Hawking.

The training of the hawks was a source of great amusement to the boys. They obtained Stonehenge's British Rural Sports from Sir Richard Carleton's library, and studied the article on hawking. They found a sparrow-hawk was called a short-winged hawk, because its wings do not reach so far as the end of its tail, while a kestrel is a long-winged hawk, its wings reaching as far as the end of its tail. As a general rule, long-winged hawks are much better than short-winged ones for hawking purposes, but the sparrow-hawk is braver and better than the kestrel. Their hawks being from the nest, and not caught by a trap, were eyasses. Before they could fly they were branchers, and being reared at liberty they were hack-hawks. The training of a hawk is called its reclaiming, Fig. 3 a and b, when it sleeps it jouks, its prey is its quarry, when it strikes it is said to bind. When it soars and then descends upon its quarry it swoops, when it flies straight after it it rakes. It is sent off by a whistle, and brought back by a lure.

These are only a few of the technical terms peculiar to hawking.

The hood, Fig. 1 and 2, which one sees so conspicuously on the heads of hawks in pictures of the sport in the olden time is not necessary in the case of the short-winged hawks, and the great object was to make the hawks as tame as possible. This the boys accomplished by continually handling them and being with them, especially at feeding-time. Around each foot of the bird they tied a soft strap of leather to correspond to a jesse, Fig. 4 a b. To these were attached some little bells e e, which they took off some children's toys. The jesses had also a loop b, to which was fastened when required a leash, Fig. 5, or long cord, which prevented the birds from flying away while training. They had perches with cross-bars made for the hawks, and set up at one end of the boat-house, and underneath it a tray containing a quantity of sand and a bowl of water. In a couple of months the hawks were quite tame, and then the boys proceeded to train them for sport. Every time they were fed the meat was attached to a lure, Fig. 6, which was a lump of cork with a bunch of cock's feathers attached to it. This was thrown up into the air at gradually increasing distances, and at the same time one of the boys, having the hawk ready perched on his wrist (which was protected by strong gloves such as hedgers and ditchers use), let her loose with a shrill whistle, and she was allowed to fly the length of her leash and seize the lure and the food. In a remarkably short time the birds would not only fly to the lure with alacrity, but wait until the boys came up and took them away again. When they had attained this pitch of perfection the rest was easy, and the leash was dispensed with. Then a dead bird or rabbit was fixed to the lure, and at last, one fine October day, it was resolved to try the hawks at real game.

"What shall we try them at first?" said Dick.

"I was thinking that the best way would be to take the yacht and coast about the reeds, and try them first at the water-hens and coots. I am so afraid of someone shooting them if we take them into the meadows. If we cannot manage them with the yacht on the water, we will take them on the drained marshes," answered Frank.

"I hope they will not disappoint us," said Jimmy, "for they have given us a great deal of trouble to train."

"They have had very little to eat this morning, so I think they will fly at anything we show them, but it will be a sell if we lose them the very first try."

There was just a light breeze on the broad, which enabled them to sail quietly about. Frank took the helm, for sailing was to him the greatest of all enjoyments, and Dick and Jimmy stood in the bows, Dick with a hawk on his wrist, ready to be flown as soon as they caught sight of anything worth flying at. Frank steered the Swan so that she just brushed along the reeds, which were brown and dry, and had thinned fast under the keen October breezes.

"There is a water-hen in the reeds, just before us," said Jimmy. "Drive the yacht a little further in."

Frank did so, and the water-hen flew out over the broad, her legs dipping in the water.

"Let her have a little law," cried Frank. "Now then!"

With a loud whistle Dick let the hawk slip. She rose rapidly in the air, over the water-hen, and then swooped. The water-hen instantly dived. The disappointed hawk curved up again, just touching the surface of the water with her breast. She rose about twenty feet in the air and swooped around in small circles, her head turning this side and that, watching for her quarry. The course of the water-hen under water was marked by a line of bubbles, and Frank kept close behind her, letting the wind out of his sails in order not to overtake her and so cause her to double back. Soon she rose again to the surface, but ere the hawk, quick as she was, could reach her, she had dived again. In this manner, the water-hen rising to the surface to breathe and the hawk swooping unsuccessfully, they ran across the broad to a reed-bed, where the pursued bird remained under water so long that they knew she was holding on to the weed by her claws, with only her beak above water, as is the habit of these birds. After a little searching about they saw her yellow beak protruding above a mass of weeds. Seeing that she was discovered, she flew up uttering a despairing croak. Down came the sparrow-hawk with lightning swiftness, and struck her in the air, and they both fell into the reeds. The boys forced their way to them and the hawk allowed Dick to approach and take her in his hand. He cut off the head of the water-hen, and gave it to her to eat in the cabin, while they brought the other hawk for the next flight.

"Well," said Frank, "that was as successful a flight as we could desire. There goes a water-rail. Let the hawk go."

With a sharp scream the hawk dashed off in pursuit of it, and without troubling itself to soar, it struck the water-rail, and, bearing it away in its talons, it flew off to a dyke where a wherry was moored, her crew having gone ashore, and perched on the top of the mast, where it began to pick at and tear the bird.

"What's to be done now?" said Jimmy.

