A characteristic and withal a truly noble and ornamental object is the Great Bustard, on those vast stretches of silent corn-lands which form his home. Among the things of sport are few more attractive scenes than a band of bustards at rest. Bring your field-glass to bear on that gathering which you see yonder, basking in the sunshine, in full enjoyment of their siesta. There are four-or five-and-twenty of them, and how immense they look against the background of sprouting corn that covers the landscape: well may a stranger mistake them for deer or goats. Most of the birds are sitting turkey-fashion, their heads sunk among the feathers: others stand in drowsy yet half-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 their lower plumage. The bustards are dotted in groups over an acre or two of the gently sloping ground, the highest part of which is occupied by a single big barbudo, a bearded veteran, the sentinel of the party. From his elevated position he estimates what degree of danger each living thing that moves on the open region around may threaten to his companions and himself. Mounted men cause him less concern than those on foot: a horseman slowly directing a circuitous course may even approach to within a couple of hundred yards of him before he takes alarm. It was the head and neck of this sentry that first appeared to our distant view, and disclosed the whereabouts of the game. He, too, has seen us, and is even now considering whether there is sufficient cause for putting his convoy in motion. If we disappear below the level of his range he will settle the point negatively; setting us down as only some of those agricultural nuisances which so often cause him alarm, but which his experience has shown to be generally harmless—for attempts on his life are few and far between.

Another charming spectacle it is in the summer-time to watch a pack of bustards about sunset, all busy with their evening feed among the grasshoppers on a thistle-covered plain. They are working against time, for it will soon be too dark for them 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 their feed that the best chance of the day is then offered to their pursuer, when greed, for the moment, supplants caution, and vigilance is relaxed. But even now a man on foot stands no chance of coming near them; his approach is observed from afar, all heads are up above the thistles, all eyes intent on the intruder: a moment or two of doubt, two quick steps and a spring, and the strong wings of every bird in the band flap in slowly-rising motion. The tardiness and apparent difficulty in rising from the ground which these birds exhibit is well expressed in their Spanish name Avetarda,[8] and is recognized in their scientific cognomen of Otis tarda. Once on the wing, the whole pack is off, with wide swinging flight, to the highest ground in the neighbourhood.

Plate VII. WATERING THE CATTLE—SUMMER TIME. Page 35.
Plate VII. WATERING THE CATTLE—SUMMER TIME. Page 35.

During the greater part of the year the bustards are far too wary to be obtained by the farm-hands and shepherds who see them every day; and so accustomed are the peasants to the sight of these noble birds that little or no notice is taken of them. Their haunts and habits not being studied, their pursuit is 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 a more adaptive genius than that of the Spanish people is required to utilize 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 bucket after bucketful of cool water, the cattle crowd around, impatient to receive it as it rushes along the stone troughing. The thirsty animals drink their fill, splashing and wasting as much as they consume, so that a puddle is always formed about these bebideros. The moisture only extends a few yards, gradually diminishing till the trickling streamlet is lost in the famishing soil.

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: 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.

Large numbers of bustards are destroyed thus every summer. It is deadly work, and certain. Were the haunts of the birds more studied, bustards might be annihilated on these treacherous lines.

Another primitive mode of capturing the Great Bustard is also practised in winter. The increased value of game during the colder months induces the bird-catchers, who supply the markets with myriads of ground-larks, linnets and buntings, occasionally to direct their skill towards the capture of the avetardas. They employ the same means as for the taking of the small fry—the cencerro, or cattle-bell, and dark lantern. As most cattle carry the cencerro around their necks, the sound of the bells at close quarters by night causes no alarm to the ground birds. The birdcatcher, with his bright candle gleaming before its reflector and the cattle-bell jingling at his wrist, prowls nightly over the stubbles and wastes in search of roosting birds. Any number of bewildered victims can thus be gathered, for larks and such-like birds fall into a helpless state of panic when once focussed in the bright rays of the lantern.

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 the light is seen approaching. Hence the use of the cencerro is precarious, at least as regards the bustards.

