  OVER the vast expanse of those silent solitudes, the corn-growing steppes of Spain—all but abandoned by human denizens—this grandest and most majestic of European game-birds forms the chief ornament. When the sprouting grain grows green in spring, stretching from horizon to horizon, you may form his acquaintance to best advantage. And among the things of sport are few more attractive scenes than a band of great bustards at rest. Bring your field-glass to bear on the gathering which you see yonder, basking in the sunshine in full enjoyment of their mid-day siesta. There are five-and-twenty of them, and immense they look against the green background of corn that covers the landscape—well may a stranger mistake the birds for deer or goats. Many sit turkey-fashion, with heads half sunk among back-feathers; others stand in drowsy yet ever-suspicious attitudes, their broad backs resplendent with those mottled hues of true game-colour, their lavender necks and well-poised heads contrasting with the snowy whiteness of the lower plumage. THE GREAT BUSTARD Another charming spectacle it is in the summer-time to watch a pack of bustard about sunset, all busy with their evening feed among the grasshoppers on a thistle-clad plain. They are working against time, for it will soon be too dark to catch such lively prey. With quick darting step they run to and fro, picking up one grasshopper after another with unerring aim, and so intent on pursuit that the best chance of the day is then offered to a gunner, when greed for a moment supplants caution and vigilance is relaxed. But even now a man on foot stands no chance of coming anywhere near them. His approach is observed from afar, all heads are up above the thistles, every eye intent on the intruder; a moment or two of doubt, two quick steps and a spring, and the broad wings of every bird in the pack flap in slowly rising motion. The tardiness and apparent difficulty in rising from the ground which bustards exhibit is well expressed in their Spanish name Avetarda The chase of the great bustard presents characteristics and attractions peculiar to itself and differing from that of all other winged game. Rather it resembles the scientific pursuit of big game; for this is a sport in which the actual shot becomes of secondary importance, merely a culminating incident—the consummation of previous forethought, fieldcraft, and generalship. Success in bustard-shooting—alike with success in stalking—is usually attributable to the leader, who has planned the operation and directed the strategy, rather than to the man who may have actually killed the game. We here refer exclusively to what we may be permitted to call the scientific aspect of this chase, as practised by ourselves and as distinguished from other (and far more deadly) methods in vogue among the Spanish herdsmen and peasantry. Before describing the former system, let us glance at native methods of securing the great bustard. During the greater part of the year bustard are far too wary to be obtained by the farm-hands and shepherds who see them every day—so accustomed are the peasantry to the sight of these noble birds that little or no notice is taken of them and their pursuit regarded as impracticable. There is, however, one period of the year when the great bustard falls an easy prey to the clumsiest of gunners. During the long Andalucian summer a torrid sun has drunk up every brook and stream that crosses the cultivated lands; the chinky, cracked mud, which in winter formed the bed of shallow lakes and lagoons, now yields no drop of moisture for bird or beast. The larger rivers still carry their waters from sierra to sea, but an adaptive genius is required to utilise these for purposes of irrigation. All water required for the cattle is drawn up from wells; the old-world lever with its bucket at one end and counterpoise at the other has to provide for the needs of all. These wells are distributed all over the plains. As the herdsmen put the primitive contrivance into operation and swing up bucketful after bucketful of cool water, the cattle crowd around, impatient to receive it as it rushes down the stone troughing. The thirsty These moist places are a fatal trap to the bustard. Before dawn one of the farm-people will conceal himself so as to command at short range all points of the miniature swamp. A slight hollow is dug for the purpose, having clods arranged around, between which the gun can be levelled with murderous accuracy. As day begins to dawn, the bustard will take a flight in the direction of the well, alighting at a point some few hundred yards distant. They satisfy themselves that no enemy is about, and then, with cautious, stately step, make for their morning draught. One big bird steps on ahead of the rest; and as he cautiously draws near, he stops now and again to assure himself that all is right and that his companions are coming too—these are not in a compact body, but following at intervals of a few yards. The leader has reached the spot where he drank yesterday; now he finds he must go a little nearer to the well, as the streamlet has been diverted; another bird follows close; both lower their heads to drink; the gunner has them in line—at twenty paces there is no escape; the trigger is pressed, and two magnificent bustards are done to death. Should the man be provided with a second barrel (which is not usual), a third victim may be added to his morning’s spoils. Comparatively large numbers of bustard are destroyed thus every summer. It is deadly work and certain. Luckily, however, the plan enjoys but a single