"We must try the lure," answered Frank, and taking it up he whistled and threw it in the air. The hawk dropped the water-rail and flew down to the lure and suffered herself to be taken. As a reward, she was allowed to have its head, and the other hawk was again taken out.

"There is a coot swimming along yonder. Let her fly at it," cried Jimmy.

As the hawk launched into the air, however, a sandpiper flew out from among the reeds, and the hawk instantly followed it. It was a very pretty sight to see the twistings and turnings of the two birds as they dashed across the broad with equal speed. Frank took a pull at the sheet so as to catch the wind, and followed them as fast as he could. The hawk had risen above the sandpiper, and was about to swoop down upon it, when the latter, to the surprise of the boys, dashed into the water and dived.

"Only fancy a bird with no webs to its feet diving," said Frank.

The sandpiper remained under water some time, and when it arose, which it did with great apparent ease, the sail of the yacht hid it from the hawk's sight, and it flew away unmolested. As they sailed along on the look-out for other prey, the hawk hung in the air above them, and followed, or, as it is technically called, "waited on," them in the most beautiful manner.

The birds on the broad now seemed to be aware that a hawk was about, and kept close to the shelter of the reeds, so that the broad seemed quite deserted. At last, however, a coot swam out, and the hawk made a feint at it but did not strike it, and the coot swam coolly away.

"Why the hawk is a coward," said Jimmy.

"No, she is only cautious. You see, if she were to strike it on the water it would dive, and as it is a strong bird it would carry her under. That is the difficulty we shall meet with if we hawk on the water," said Frank, "and if we go on the land someone is sure to shoot the hawks."

They called the hawk in by means of the lure, and sailed up a dyke, meaning to land and try the marshes and the low drained ground in their vicinity. They landed, and, Dick taking one hawk and Frank the other, they proceeded along a narrow drain in the hope of flushing some more water-hens.

"Quick," cried Frank, "and crouch down behind these reeds. I can see a couple of wild-ducks coming towards us."

They threw themselves on the ground, and soon the whirring of wings in the air told them that the ducks were coming straight towards them. On they came, within ten feet of the ground, and when they perceived the boys they turned off at a tangent with a loud quack. Both hawks were let go, and rising well in the air, one of them made a swoop on the hindmost duck and struck it, but did not lay hold. The duck swerved under the blow, but held on its course. Then while the one hawk mounted, the other, in its turn, swooped and struck the duck, so that it fell nearly to the ground. The boys ran along after the hawks and their quarry, and shouted to encourage the former. Then both hawks made a simultaneous swoop, and struck the duck to the ground.

As the hawks were taken from the duck, they showed some impatience and signs of anger, so Frank said,—

"I say, they have done enough for to-day. We had better feed them, and tie them up."

They accordingly gave them the head of the duck and the entrails of all the birds they had killed, and put them in the cabin, and then commenced to fish for pike. In the course of the day they caught seven, none of them over six pounds in weight; and then, when the western sky was agleam with the pink and green of sunset, they ran the yacht into the reeds while they put up their tackle. The wind had fallen to the faintest of zephyrs, which was only indicated by sudden shoots of light across the broad. The air was still, with a mellow October stillness, and flocks of starlings were wheeling in the air with unbroken regularity of rank and file, now on edge and nearly invisible; and then broadside on, and seeming as if suddenly nearer; and then settling in the reeds, where during the night they roost in vast numbers.

The boys stood there talking until the gloaming was spreading rapidly over the broad, and then they made preparations for going.

They had not secured the hawks, and the cabin-door had swung open.

"There goes one of our hawks," cried Jimmy, as it floated out with a triumphant scream over the marsh.

"Quick! get out the lure!" said Frank.

But the lure was not needed. A twittering commenced among the reeds, and grew louder and more clamorous; and soon, with a noise like thunder, a crowd of starlings rose from their resting-places, and after a preliminary circle in the air they closed upon the hawk and began to mob her, screaming the while most vociferously. The hawk struck three of them down in succession, but her assailants were too many for her, and she turned tail and flew back to the yacht, where she allowed Frank to capture her, while the starlings whirled away and settled in the reeds once more.

As they sailed back, Frank said,—

"Now that our hawks are trained so beautifully we shall have good sport with them."

But he was doomed to be disappointed. Two days after they took them into the open country, and a rabbit darting out of a tuft of grass, they flew one of the hawks at it. It struck the rabbit, and clung to it while it ran into its burrow, and the noble bird was killed by the shock. The boys were very much grieved at this, and resolved not to fly the other hawk at four-footed game. While they were crossing Sir Richard Carleton's land they flushed a solitary partridge, which appeared to have been wounded, and flew slowly. It had doubtless been left behind by its more active companions. They let the hawk fly, and it followed the partridge around the corner of a plantation. The report of a gun followed, and, running up, they found their worst apprehensions realized. The hawk had been shot dead by one of two gentlemen, who, with a couple of dogs, were out shooting. They were guests of Sir Richard's, and when they found the hawk was a tame one they were very profuse in their apologies. The boys did not care to make very civil replies, but walked quietly and sadly away.

Their cup of bitterness was for the time full.

"So ends our hawking," said Frank as they separated.

"Yes; this is the unluckiest day we have had yet," answered Jimmy.