Except for the two clumsy artifices above described, the bustards are left practically unmolested; their wildness and the open nature of their haunts defy all the strategy of native fowlers. Their eggs are deposited on the ground when it is covered with the green April corn: incubation and the rearing of the young takes place amid the security of vast silent stretches of waving corn. The young bustards grow with the wheat, and ere it is cut are able to take care of themselves. It is just after harvest that the game is most numerous and conspicuous. The stubbles are then bare, and even the fallows which during spring bear heavy swathes of weeds, have now lost all their covert. The summer sun has pulverized and consumed all vegetation, and, but for a few chance patches of thistles, charlock or aramagos, there is nothing that can screen the birds from view.

A more legitimate method of outwitting the Great Bustard is practised at this—the summer—period. After harvest, when the country is being cleared of crops, or when all are cut and in sheaf, the bustards become accustomed daily to see the bullock-carts (carros) passing with creaking wheel, on all sides, carrying off the sheaves from the stubbles to the era, or levelled ground where the grain is trodden out, Spanish-fashion, by teams of mares. The loan of a carro, with its pair of bullocks and a man to guide them, having been obtained from one of the corn-farms, the cart is rigged up with esteras—that is, an esparto matting is stretched round the poles which, fixed on the sides, serve to hold the load of sheaves in position. A few sacks of straw thrown upon the floor of the cart serve to save one, in some small degree, from the merciless jolting of this primitive conveyance on rough ground. One, two, or even three guns can find room in the carro, the driver lying forward, near enough to direct the bullocks and urge them on by means of a goad, which he works through a hole in the esteras.

At a distance this moving battery looks a good deal like a load of straw. The search for bustard now begins, and well do we remember the terrible suffocating heat we have endured, shut up in this thing for hours in the blazing days of July and August. Bustards being found, the bullocks are cleverly directed, gradually circling inwards, the goad during the final moments freely applied. When the cart is stopped, instantly the birds rise. Previous to finding game, each man has made for himself a hole in the estera, through which he has been practising the handling of his gun. So far as practice goes, his arrangements appear perfect enough; but somehow, when the cart stops, the birds rise, and the moment for action has arrived, the game seems always to fly in a direction you cannot command, or where the narrow slit will not allow you to cover them. Hence we have adopted the plan of sliding off behind just as the cart was pulling up, thus firing the two barrels with much greater freedom. We have enjoyed excellent sport by this means, and succeeded in bringing many bustards to bag during the day. And after a long summer-day shut up in this rude contrivance, creaking and jolting across stubble and fallow, a deep cool draught of gazpacho at the farm is indeed delicious to parched throats and tongues.

Another system by which the Great Bustard can be brought to bag is by driving, and right royal sport it affords at certain seasons. The most favourable period is the early spring—especially the month of March. The male birds are then in their most perfect plumage and condition, with the gorgeous chestnut ruff fully developed, and in the early mornings they present an imposing spectacle, as with lowered neck, trailing wings, and expanded tail, they strut round and round in stately circles—"echando la rueda"—before an admiring harem, somewhat after the fashion of the blackcock; though whether the bustard is polygamous is a question we discuss in another chapter. At this season (March) the corn is sufficiently grown to afford covert for the gunners, but not to conceal these great birds when feeding, i.e., about girth-deep.

GREAT BUSTARD—"ECHANDO LA RUEDA."
GREAT BUSTARD—"ECHANDO LA RUEDA."

The system of the ojÉo or bustard-drive is as follows:—The scene of operations must be reached as soon after daybreak as possible, which necessitates an early start and a long matutinal ride; for bustards feed morning and evening, and during the midday hours lie down for a siesta among the corn or rough herbage, when it is mere chance work finding them on so vast an area. Hence an early start is necessary. When likely corn-lands are reached, one man advances to reconnoitre: having descried a band of bustards and taken a comprehensive view of the surrounding country, he must at once decide on his line of action. The bustards are perhaps a mile away: the leader must therefore have a "good eye for a country"—much, in fact, depends on his rapid intuition of the lie of the land and local circumstances, his knowledge of the habits and flights of the birds, and his ability to utilize the smallest natural advantages of ground or cover—small indeed these are sure to be, invisible to untrained eye. The first great object is to bring the guns, unseen, as near the game as possible. If any miscalculation occurs, and the advancing sportsmen expose themselves for a moment, then, very literally, "the game is up" and the pack escapes unharmed. When the birds are found settled on a hillside, it is sometimes not difficult to place the guns on the reverse slope, and so near the summit that the sportsman, stretched full length on the earth, has the birds within shot almost before their danger is exposed. But it must be noted that the sight of the bustard is extraordinarily keen, and the slightest unusual object on the monotonous plain is sure to be detected. As a rule, if the gunner can see the bustards, they too will have seen him and will swerve from their course before approaching within range.