success, since bands, once shot at, never return. A second primitive method of capturing the great bustard is practised in winter. The increased value of game during the colder months induces the bird-catchers, who then supply the markets with myriads of ground-larks, linnets, buntings, etc., occasionally to direct their skill towards the capture of bustard by the same means as prove efficacious with the small fry—that is, the cencerro, or cattle-bell, combined with a dark lantern. As most cattle carry the cencerro around their necks, the sound of the bell at close quarters by night causes no alarm to ground-birds. The bird-catcher, with his bright lantern gleaming before its reflector and the cattle-bell jingling at his wrist, prowls nightly around the stubbles and wastes in search of roosting birds. When the bustard is the object of pursuit, two men are required, one of whom carries a gun. The pack of bustard will be carefully watched during the afternoon, and not lost sight of when night comes until their sleeping-quarters are ascertained. When quite dark, the tinkling of the cencerro will be heard, and a ray of light will surround the devoted bustards, charming or frightening them—whichever it may be—into still life. As the familiar sound of the cattle-bell becomes louder and nearer, the ray of light brighter and brighter, and the surrounding darkness more intense, the bustards are too charmed or too dazed to fly. Then comes the report, and a charge of heavy shot works havoc among them. As bands of bustards are numerous, this poaching plan might be carried out night after night; but luckily the bustards will not stand the same experience twice. On a second attempt being made, they are off as soon as they see the light approaching. CALANDRA LARK A large and handsome species characteristic of the corn-lands. The third (and by far the most murderous) means of destruction is due, not so much to rural peasantry as to cazadores—shooters from adjoining towns—men who should know better, and whom, in other respects, we might rank as good sportsmen; but who, alas! can see no shame in shooting the hen-bustards with their half-fledged broods in the standing corn during June and July—albeit the deed is done in direct contravention of the game-laws! Dogs, More bustards are killed thus than by all the other methods combined—a hundred times more than by our scientific and sportsmanlike system of driving presently to be described. Except for this unworthy massacre of mothers with their broods in summer, and the two clumsy artifices before mentioned, the bustards are left practically unmolested—their wildness and the open nature of their haunts defy all the strategy of native fowlers. The hen-bustard deposits her eggs—usually three, but on very rare occasions four—among the green April corn; incubation and the rearing of the young take place in the security of vast silent stretches of waving wheat. The young bustards grow with that wheat, and, ere it is reaped (unless prematurely massacred), are able to take care of themselves. A somewhat more legitimate method of outwitting the great bustard is practised at this season. During harvest, while the country is being cleared of crops, the birds become accustomed to see bullock-carts daily passing with creaking wheel to carry away the sheaves from the stubble to the era, or levelled threshing-ground, where the grain is trodden out, Spanish fashion, by teams of mares. The loan of a carro with its pair of oxen and their driver having been obtained, the cart is rigged up with estÉras—that is, esparto-matting stretched round the uprights which serve to hold the load of sheaves in position. A few sacks of straw thrown on the floor of the cart save one, in some small degree, from the merciless jolting of this primitive conveyance on rough ground. Two or three guns can find room therein, while the driver, lying forward, directs the team with a goad. This moving battery fairly resembles a load of sheaves, and well do we remember the terrible, suffocating heat we have endured, shut up for hours in this thing during the blazing days of July and August. The result, nevertheless, repays all suffering. We refer to no mere cynegetic pride but to the enduring joy of SPANISH THISTLE AND STONECHAT We now come to the system of bustard-driving, which we regard as practically the only really legitimate method of dealing with this grand game. From the end of August onwards the young bustards are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. The country is then cleared of crops, and while this precludes the birds being “done to death” as in the weeks immediately preceding, yet the ubiquitous thistles (often of gigantic size, ten or twelve feet in height), charlock, and viznagas provide welcome covert for concealing the guns, while the heat still renders the game somewhat more susceptible to the artifices of the fowler. This is the easiest period. As the season advances the hunter’s difficulties increase. The brown earth becomes daily more and more naked, while files of slow-moving ox-teams everywhere traverse the stubble, ploughing league-long furrows twenty abreast. These factors combine to aid the game and stretch to its utmost limit the venatic instincts of the fowler. Let us now attempt to describe a day’s bustard-driving on scientific lines. The district having being selected, it is advisable to send out the night before a trustworthy scout who will sleep at the cortijo and be abroad with the dawn in order to locate precisely the various bandadas, or troops of bustard, in the neighbourhood. The