. Amongst numerous remedies in vogue are olive oil, oil of sweet almonds, and sugar-candy, with butter or lard, washed in rose-water. Of course no heating food should be given, such as sparrows, rats, or old pigeons. Powdered cloves and cubebes may be given in a casting every three or four days. The liver is almost as apt to get out of order in trained hawks as it is in untrained men. Green mutes, as well as black ones, betray the mischief, and warn the falconer. A purgative, such as those last mentioned, will be the first remedy; but it must be followed by great care in the subsequent feeding. A more fanciful remedy consists of snails steeped in asses' milk, and used as a washing for sheep’s heart, which is soaked in it.

Megrim, or palsy, is denoted by a shaking of the hawk’s head. Pepper, aloes, and cloves may be given, with a little washed lard.

When a hawk is troubled with worms she is fidgety, and has startings and twitchings of the body, and falls away in condition. Mustard-seed, aloes, and agaric are prescribed, and cayenne pepper may be given with her food. Filanders are a sort of worm more difficult to suspect, and more difficult to get rid of. One remedy is garlic, long steeped in oil; and if this fails, iron filings, with oil of bitter almonds, may be tried.

Hawks, if kept clean and frequently encouraged to bathe, are not much troubled with parasites. Young merlins from the nest are often infected with a flying tick, which does them no particular harm, and usually disappears when the little hawks begin to bathe. The way to get rid of them is to paint the body with a decoction of tobacco mixed with brandy. This is also the remedy for lice, which peregrines will sometimes get from a rook which they have killed. The same wash is to be applied to the nares and forehead of a hawk when troubled with mites. These very minute insects—otherwise called acarus or formica—sometimes establish themselves in and near the nostrils, and may be seen running about rapidly over the beak. They cause great annoyance, and if not put an end to will eat into the horn of the beak, and cause inflammation and other serious mischief. They dislike, however, the tobacco wash, and cannot keep their ground against it.

Corns and swelled feet are the result almost invariably of standing on hard and unpadded blocks or perches. They are, of course, both painful and also highly detrimental to the efficiency of a hawk, whose feet as a weapon of attack are only second in importance to her wings. The corn must be cut out, or the inflamed swelling lanced, and the foot must be bathed with some lotion, such as white of egg, vinegar, and rose-water, or with tincture of iodine. A very well-padded perch must be used afterwards, and a fortifying lotion frequently applied. Inflammation is sometimes set up by the prick of a thorn, when a hawk has trod upon a bramble, or grasped it when making a grab at a quarry which has put into a hedge. The worst form of corn is called “pin,” and is pointed like a nail. Lancing and lotions may cure it; but it is an obstinate complaint, often incurable; and the various unguents prescribed by ancient authors seem none of them to have been used with any great success.

When a claw or talon is broken by any accident, the falconer is advised to apply to it a plaster made of the gallbladder of a fowl, and to fit a sort of collar round the hawk’s neck to act as a guard, so that she cannot touch the place with her beak. The same thing may be done when a hawk has a wound or sore on the foot, and keeps picking at it, a practice not uncommon with merlins, which will actually eat away their own feet.

The blain is a watery vesicle in the second joint of the wing. It should be lanced, and the hawk kept quiet until the wing is strong again.

For a “snurt,” or cold in the head, Bert recommends the root of wild primrose dried in an oven and powdered. The powder is to be blown into the nares of the hawk. Or the leaves of the wild primrose may be distilled, and the nares bathed with the juice.

Craye is a stoppage in the “tewel,” or lower bowel. It is said that the meat should be washed in distilled haws, or a decoction of primprivet, or drawn through milk warm from the cow.

Rye is a swelling in the head, which is said to be produced by keeping the hawk without hot meat, and is cured in the way which may be conjectured.

Prynne is a malady of the eyes, for which it is recommended to bathe them with the juice of daisy leaves, or a decoction of powdered egg-shell, yolk of hard-boiled egg, and a quarter as much rock alum.

For a bruise Bert advises clarified honey, boiled with half as much stone pitch.

Some old writers declare that a hawk’s appetite may be improved by steeping her meat in claret and the yolk of an egg; that when she is slow at casting, or in digesting her food, she should have a mustard-seed made up with honey into a pill. In such cases she should certainly have plenty of tirings; and fresh water should be kept within her reach, so that she may sip it at any time if so inclined. Sweet things are good for a goshawk, which is something of a sweet-tooth. A good scouring for a sparrow-hawk is pounded sugar-candy and butter mixed with beef. Sugar-candy and olive oil are both good purgatives for getting rid of the internal fat or grease. For giving a tone to the stomach, cloves, nutmeg, and ginger are beneficial. And the most celebrated of all ingredients for compounding hawk medicines is “mummy.” One very distinguished modern falconer, having read in the ancient books endless references to this medicament, wrote to another equally distinguished authority to ask, “What is mummy?” The answer, which is too good not to be repeated here, was, “Mummy is mummy.” That is perhaps as much as the greatest Egyptologist can say!