But, generally speaking (except during the spring-shooting), there is hardly a vestige of anything like covert for the gunner: sometimes by lucky chance, a dry watercourse may be available, or a solitary clump of palmettos—even a few dead thistles may prove invaluable. These two circumstances explain the numerous disappointments that attend bustard-driving on the corn-plains.

Time being allowed to place the guns, two or three men start to ride round the bustards at considerable distance, gradually approaching them from a direction which will incline their flight towards the hidden guns. Through long practice these men become very expert; more than once we have seen a pack of the most stiff-necked undrivable bustards turned in mid-flight by a judicious gallop—executed at the very nick of time—and directed right towards the guns; and we have also known birds so delicately treated that instead of rising before the slowly-advancing horsemen, they have quietly walked away and startled the sportsman by striding over a ridge within a few yards of his prostrate form.

Plate VIII. BUSTARD-DRIVING—THE PACK "COME WELL IN!" Page 40.
Plate VIII. BUSTARD-DRIVING—THE PACK "COME WELL IN!" Page 40.

In speaking of hills, ridges, &c., the words are used in a relative sense. Broken ground is the exception in any district much affected by bustard; and therefore the most must be made of the slight undulations which these rolling plains afford. When a party of five or six guns are well placed, it is unusual for the pack to get away without offering a shot to one or more of the sportsmen. Strange to say, they not infrequently escape. We know not what the cause may be—whether the apparently slow flight—really very fast—or the huge bulk of the birds deceives, or otherwise—yet some of the best shots at ordinary driven game are often perplexed at their bad records against the avetardas. Long shots, it is true, are the rule: longer far than one dreams of taking at home—and such ranges require extreme forward allowance: yet many birds at close quarters are let off.

A memorable sight is a huge barbon, or male bustard, when he suddenly finds himself within range of a pair of choke-bore barrels—so near that one can see his eye! How he ploughs through the air with redoubled efforts of those enormous wings, and hopes by putting on the pace to escape from danger.

It is when only one man and his driver are after bustard that the cream of this sport is enjoyed. The work then resembles deer-stalking, for the sportsman must necessarily creep up very close to his game in order to have any fair chance of a shot. Unless he has wormed his way to within 150 yards before the birds are raised, the odds are long against success. Gratifying indeed is the triumph when, after many efforts, and as many disappointments, one at length outmatches them, and secures a heavy bag by a single right-and-left.

By way of illustration, we give, in the next chapter, descriptions of bustard-shooting, (1) driving with a party in the ordinary way, and (2) Stalking and driving to a single gun.

Such, roughly described, are the two chief recognized systems of shooting the Great Bustard: i.e., driving, which can be practised at any period of autumn, winter, or early spring, but which is most effective in March, when the growing crops afford sufficient "blind"; and shooting from the cart, which is only available during, or just after, harvest.

There remains, however, another method by which this game may be brought to bag—one which we may claim to have ourselves invented and brought to some degree of perfection—namely:

Bustard-shooting single-handed.

At one period of the year (about May), just before the corn comes into ear, and when the male bustards are banded together, they are much more accessible, the corn being high all around them, and the guns more easily concealed. But the objections from a farmer's point of view are obvious, and we have rarely followed them under these conditions, though it is a favourite period with Spanish sportsmen.

We have frequently been asked by the country people to try our hands at their ambuscades by the wells (above described), and often caused surprise by declining to kill bustards in this way. It was, in fact, because we did not enjoy any of the means in vogue with the natives, that we resolved to try what could be done single-handed; and by sticking to it and hard work, have since accounted for many a fine barbon, and enjoyed many an hour's exciting sport with others not brought to bag, and which probably still roam over the Andalucian vegas to give fine sport another day.