shooting-party (three or four guns for choice, but in no case to exceed six Arrived at the cortijo, the scout brings in his report, and at once guns and drivers, all mounted, proceed towards the nearest of the marked bandadas. Not only are the distances to be covered so great as to render riding a necessity, but the use of horses has this further advantage that bustard evince less fear of mounted men and thus permit of nearer approach. The drivers should number three—the centre to flush the birds, two flankers to gallop at top speed in any direction should the game diverge from the required course or attempt to break out laterally. Ten minutes’ ride and we are within view of our first bandada still a mile away. They may be feeding on some broad slope, resting on the crest of a ridge, or dawdling on a level plain; but wherever the game may be—whatever the strategic value of their position—at least the decision of our own tactics must be clinched at once. No long lingering with futile discussion, no hesitation, or continued spying with the glass is permissible. Such follies instil instant suspicion into the astute brains on yonder hill, and the honours of the first round pass to the enemy. For this reason it is imperative to appoint one leader vested Needless to say, that leader must possess a thorough knowledge both of the habits of bustard and the lie of a country—along with the rather rare faculty of diagnosing at a glance its “advantages,” its dangers, and its salient points over some half-league of space. None too common an attribute that, where all the wide prospect is grey or green, varying according to ever-changing lights, and the downlands so gently graded as occasionally to deceive the very elect. Much of the bustard-country appears all but flat, so slight are its folds and undulations; while even the more favouring regions are rarely so boldly contoured as Salisbury Plain. The leader must combine some of the qualities of a field-marshal with the skill of a deer-stalker, and a bit of red-Indian sleuth thrown in. Luckily, such masters of the craft are not entirely lacking to us. The thoughts revolving in the leader’s mind during his brief survey follow these general lines: First, which is (a) the favourite and (b) the most favourable line of flight of those bustards when disturbed; secondly, where can guns best be placed athwart that line; thirdly, how can the guns reach these points unseen? A condition precedent to success is that the firing-line shall be drawn around the bustards fairly close up, yet without their knowledge. Now with wild-game in open country devoid of fences, hollows, or covert of any description that problem presents initial difficulties that may well appear insuperable. But they are rarely quite so. It is here that the fieldcraft of the leader comes in. He has detected some slight fold that will shelter horsemen up to a given point, and beyond that, screen a crouching figure to within 300 yards of the unconscious bandada. Rarely do watercourses or valleys of sufficient depth lend a welcome aid; recourse must usually be had to the reverse slope of the hill whereon the bustards happen to be. Without a halt, the party ride round till out of sight. At the farthest safe advance, the guns dismount and proceed to spread themselves out—so far as possible in a semicircle—around the focal point. Great Bustard—young.
Having now succeeded in placing his guns unseen and within a fatal radius, the leader may congratulate himself that his main object has been achieved. On the nearness of the line to the game, and on his correct diagnosis of the bustards’ flight depends the issue. [It may be added that bustard are occasionally found in situations that offer no reasonable hope of a successful drive. It may then (should no others be known within the radius of action) become advisable gently to “move” the inexpugnable troop; remembering that once these birds realise that they are being “driven,” the likelihood of subsequently putting them over the guns has enormously decreased. There accrues an incidental advantage in this operation, for after “moving” them to more favouring ground, it will not be necessary to line-up the guns quite so near as is usually essential to success. For bustards possess so strong an attachment to their querencias, or individual haunts, that they may be relied upon, on being disturbed a second time, to wing a course more or less in the direction of their original position. We give a specific instance of this later. Each pack of bustard has its own querencia, and will be found at certain hours to frequent certain places. This local knowledge, if obtainable, saves infinite time and vast distances traversed in search of game whose approximate positions, after all, may thus be ascertained beforehand.] Now we have placed our guns in line and within that short distance of the unsuspecting game that all but assures a certain shot. We cannot, let us confess, recall many moments in life of more tense excitement than those spent thus, lying prone on the gentle slope listening with every sense on stretch for the cries of the galloping beaters as in wild career they urge the huge birds towards a fatal course. Before us rises the curving ridge, its summit sharply defined against an azure sky—azure but empty. Now the light air wafts to our ear the tumultuous pulsations of giant wings, and five seconds later that erst empty ether is crowded with two score huge forms. What a scene—and what SWERVE ASIDE TO RIGHT AND LEFT We have stated, earlier in this chapter, that among the various component factors in a bustard-drive the actual shot is of minor importance. That is so; yet truly remarkable is the frequency with which good shots constantly miss the easiest of chances at these great birds. Precisely similar failures occur with wild-geese, with swans—indeed with all big birds whose wing-action is deliberate and slow. Tardy strokes deceive the eye, and the great bulk of the bustard accentuates the deception—it seems impossible to miss them, a fatal error. As the Spanish drivers put it: “Se les llenaron el ojo de carne,” literally, “the bustards had filled your eye with meat”—the hapless marksmen saw everything bustard! Yet geese with their 40 strokes fly past ducks at 120, and the bustard’s apparently leisured movement carries him in full career as fast as whirring grouse with 200 revolutions to the minute. To kill bustard treat them on the same basis as the smaller game that appears faster but is not. Bustards being soft-plumaged are not hard to kill. As compared with such ironclads as wild-geese, they are singularly Bustards seldom run, but they walk very fast, especially when alarmed. Between the inception of a drive and the moment of flushing we have known them to cover half a mile, and many drives fail owing to game having completely altered its original position. Instances have occurred of bustards walking over the dividing ridge, to the amazement of the prostrate sportsmen on the hither slope. Strange to say, when winged they do not make off, but remain where they have fallen, and an old male will usually show fight. Of course if left alone and out of sight a winged bustard will travel far. In weight cock-bustard vary from, say, 20 to 22 lbs. in autumn, up to 28 to 30 lbs. in April. The biggest old males in spring reach 33 and 34 lbs., and one we presented to the National Collection at South Kensington scaled 37 lbs. The breast-bone of these big birds is usually quite bare, a horny callosity, owing to friction with the ground while squatting, and the heads and necks of old males usually exhibit gaps in their gorgeous spring-plumage—indicative of severe encounters among themselves. Hen-bustard seldom exceed 15 lbs. at any season. Bustard are usually found in troops varying from half-a-dozen birds to as many as 50 or 60, and in September we have seen 200 together. Bustard-shooting—by which we mean legitimate driving during the winter months, September to April—is necessarily uncertain in results. Some days birds may not even be seen, though this is unusual, while on others many big bands may be met with. Hence it is difficult to put down an average, though we roughly estimate a bird a gun as an excellent day’s work. A not unusual bag for six guns will be about eight head; but we have a note of two days’ shooting in April (in two consecutive years) when a party of eight guns, all well-known shots, secured 21 and 22 bustard respectively, together with a single lesser bustard on each day. This was on lands between Alcantarillas and Las Cabezas, but it is fair to add that the ground had been carefully preserved by the owner and the operation organised regardless of expense. A minor difficulty inherent to this pursuit is to select the BUSTARDS PASSING FULL BROADSIDE All one’s care and elaborate strategy is ofttimes nullified through the blunders of a novice. Some men have no more sense of concealment than that fabled ostrich which is said to hide its head in the sand (which it doesn’t); others can’t keep still. These are for ever poking their heads up and down or—worse still—trying to see what is occurring in front. We may conclude this chapter with a hint or two to new hands. Never move from your prone position till the bustard are in shot, and after that, not till you are sure the whole operation is complete. There may yet be other birds enclosed though you do not know it. Never claim to have wounded a bustard merely because it passed so near and offered so easy a shot that you can’t believe you missed it. You did miss it or it would be lying dead behind. All the same keep one eye on any bird you have fired at so long as it remains in view. Bustards shot through the lungs will sometimes fly half a mile and then drop dead. Wear clothes suited, more or less, to environment—greenish, we suggest, for choice—but remember that immobility is tenfold more important than colour. A pure white object that is quiescent is overlooked, where a clod of turf that moves attracts instant attention. In spring, when bustards gorge on green food, gralloch your victims at once, otherwise the half-digested mass in the crop quickly decomposes and destroys the meat. Here is an example of an error in judgment that practically amounted to a blunder. Before our well-concealed line stood a grand pack, between thirty and forty bustard beautifully “horseshoed,” and quite unconscious thereof. Momentarily we expected their entry—right in our faces! At that critical moment there appeared, wide on the right flank and actually behind us, three huge old barbones directing a course that would bring them along close in rear of our line. No. 4 gun, on extreme right, properly allowed this trio to pass; not so No. 3. But the culprit, on rising to fire, had the chagrin to realise (too late) his error. The whole superb army-corps in front were at that very moment sweeping forward direct on the centre of our line! In an instant they took it in, swerved majestically to the left, and escaped scot-free. That No. 3 had secured a right-and-left at the adventitious trio in no sort of way exculpated his mistake. |
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