On foot nothing could be done single-handed, but by the aid and co-operation of a steady old pony, success was found to be possible. As soon as the country is cleared of corn (about July or August), bustard pass the mid-day hours sheltering from the sun in any patch of high thistles or palmetto that may grow on the bare lands or stubbles. We have also found them, during mid-summer, under olive-trees, but never in any cover or spot where they could not command all the space for many gunshots around. Having been disturbed in their siesta—generally about a couple of hundred yards before the horseman reaches them—the birds stand up, shake the dust from their feathers, and are all attention to see that the intruder has no evil designs upon them. Ride directly towards them and they are off at once; but if approach be made cautiously and circuitously, the bustards, though suspicious and uneasy, do not rise but walk slowly away, for they are reluctant to take wing at this hot time. It is needless to add that the intense heat is also a severe test of endurance to the bustard-shooter. By keeping one's own figure and the pony's head as much averted as possible—advancing sidelong, crab-fashion, so to speak, and gradually circling inwards, one may, with patience, at length attain a deadly range,—seldom near, but still near enough to use the heavy AAA mould-shot with fatal effect, for the bustard, despite his bulk, is not a very hard or close-feathered bird, and falls to a blow that the grey goose would laugh at. When the nearest point is reached—and one learns by experience to judge by the demeanour of the game when they will permit no nearer approach—the opportune moment must be seized; the first barrel put in smartly on the ground, and more deliberate aim taken with the second as they rise.

The hotter the day, the nearer one can get. Much depends on the horse: if he does not stop dead the chance is lost, as the bustards rise directly on detecting a change in the movements of horse and man. With practice my pony became very clever, and came to know as well as his rider what was going on, so that after a time, we could rely on getting three or four shots a day and seldom returned without one bustard, frequently two or three. During one year (his best) the writer bagged sixty-two bustards to his own gun.

We make it a rule to accept no shot at any very risky distance, finding that, if not scared, the birds do not fly so far, and are more accessible on a second approach. Sometimes there occur lucky spots where, as one is slowly drawing round on them, the bustards walk over the crest of a ridge, and disappear. This is a chance not to be lost—slip from the saddle, run straight to the ridge, and surprise them, as they descend the reverse slope, with a couple of barrels ere they have time to realize the danger. Dips and hills, as before remarked, are not frequent on the haunts of bustards, but we have chanced on such localities more than once. Upon one occasion we bagged a brace of the largest barbones we ever saw by such a piece of good luck.

A blazing sun is a great assistance, making the birds lazy and disinclined to exert themselves. As an instance of this we remember being after bustard one day in September—an intensely hot day even for Spain, and with a fiery sun beating down on the quivering plains. Though well protected by a thick felt helmet and wearing the lightest of light summer clothes, the heat was almost more than one could endure. We had unsuccessfully ridden over some thousands of acres of stubble and waste—it was on the historic plains of Guadalete where Roderic and the Arabs fought—when at length we were gratified by observing three bustards walk out of a cluster of thistles. After twice circling round them, we saw that at eighty or ninety yards' distance, they would stand it no longer: so turning in the saddle, gave them both barrels, but without effect, as they sailed away about a mile and settled. On a second approach, as they rose at 200 yards, it looked as though they were impracticable, but doubting if there were other birds in that neighbourhood, we kept on, and followed them in this second flight, which this time was shorter. Again they rose wild—wilder than ever, at fully 800 yards. They came down upon a patch of the barley-stubbled plain where we were able to mark their position to a nicety, for they pitched close to a sombrajo, or sun-shade for cattle (a thatch of palmetto spread on aloe-poles). On approaching the place, and not seeing the bustards afoot, we concluded they were resting after their repeated flights; but having reached almost the exact spot, we could still see nothing of them. This was perplexing. We knew they could not have risen, for our eyes had never left the spot where they had settled. What could have become of them?... All at once we saw them, squatting flat within thirty yards of us, each bird pressed close down with his neck stretched along the ground. All trouble was now rewarded. It was not a chance to be risked by shooting from the saddle: and as we slid to the ground, gun cocked, and facing the birds, we felt it was the best double rise at big bustards that ever man had. As we touched the ground, they rose: one fell dead at forty yards, a second, wheeling back, showed too much of his white breast to be let off; the third flew far beyond view, and the only regret, for a moment, was that there were no treble-barrelled breech-loaders. Half an hour later we fell in with a band of young bustards, which allowed us to approach near enough to drop one; so that evening the old pony had a good load to carry home.

GREAT BUSTARDS—AN APRIL DAWN.
GREAT BUSTARDS—AN APRIL DAWN.